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jamlavender · 4 years

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Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss: Mrs Coulter, misogyny and the His Dark Materials TV show

The show went hard on misogyny as a vital part of Mrs Coulter’s backstory, and I want to talk about how they did it, and why, and how it might have been done better. This is quite long (when is anything I write not, let’s be real) so it’s under the cut. Read on for thoughts on women, power and fictional villainy.

As a quick disclaimer, though: I’ve enjoyed the show a lot! I’m so glad they made it! Ruth Wilson is mesmerising as Mrs Coulter! There’s so much to appreciate about the show overall, including many aspects of Mrs Coulter’s portrayal. But the HDM team have also made gender politics and misogyny very explicit themes of the show – particularly season two, particularly season two, episode five – and I think it’s fair to critique that.

Let’s be clear: Mrs Coulter is a villain. She murders kids by tearing out their souls. She kills and tortures friends and foes alike without a second thought. She abuses her daughter. She upholds and advances a totalitarian regime. She’s a Bad Person, as confirmed by God himself with the unforgettable line: “You are a cesspit of moral filth.” She’s fucking terrible, but, in life as in art, many of us are fascinated by how such awful people are made. What drives someone to commit atrocities? I am keen to see such questions examined in fiction, because I don’t think exploring a character necessarily means excusing their actions, and because it’s interesting (I mean, of course I find her fascinating, I’ve written a novel’s worth of fic about her). However, after a few snarky comments (“What sort of woman raised Father Graves, do you think?”) and some subtler commentary on sexuality, gender and power (her unsettling MacPhail with the key in the bra in S1E2), S2E5 drew a weird line between sexism in Mrs Coulter’s professional and academic life and her vast and senseless institutionalised child murder, and the longer I’ve sat with that the more I’m like: what the fuck?

Look, Mrs Coulter doesn’t tear apart children to search for sin inside them and poison Boreal and break a witch’s fingers because she’s experienced sexism in the workplace and in her education. That’s… a very odd thing to imply. We have to remember that there are lots of women in Lyra’s world, all of whom will also have experienced sexism, misogyny and other forms of marginalisation (many in more expansive and pernicious ways than Mrs Coulter, who’s a woman, yes, but also white, wealthy, highly educated and very thin and beautiful), and none of them are running arctic torture stations. She will have experienced misogyny, absolutely, and that will have affected her in various ways that inform how she approaches her work, but to imply that being denied a doctorate is the reason she became a sadistic killer is frankly bizarre. Here are a few of the lines from that episode with my commentary:

“Do you know who I could have been in this world?” What does this mean? If she’d been roughly the same person in our world, the answer is: Margaret Thatcher, which is probably a step down for Marisa, all things considered, because the Magisterium is far more autocratic than any recent Tory government and would be a much easier institutional environment in which to enact her cruelty. What we’re supposed to think, clearly, is that she’d have been a different person: a scientist and a mother, and she’s had this realisation because she saw a woman with a baby and a laptop and had a three-minute conversation with Mary. This doesn’t make sense. We live in our world! It’s less repressive than Lyra’s world but it’s hardly a gender utopia. If Mrs Coulter had chosen the scientist-and-mother life (which, as I’ll revisit later, she could have done in her world but chose not to because of her megalomaniac tendencies), she’d still have been affected by misogyny here too. Our world is not kind to young mothers, nor young women embroiled in scandals, nor is the world teeming with female physicists. It might be a little better, sure, but it’s hardly as if those gendered challenges would have been solved.

“What do you mean she runs a department?” This is just the show forgetting its own canon. Marisa, you ran a massive government organisation (the GOB), including a huge murder science research initiative in the Arctic. That’s a much bigger undertaking and much more impressive than running a university department in our world. Pull yourself together.

“But because I was a woman, I was denied a doctorate by the Magisterium.” This is the show flagrantly ignoring the source material to make a clumsy political point. In the books, there are women with doctorates (notably Hannah Relf, also a major player in the new Book of Dust trilogy) and at least one women’s college full of female scholars. Now, would that women’s college likely be underfunded and disrespected compared to the men’s colleges? Almost certainly. But saying that is different than saying “I couldn’t get my doctorate!” when women in Lyra’s world can. The show knew what point they wanted to make, and were willing to ignore canon to do so, which is frustrating. Also, given that there are female academics and scientists in Lyra’s world, and that Mrs Coulter is a member of St Sophia’s college, it’s clear that she could have lived that life if she so desired. But she didn’t want that, because being a scientist and academic at St Sophia’s imbues her with no real power, and that’s what she craves.

I’m not opposed, in theory, to exploring Mrs Coulter and misogyny in more depth, but I think doing so through an examination of the sexual politics of her life would have made a lot more narrative sense and been much more powerful. It’s better evidenced in the text – her using her sexuality to manipulate people and taking lovers for political sway is entirely canon, as is her backstory where genuine love and lust blew up her life – and it links much more closely with the most shocking of her villainy, which involves cutting out children’s dæmons to stop them developing “troublesome thoughts and feelings,” referencing sexual and romantic desire (and what Lyra and Will do to save Dust is clearly a big ‘fuck you’ to those aims). She even says this to MacPhail in TAS, “If you thought for one moment that I would release my daughter into the care - the care! - of a body of men with a feverish obsession with sexuality, men with dirty fingernails, reeking of ancient sweat, men whose furtive imaginations would crawl over her body like cockroaches - if you thought I would expose my child to that, my Lord President, you are more stupid than you take me for.” Don’t get me wrong, she’d have been a villain regardless, but I do believe that there’s a much stronger link between her sexual and romantic experiences and her murder work than between professional and academic stifling and child murder. It would have been a lot more interesting and a lot less tenuous.

However, the show is trying to be family-friendly, and digging into why this terrible, cruel woman might want to cut the ability for desire and love (and other non-sexual adult feelings, I’m sure) out of people could get dark. We know that the show doesn’t want to go there, because they’ve actively toned down her weaponising her sexuality: in the books, she has an established sexual relationship with Boreal, whereas the show made it seem like she’s been stringing him along all this time, and made it about potentially ‘sharing a life’ together rather than fucking, which was clearly the arrangement in the books. Also, I think Ruth Wilson said she and Ariyon Bakare filmed a “steamy scene” together, and given that only a single chaste kiss between them aired it must have been cut. I think they deliberately minimised the sexual elements of the text, particularly regarding Mrs Coulter (the mountain scene with Asriel, which I did still love, was also a lot less horny than in the book) and replaced that with another gender issue, that of professional sexism, as if the two are interchangeable, which they are not. This is a shame, both for Mrs Coulter’s character and also for the story as a whole, because the characters’ relationships with sex and desire are an important part of the books! (If this minimised sexuality approach means that they don’t use the TAS scene where Asriel threatens to gag her and she tries to goad him into doing it, I’ll scream). Overall, I think they missed the mark here, which is a shame because I also think it could have been done well, if they’d been bolder and darker and more thoughtful.

Why might this happen? Why might the show take this approach? Why might it be latched onto by viewers? Personally, I think the conversations we have about women and power are very simplistic, which leaves us in a tight spot when we see women seizing power for themselves (even in fiction) and weaponising that against others, not just other women but people of all genders, because we struggle to move past ‘women have overall been denied power, so them taking it ‘back’ is good,’ even if that immediately becomes a hot mess of white, corporate feminism and results in the ongoing oppression of many people. I think we are so hungry for representations of powerful women that we – producers and viewers alike – struggle to see them as bad, because it’s uncomfortable to be so intoxicated by Mrs Coulter effortlessly dominating the men around her, subverting systems designed to marginalise her for her own benefit, and generally being aggressive and intelligent and ruthless, and then realise that you are entranced by someone who is, objectively, a terrible, terrible person. It can be hard to realise that if you channelled the energy of someone who mesmerises you, you’d be the villain. So instead of sitting with that (more on this below), a lot of legwork goes into reworking her villainy into, somehow, a just act, a result of oppression, as her taking back power that has been denied to her, rather than grappling with the fact that for anyone to desire power in such a merciless way, even if they have to overcome marginalisation to get it, is really, really dangerous.

The joy, of course, is that Mrs Coulter is not real! She’s not real! Adoring fictional characters does not mean condoning their (imaginary) decisions, nor do stories exist for each person in them to fit neatly into a good or bad box so you know who you’re allowed to love. Furthermore, fiction can be a fabulous tool for exploring and interrogating the parts of yourself that, if left to bloom unexamined, might perpetuate beliefs or behaviour that cause harm to others. Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be a feminist or taking down the patriarchy or a righteous powerful woman to illuminate things about gender, power and feminism for those reading and watching. In fact, it’s important that we explore what happens when women (most commonly white, wealthy women, as she is) continue to perpetuate brutal systems under the guise of sticking it to ‘men,’ because it happens all the time in the real world, and it’s a serious issue. Finding characters like Mrs Coulter so cool and compelling doesn’t make you a bad person, but it might tell you something about yourself – not that you want to be a villain or kill kids or whatever, but something about how you relate to your gender or women or men or power – and that knowledge can be useful! We all have better and worse impulses, and finding art that helps us make sense of ourselves, both the good and bad parts, is a gift that we should relish.

Anyway, tl;dr, Mrs Coulter doesn’t need to be sympathetic or understandable or redeemable to be brilliant – but you wouldn’t know that from how she’s been portrayed in the new adaptation.

#his dark materials #marisa coulter #my analysis #this might be controversial idk #more thoughts that no one asked for #hdm meta

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kellyvela · 3 years

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There was one person who commented on grrm blog about Dany being their most hated character and hoping she would die. Grrm replied 'tsk tsk'. Do you know about that post?

This one?

The comment, now deleted, is from this post: Dany and the Dragons - Jul. 8th, 2013.

What about it? Is this about targies clinging to that "tsk tsk" for their lives?

I remember that the user belomor555 wrote that comment as an answer to another user mentioning them, as you can see here:

I like the conversation under grrm's comment, because those users didn't assume that George was saying he won't kill Dany:

We also know that when someone said to George that he’s not allowed to kill Dany, he answered that "Parris has proclaimed that Arya cannot die!" [Source]

Classic George!

But what is that "tsk tsk" compared to all this:

July 21, 2018

In the earlier published Targaryen family tree as found in The World of Ice & Fire, Princess Daenerys did not exist. In her place was Prince Aeryn Targaryen, Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s sixthborn son who died young. Besides Aeryn having been exchanged for Daenerys, several other children of Jaehaerys and Alysanne were shifted in their order of birth.

Regarding these changes, Elio Garcia has stated the following:

… George had some new ideas for some of the names and the stories of the children who died young, and corrected some issues that came out of his original birth order (we actually got the names of all the kids quite late in the production of TWoIaF—literally a month before we had to finalize the book—so there was not much time to interrogate it). However, the stories of those who live to adulthood, as published in TWoIaF, do remain the same (just, of course, much more detailed).

[Source]

November 20, 2018

Jaehaerys loved all three children fiercely, but from the moment Aemon was born, the king began to speak of him as his heir, to Queen Alysanne’s displeasure. “Daenerys is older,” she would remind His Grace. “She is first in line; she should be queen.” The king would never disagree, except to say, “She shall be queen, when she and Aemon marry. They will rule together, just as we have.” But Benifer could see that the king’s words did not entirely please the queen, as he noted in his letters.

(…)

It was the hour of the owl when Queen Alysanne was awoken by her daughter shaking her gently by the arm. “Mother,” Princess Daenerys said, “I’m cold.”

There is no need to dwell on all that followed. Daenerys Targaryen was the darling of the realm, and all that could be done for any man was done for her. There were prayers and poultices, hot soups and scalding baths, blankets and furs and hot stones, nettle tea. The princess was six, and years past being weaned, but a wet nurse was summoned, for there were some who believed that mother’s milk could cure the Shivers. Maesters came and went, septons and septas prayed, the king commanded that a hundred new ratcatchers be hired at once, and offered a silver stag for every dead rat, grey or black. Daenerys wanted her kitten, and her kitten was brought to her, though as her shivering grew more violent it squirmed from her grasp and scratched her hand. Near dawn, Jaehaerys bolted to his feet shouting that a dragon was needed, that his daughter must have a dragon, and ravens took wing for Dragonstone, instructing the Dragonkeepers there to bring a hatchling to the Red Keep at once.

None of it mattered. A day and a half after she had woken her mother from sleep complaining of feeling cold, the little princess was dead. The queen collapsed in the king’s arms, shaking so violently that some feared she had the Shivers too.”

—Fire & Blood - Volume I

May 19, 2019

Standing before the Iron Throne, Dany steps forward and kisses the man she loves. A perfect kiss, an expression of pure love and passion.

We push in on them until we’re tight on their faces – their eyes closed, his hand behind her head, her hand on his cheek.

Dany’s eyes open suddenly as she draws a sharp breath.

Jon’s eyes open as well, already filling with tears. For a moment, neither moves, as if moving will make this real.

In a wider angle, we see Jon with his hand still on the hilt of the dagger he just lodged in Dany’s heart.

Her strength leaves her and she collapses to the marble; he keeps her in his arms as she falls, kneeling down to the floor beside her.

He looks down at what he’s done. Terrible. And necessary. He hopes for one last moment with her.

But her eyes are already glazing over. Winter has come to the Throne Room. Dany lies dead in his arms, Pieta-style, as the snow drifts down.

—GAME OF THRONES “The Iron Throne” - Written by David Benioff & D.B. Weiss - Based on A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin

January 19, 2020

WELT: Again: We know what will happen to the Mother of Dragons. How do you want to surpass that in a novel – with an alternative literary version?

GRRM: Counter question: How many children did Scarlett O'Hara have? In Margaret Mitchell’s novel “Gone with the Wind” she had three children. But in the cinema version of the novels she only had one child. Which version is the only one valid - the one with one or the other with three children? The answer is: neither. Because Scarlett O'Hara never existed, she is a fictional character, not a real person, who would have had real children. Or take “The Little Mermaid”. We know her from the fairytale of the same name by Hans Christian Andersen and from the Disney movie. Which one is the true mermaid? Well, mermaids do not exist. So you can chose the version that you personally like the best. Changes are inevitable in this process. Even if the adaption is as faithful to the literary source material as it was the case with “Game of Thrones”.

—GEORGE R. R. MARTIN “Die Leute kennen ein Ende – nicht das Ende” - WELT 2020 - (Translation)

April 18, 2021

Q: It is my impression that there are parallels between Westeros history and current events in ASOIAF. so in your opinion to what degree is George martin’s history cyclical? Because we have a lot of parallels. For example with the current history and the dance of the dragons.

Elio: You know George even uses that line from talking about the the arms of house Toland, the dragon eating its tail, but it was from the Archmaester Rigney which is a reference to Robert Jordan the writer of the wheel of time, that history is a wheel or time as a circle. I think George certainly deliberately sees, creates parallels. I mean this is a very obvious example, you know if you read The World of Ice and Fire, you saw the family tree of the Targaryens, and the family tree for Jaehaerys and his offspring changes quite a lot when fire and blood comes out. Because George realized that he wanted to create a kind of parallel by introducing another Daenerys. and he said like, i like the symmetry of it, I like the the sort of the way. You could perhaps read it as reflecting on Daenerys’s story, maybe. I wish it was true. I mean I think fans of Daenerys need to be really worried about what’s going to happen to her. Although I guess Game of Thrones maybe has revealed kind of where things may possibly end. Again the journey is going to be very different. I think you know circumstances, things are going to be very different. So there’s a journey that matters. But in any case, so yes I think George uses cycles and things a bit. He likes setting up parallels of events, he likes paralleling characters, he likes paralleling events, and he likes paralleling the past and the present as well.

Linda: I think certainly that when he fleshed out the details of Fire and Blood, even when he first did the sidebars for The World of Ice and Fire, and they just grew. We could see that, okay here he’s looking at foreshadowing or commenting on current events by doing a similar scenario in the past and he definitely likes to play around with those aspects.

[Source]

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#anon asks #targies gonna targ #tsk tsk #chronicle of a death foretold #grrm #daenerys targaryen

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

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Can I please have a short story of the prompt of the human reader being used as a sheild, and the human has a communicator allowing the bots to trace their signal? And can I please have ratchet, tailgate, cyclones, and drift for this?

I have headcannons for now because I'm spread really thin lately, but I hope you like it! Also I love this prompt in particular because every bot on the ship needs to be told how special and wonderful they are, and what better way to show them than by shouting their praises at an enemy with ample swearing?

Part One: Here!

Part Two: You're Here!

Ratchet

·Your relationship to the medic had allowed some of the restraint he needed for his high stress job to rub off on you, but that's also true of his testiness, so when you reach your breaking point it's quite the sight. The bot that kidnapped you for a ransom learns the loud way just how passionately you adore your grumpy bot when they crack another joke about Ratchet's age and you simply lose it. Held back by your chains, you crack that the bot who kidnapped you couldn't accomplish what Ratchet has if they had a billion years to do so, and what right do they have to insult when they look the way they do? "Call him old all you want, he looks better now than you ever have and ever will!"

·Perhaps it's the fact that the tiny human just insulted their appearance of all things, but the bot is frozen at the communicator, and somehow that makes you angrier. It's clearer to you now than ever before why Ratchet hurls wrenches at the bots that annoy him; nothing would be more satisfying than the "thunk" of a well aimed projectile at this jerk's head. As it stands you're willing to settle for using your words as the only weapons you have. Laughing bitterly, you ask your captor if they're only able to win an argument with bots that can't fight back, which would explain why they need you as a shield AND the corpses they keep as company. The last dig actually gets them moving towards you with a threat, but when they refer to Ratchet as your "rusty old paramour" you get a renewed burst of rage and go off once more.

·"Are you seriously trying to insult Ratchet of all bots?! Do you have any idea what he's capable of?! How many lives he's saved?! What have you accomplished lately, huh?! Besides EXTORTION?!" Feeling a tad bit flushed, it's impossible not to go all out in your tirade, especially because it feels so darn good after suffering in silence for so long. It doesn't hurt that you have so much material to work with either. This raging jerk is living in a corpse filled lair and kidnapping humans to ransom them off for cash, and they're going after one of the greatest medics the Autobots ever had? Cutting them down to size should be classified as doing the universe a favor! If you weren't so incredibly frustrated, and dangling from chains, you might have found this enjoyable.

·"Seriously! Ratchet does more good for the universe in a week than you could do in a lifetime! Plus, you think age is holding him back?! The bot walks right off the battlefield after carving up bad guys like you, only to waltz into the medibay to patch up everyone else, on a daily basis!" Though not impressed, it does appear that your captor is rethinking some things, and perhaps actually realizing they've made a pretty formidable enemy. Had that not been such a flagrantly obvious fact you'd have been satisfied. Instead you just keep going, your intense love for your docbot mingling with your frustration to pour forth in a never-ending stream of loving threats. Only a total power outage cuts off a tangent about how Ratchet's age has not impacted his ability or endurance in "other areas" of your relationship either...

·The darkness is broken by flashing lights and the crackle of energy weapons firing all around, and you just manage to catch some familiar colors flashing through the dark before a very welcome red and white frame swoops in to carefully slice you out of the chains with a laser scalpel. There's just enough time to catch a smile overflowing with emotion before you're taken into gentle hands, and as Ratchet takes you back to the ship you get a glimpse of your very roughed up kidnapper being cuffed by the remaining crew. Your partner takes you straight to the medical bay, fussing over you all the way and asking a thousand questions about your wellbeing, but without any of his usual gruffness as he does so. In fact, he's probably the softest you've ever seen him. The smile never once leaves his face as he insists on getting you fed and rested and to bed where he pulls the covers over you himself.

·In the aftermath he almost seems to melt in your presence, losing most of his grumpy persona every time he's with you no matter how long or difficult a day he's had. Though you obviously don't mind, a couple bots let you know that when you were kidnapped he was the closest to losing control anyone had ever seen him. He'd been shouting and cursing until you had interrupted the latest communication with your captor, at which point he'd been so shocked others had needed to rush in and take advantage of the prolonged signal. Evidently, hearing you defend him as you did had rocked his world in the best possible way. Between working a stressful and often thankless profession, and not ever hearing you shout in such a way before, he's been touched to learn he could be loved by someone who appreciates him as you do. It's enough to keep even the worst of grumpy days from affecting him.

Tailgate

·Truth be told, your greatest concern when you were kidnapped was for your tiny SO, as his propensity for panic could result in some very unpleasant anxiety attacks while he and the others try to rescue you. That worry on his behalf turned to fury when your kidnapper refused to stop mocking the little bot for everything from his size to his age and even for supposedly choosing an organic solely to be taller than someone. It's enough to make you see red, and your limit is quickly reached as a result of the cowardly bullying. Your explosive bout of rage is a scream of frustration that quickly morphs into an unstoppable tirade that pulls no punches. Has this big jerk been planning this for any length of time you ask, because if so, you know a couple of sparklings that could think of more mature insults!

·"Really?! You make fun of bots for being short?! He's also blue, you want to pick on him for something arbitrary, why limit yourself?!" You know it's not the smoothest insult, but darn it all, you can't bring yourself to think straight with all this rage. This bot needs to hear what an absolute creep and bully they are, because seriously who gloats like a real life cartoon villain? When they leave the communicator and try to get in your face you're only further incensed, channeling your tiny partner's courage as you wish beyond the telling of it you could punch the jerk into silence. "If there's gonna be insults, how about I open the floor to some genuine digs? Because your ugly mug is a GOLDMINE of material, okay?! Seriously, does Unicron ask YOU for beauty tips?!"

·There's sputtering in response, which you just take as a go ahead to tear them apart, because at this point you're not sure if you can really stop. After all, record shattering hideous face aside, what does this bot actually have to offer? Tailgate has saved millions! Faced with multiple varieties of death, he took out the guy hellbent on committing species wide genocide, and he doesn't even brag about it! You rub that in your captors face with all the pride you have for your partner spurring you on, hoping that you get a chance to tell Tailgate what a source of inspiration he was in these moments. At the very least you'll have to tell him how your captor froze at the enraged shouting. "Plus, Tailgate has actual friends! People LIKE him, unlike you, who I'm guessing doesn't entertain often based on the corpses you leave lying around!"

·A last ditch attempt to shut you up with a few lame threats just gets you laughing, in part because you can't believe this bot ever thought they were going to succeed at this. "You didn't even bother to check up on who you're making an enemy of, did you? I doubt it, because if you did, you'd know Tailgate has made paperweights out of bots much tougher than you!" Perhaps it's a little macabre, but it's endlessly satisfying to see your captor flinch as you describe what an absolute powerhouse your partner is, particularly how he uses his small size to levy his strength in the most destructive ways possible. It's delightful enough that, as you begin to brag about the benefits of his size relative to yours and his strength working together in more intimate settings, only something like an earthquake stops you.

·Chained as you are, there's no way to get a clear look at your captor as they attempt to flee, but thankfully the ground stills just in time to let you see the cavalry arrive. Lost Light bots pour in to stop the automated defenses from doing much at all, and in a brilliant blue and white blur your kidnapper is punched full to unconsciousness by what might as well have been a meteorite. It's only when said force of nature runs to free you and a tearful blue visor meets your eyes that you recognize Tailgate. The minibot gets you down in a hurry and embraces you in as tight a hug as is safe, talking a mile a minute about his worries and how sorry he is you had to go through all this. After assuring him he doesn't have to beat up your captor any further, you let him carry you back to the ship, getting nuzzled all the while.

·In between far more frequent cuddle sessions from the absolutely enamored Tailgate, you get pulled aside by a couple bots who just want to let you know what an impact your brave speech had on the minibot. While inconsolable during your kidnapping, to the point of swapping between rage and tears every few minutes, he'd been visibly awed once he heard you go off in his defense. That makes you understand everything far more clearly; this bot has been unsure of his self worth for so long, so hearing you face down a much larger foe because you love him so much that their taunting him drove you to frenzy... Knowing he's loved like that changed his entire worldview. You can see it in his visor every time he looks at you, and feel it in every buzzing hug, how grateful he is to have found someone who loves him.

Cyclonus

·Dating a bot capable of triggering enemy surrender with a glance requires a strong will, mostly to endure the endless questions from bots confused as to how you got Cyclonus to ask you out, but today you find yourself facing a whole new level of irritation. Though the bot that kidnapped you is obviously no match for your towering partner, they still mock the big mech through radio like they're some kind of badass, taunting him for debasing himself and growing soft by dating a fleshy. Regardless of how hard Cyclonus has worked to open up to you, hearing the personal jabs makes something within snap and go nuclear, resulting in a war cry your partner would be proud of as you rattle your chains for emphasis.

·"Can you just CAN IT with the insults?! We all know that if this fleshy wasn't here as your shield, you'd be fleeing to the other end of the galaxy!" You waste no time getting right to the heart of what's so infuriating about your captor; their spineless and cowardly nature is so obvious beneath the sneering mockery it makes you literally sick. Seeing how completely they freeze at your jab just proves your point in your mind. What, were they just expecting you to be quiet forever after dealing with THEM for the past few hours? Was the idea of resistance that surprising to them?! The calm maturity you picked up from Cyclonus is matched only by the capacity for righteous fury learned from the same source, and it's the latter that breaks out in glorious fashion.

·"Oh, what, nothing to say? No moronic insults for someone who can actually talk back? Do you need your debate opponents to be silent so you can think of a rebuttal?!" Your almost sarcastic jab actually earns you a demand to be silent, but it's so lacking in authority you can only laugh, despite not feeling any less furious with the situation. It's bad enough to be kidnapped and chained up, but by someone this incompetent? Being a tiny fraction of their size doesn't make you feel any less embarrassed for having been caught by them. It's enough frustration to make you snap again when they start coming in close, especially as another insult is levied at Cyclonus for having chosen a human so unpleasant due to his age and miserable attitude. The words are little more than kerosene on your already burning anger.

·"Do you really think you get to accuse Cyclonus of having a miserable attitude, you inept excuse for a kidnapper?! I'd rather have a conversation with these corpses than you! Not to mention, Cyclonus isn't limited to insulting people whenever he talks, unlike you!" The tirade is perhaps nonsensical with how passionately you begin to praise your partner's command of verse, but you're far too lost in your genuine adoration to care, especially as you begin to relay how wonderfully enticing his singing is to you. Every time your captor tries to command silence you just jump to yet another feature that makes your heart flutter, riding on the high of how incredibly good it feels to rub it all in their flustered face as you go. An attempt at describing his passionate grasp of verse around specific topics is stopped only by a door flying off its hinges in a burst of shattered metal.

·Security forces do nothing as a hulking purple figure enters through the smoke of considerable destruction, and your captor is left paralyzed with fear as they're hefted up by a clawed hand, one you're so relieved to see you can't help calling out their name. Cyclonus is content to toss the criminal to the rest of the crew as they arrive, and actually smiles once he beholds you safe. Freeing you of your bonds, he doesn't drop the chains until they're wrapped about your captor for some poetic justice. After that, you're carried to the nearest private spot on the ship and embraced without hesitation, the giant arms that have held you before almost shaking as he whispers how grateful he is to have you back. For an instant he sheds genuine tears when you hug him in return.

·Though the intensity of his emotions isn't as extreme as when he rescued you going forward, the big bot is far more open about his feelings than ever before, even showing them in full view of others. Surprised but not at all displeased, you are however quite thrown for a loop when someone recounts how incredibly worried he was during your kidnapping, in that he had to be convinced not to go after you alone and gouged some unfortunate furniture as he listened to the communications. Yet the moment you started your tirade, he was shocked to a whole new kind of silence. It's obvious that he hadn't even been able to process it at first, but now is fully overwhelmed and grateful for your love as he never was before. Hearing himself defended by someone he adores more than anything changed his perspective of himself, as well as his outlook on life, for how could he not see the beauty of a universe that had given him you?

Drift

·Sort of an interstellar hippy in his own way, Drift has taught you a lot about remaining calm through meditation, saying that a clear mind and control over anger is key to surviving high stress situations. The same philosophy is what he instructed you to use when others mocked his past, as he claims to be used to it and doesn't want anyone angering you on his behalf. This doesn't stop you from simmering in your current situation, dangling from chains as you might be, and admittedly being kidnapped tends to shorten one's fuse. Perhaps that's why you explode so dramatically when your abductor opens up the communication line just to mock your partner by claiming he hardly should be upset by an organic dying, considering his past, and that this current "relationship" is probably just a redemption stunt. That final mistake sets you off on a legendary tirade.

·"Are you KIDDING me?! You want to talk about STUNTS you wannabe kidnapping loser?! Do you have a projection disorder or something?! Because unlike you, Drift doesn't actually have to PROVE anything!" Never in your life have you wished to be the same height as the bots to this degree, granted though it's only because you want to strangle this jerk purely for the satisfaction of throttling them. Drift has worked to be better, and jabs about his past hurt him deeply, despite what he says. What right does this loser have to use that against him? You're so worked up fear isn't in your catalog of emotions when your captor tries to threaten you with physical harm. All you see is an overhyped grifter who got lucky, and you make that abundantly clear.

·"What, are you going to try threatening me, really? Am I supposed to be afraid of bluster now?!" The sight of a tiny organic growing red in the face with rage actually seems to give the bad bot pause, in part because you're so flushed they have to wonder if humans have a secret explosive ability that you're presently charging up. Admittedly you do feel like you might pop, but that's only because it's impossible to unleash all of your anger in a way that's truly satisfying, and you're left with spouting all the very justified insults that spring to mind. One particular thing that galvanizes your anger; how is this jerk pretending they would stand a chance against Drift?! The bot may be a literal ray of sunshine to you, but you're well aware of what he can do to enemies, and you doubt your kidnapper is in the dark about your paramour's combat prowess.

·"Would you be playing the big tough bot if he were anywhere near here?! Or if you didn't have me as a shield?! Because I doubt you'd last a moment in a one on one!" You shout, your tone of vitriol somewhat humorous considering that the point is a very valid one. While not afraid of Drift in the slightest, you know being on his bad side can be fatal in impressively short order. Perhaps that's why his soft approach to your relationship is even better. It's so special to you that in your current state you can't help but brag aggressively, going on about what a wonderful bot he is and that this loser could never hope to best him in combat or personality. Seeing them rethink it all just adds fuel to your fire, but before you can really get going on how Drift's gentle mannerisms extend to the bedroom you're interrupted by a cacophony of unfathomable origin.

·One of the entrances to the room you're in is sliced open by what you swear has to be ten swords at once, but as soon as it's down and the wielder charges in, you see only two held by a very angry looking Drift. Though accompanied by ample backup, he's an army of one as he reduces the security to pieces and almost dices up your captor. Only some obviously difficult self control lets him immobilize the bot instead. Not wasting time, your partner leaves the bad guy for the others to hurry to your side, his expression beaming with unmatched happiness and relief as he cuts you free and catches you in cupped hands. Shameless kisses and a million questions about whether or not you're hurt are your prelude to an open embrace. Never minding public affection in the past, he's still at a new level all the way back to the ship and in the days that follow.

·It's impossible not to go an hour without a loving nuzzle against your forehead, and whenever you aren't looking Drift is in the corner of your eye with an absolutely lovestruck expression on his sweet face, to the point you halfway imagine there could be hearts in his optics. Rodimus himself tells you in confidence that the unshakable ninjabot was barely able to keep himself steady after your kidnapping, obviously holding back a hurricane of pain and grief within his spark, but that changed in a flash as soon as he heard you. Accustomed to being derided, he'd been unprepared for such a passionate defense from anyone. Hearing you shout his praises had nearly driven him to tears. The pain of his past and the exclusion he faces for it has worn him down, to the point he often believes himself to be irredeemable, but you've made him have hope for himself for the first time in eons. Your love makes him see what he's done right, and from now on, he fully intends to give you and himself more to be proud of every day.

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luna-rainbow · 3 years

Text

meta: implantation for prosthesis

Okay I wrote an entire essay on this and decided no one was going to be interested because it was so technical so I spent hours rewriting it but it turned out to be an essay anyway….

I hope this is helpful for anyone writing fics about Bucky’s time in Hydra cos you really don’t need to think up new torture methods when you consider the medical procedures he had to go through…

The TL;DR version: Bucky's implant doesn't obey the laws of biophysics but neither does Steve's shield; all that matters is they both look cool.

As you can see from this picture, compared to what I referred to in the amputation meta, the amputation level has moved from forearm (transhumeral) to above shoulder (probably forequarter) level.

How was Bucky's arm implanted?

The thing about Bucky's prosthesis and the way it's implanted is we don't have anything close to it in the real world, and there are some practical issues with it.

I dislike anatomy too but we gotta see it to understand, so bear with me.

What's important about this picture? Look at the ball and socket joint. The glenoid cavity i.e. "the socket" is basically a tea plate to the golf “ball” of the humerus - you rock it hard enough and the ball will fall out (e.g. shoulder dislocations). It's held in place by tendons and muscles that are built for mobility rather than durability, which is why rotator cuff tears are so common (and annoyingly debilitating when they do happen). To add to that mobility, the socket is formed by the shoulder blade/scapula, which itself is just a dinner plate sliding across the back of the rib cage, held in place only by a few flaps of muscles. Now look at that flimsy clavicle, then at that tiny point of contact between the clavicle and the sternum - that is the only attachment the shoulder has with the main (axial) skeleton.

What I'm getting at is that the entire human shoulder stays in place by the sheer miracle of opposing tendons and muscles and ligaments. This means at Bucky's level of amputation, all the things that hold the arm onto the body are gone, and just fusing metal components onto what remains is not going to cut it.

But he's still got his pecs, you say. Maybe he's still got his scapula, which means he'll also have his rotator cuffs. Yes, that brings me to the other unrealistic issue about his implant. In real life, we simply don't have the technology to do this - the components we have bond to bone but do not bond to soft tissue, i.e. muscles, fat and skin. Even if you have muscles left you can't attach them in a way that holds the joint on.

Directly attaching metal next to skin, as it appears for Bucky, has its own problems. One of the newest techniques these days is interosseus implants (Source), which inserts a metal shaft into a long bone and attaches the prosthesis at the end. A major drawback is fluid leak and infection because the soft tissue simply does not bond to the metal and form a good seal over/around it, so you essentially have a chronic open wound going all the way through to bone.

In Bucky's case, he doesn't even have any long bones left to even consider this technique. Where are you going to attach an entire arm? The clavicle? The ribs? The flappy scapula? Have you seen how easily these bones snap like legit grannies just have to trip over and they'll crack 8 ribs on the way down.

Of all the ways Bucky was attacked and injured in CACW, this is the one scene that makes me wince every time. That’s what, a 10 meter drop? I know what you’re thinking Bucky - it's gonna look impressive in front of Steve. Well, GOOD F**KING JOB BUCK YOU'VE JUST RIPPED YOUR IMPLANT OUT OF YOUR BONES. On a scale of "freezing yourself in cryo" to "breaking Zemo out of jail" can you STOP being such a self-destructive drama queen for FIVE minutes and—

Okay, but Bucky's arm is canon. Can it theoretically work if we take into account futuristic technology and super soldier serum?

So let's talk about what it needs to achieve: - Very strong attachment to axial skeleton WITHOUT use of muscles/tendons - Full range of motion as a normal human arm - Ability to connect to neural supply (won't go into detail in this post)

Let's pretend the metal-skin interface won't be a major issue because of better skin healing/better materials.

Even with the serum's healing/durability, the implant still needs a stronger attachment than a single clavicle. One (imaginary) possibility is having most of his left ribs and clavicle filled by (not replaced by) implants with attachment sites, to which the metal arm actually attaches. This distributes the loading forces more evenly throughout his thorax. Remember though the weak point is always at connection points, and at high enough impacts something will give, and if it's not his bones it'll be the metal work, and that will still hurt.

That leaves the issue of scapular movements. I just want you to take a moment to appreciate the many directions this bone flap spins in. It’s vital in positioning the shoulder relative to the rib cage, and it’s every anatomy student’s nightmare (or dream, I guess, depending on which end of the spectrum you fall).

Two (imaginary) possibilities: this is built into the prosthesis - ie the scapula is removed and jointed components pull the shoulder across the rib cage - this method means more bone/muscle have to be removed. The second is if they develop technology to attach muscle to metal implant, and I almost don’t want to think about that possibility because the amount of experimentation that would take, the amount of muscle tears and tendon rupture and repeat surgical procedures and pain is just horrific to consider.

CBB reading all that, can you just tell me what it practically means for Bucky?

He would have to: - Undergo multiple revisions to reach his current level of amputation: this could be from unsalvageable implant failures or injuries forcing them to go up higher (amputate more) for attachment points. - Undergo multiple rounds of experimental implant techniques: failures in those early decades are common due to the materials used and the immature techniques. Metal shattering within bone or snapping outside of bone can happen especially at the huge forces he puts the arm through. For perspective, people are advised against running after a hip replacement because that counts as "high impact" ARE YOU LISTENING TO THIS BUCKY. - Complications? Pain, infection (painful), bleeding (painful), nerve damage (painful), fractures (painful), implants breaking (painful), rejection of implant material (painful), reaction to sediments produced by crappy implant material (painful). I don't know if you see a common theme or... - After each surgery there will be a necessary healing time (even for a super soldier) where he will be vulnerable while the bone heals.

All of this suggests - and not to minimise what Isaiah was able to do single-handedly - that the early Winter Soldier was not the sleek machine that Steve fought, and was likely far more prone to injury and damage.

And finally, as a heartfelt thank you for getting this far, someone pointed out that Bucky cradles his metal hand for comfort. That itself suggests that despite the amount of pain that he inevitably endured to get a functioning prosthesis - his life was infinitely worse without it.

#bucky barnes #meta #tw: amputation #tw: injury #medical meta #your daily dose of pain #long post #looooong post #stucky meta

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dariaslore · 3 years

Text

Birds

Set during the Coven's days. Griffin finds out about Valtor's demon form and things may be darker than they seem. Will she go away? Warnings: angst, dark stuff, some contents may be triggering.

She couldn't sleep.

He had told her he would be away all night, when dark magic was stronger and could be practiced at the highest levels. It was one of the many training sessions with his mothers, her presence wasn't allowed this time, the meeting was strictly reserved to the wizard and the three witches. At first they didn't take place frequently, but since a few months, now that the Company of Light was proving to be more of a threat, she had found herself spending more nights alone than usual, holed up in the mansion's library, waiting for his return. He came back extremely tired, without even the strenght to speak, his only desire was to lose himself in the night, hugging her like a safe port.

That night, too much time had gone by. It was three in the morning and he still wasn't by her side. Anxiety was devouring her, tossing and turning in bed, then she would get up and walk back and forth the room, trying to kill time. She would grab a book just to throw it away a minute later. Half a cigarette smoked, the rest was garbage, now she would light up a new one. She couldn't find peace, she knew the three witches and every scar on Valtor's body as well. They always wanted more and more and were never satisfied, he was up for anything just to gain a bit of their approval. And this was lethal.

She left the room they shared and, as her feet were pounding on the floor faster and faster, looked for the room where training usually took place. And there he was.

Gasping, hands shaking and her gaze caught by fear.

She opened the door. The pungent smell of iron flooded her nostrils. She decided to follow its scent. She felt her airway closing and blurring sight, icy needles paralyzed her heart. Her vocal cords refused to vibrate the unspeakable horror in front of her eyes. A connection had been cut off, her pulsating golden irises were screaming and the sound was dying inside of them.

She saw him tossed into the darkest corner of the room, like a used and forgotten toy.

Bowed head, his face hidden by his blond hair in an act of shameless shame. He was shaking, had goosebumps, and she could see his ribs move through the swollen white skin as he breathed. He had never looked so thin and frail, his figure so thin compared to the red scales that swallowed him bite after bite. They started sporadic from his chest and then slowly thicken on his arms and hands deformed into long claws. They painted the portrait of a beast and found maximum expression in the two huge red wings wrapped in a shield, protecting him from the cold of the outside world in an embrace. It looked like the monster was trying to save its own prey. It emphasized the misery, the greatness and strength of the red hunter and the labored breathing of its pale victim. Naked and with his back torn.

Blood overflowed copiously, snaked elegantly dragging its red vital flow downstream, it marked the grooves of his ribs and suddenly fell silent, insinuating itself between the inanimate tiles of the mosaic on the floor. His milky skin was imprisoned in a network of faults of flesh torn apart by the fiercest of beasts. It was scarred, its edges matched perfectly with the width of the claws of his hands, she could feel their power sink into his taut muscle fibers, stretch them to the ends like springs, and tear them away as waste material, a further obstacle to the main organ that he was burning to find. So he dug again, and again, in an unbridled greed for a proof of his humanity. The pain wasn't enough, he wouldn't stop until his claws gripped his beating heart. He had to tear the flesh, the dress of his existence that now felt too tight with the darkness that threatened to overflow and pick him up again in its coils.

"Go away..." he murmured.

Valtor had perceived her presence ever since she had stepped in, fear washing through her veins. She was the last person in the universe who could see him reduced to that. He trusted her, she had been the first person to dig under his surface of powerful narcissist wizard, making him discover a different person. Before her were all the things that weren't and would never be. He was never going to sleep with anyone, he did with her, he had never had a real friend, his mothers had taught him to calculate everything based on utility and how anyone was just a pawn on a chessboard. He had aquaintances, many flirts with countless women and men, and he was never the one in love. And neither were they. For each of his lovers he already knew, the moment when he left their bed, that all that would remain was one more meaningless hot night, an exercise of the word love. They all carried out in the same way, with an absence of words, and he was conscious of being but an object of lust due to his body and his power. And then, she came into his life, the only woman immune to his fiery charme and who even seemed to hate him. He had never spent an entire night on a sofa eating junk food and talking of the most diverse topics, he did with her. He had never received a hug, she hugged him, after a mission with a positive resolution. He never cared for the feelings of others, now he couldn't stand sadness to veil her eyes. She had occupied his heart and not only he loved her madly, she was also his best and only friend. He trusted her, but he didn't trust himself and the monstruosity living inside of him.

"Valtor..."

She couldn't believe it was him. She spelled his name with dragging slowness, almost reluctant to attribute the name of the man she loved to that foul creature. It was him, it had taken two words, a plead to walk out the door and go away.

"Griffin, please, go away, now."

"You're hurt" she said when the only thing her spinning mind could still focus on were his wounds.

"Go away!"

"I wanna help you."

A loud roar cut through the air, and she found herself on the ground, overcome by the power of his claws. It burned and shone bright red on her thigh between the silk of her nightgown, it wasn't too deep, a shallow cut. He had hurt her on purpose for the first time.

Another scream and another sob. Valtor was looking at his hands with wide eyes. He was forced to protect her in the only way his other self knew: violence.

"Are you happy now I've hurt you? Help me? Who do you want to help, a beast? I'm a freak. Look at me Griffin, look!" he cried amid sobs that threatened to suffocate him, too large and noisy that struck his lungs like prisoners in a desperate flight to freedom. A distorted chant broke his larynx, his swan song.

Lying on the floor with an itching cut and blurred thinking, she saw right through Valtor.

She had already heard of those feathered winged creatures earthlings believed in. She realized he was an angel. A fallen one.

He wasn't born for all of this. He was a creature of pure light bound to an eternal exile in darkness, and although the flame that burned within him tended to return to its original light source, it was held back by the iron fist of darkness. She was a creature of the dark too, a witch, but she had decided to be one, he was tainted and that made him the greatest shadow of all. The monster that enveloped him, moving the threads of his very existence, fed every day on the fiery light of his soul, now reduced to a mere flame. His monstrousness came from this destructive coexistence between light and dark, in which only one of the two would have definitively won. The flame burned, it couldn't keep silent and was responsible for his injured back. Darkness was close to him, so he had scratched it off, like a stain on a piece of precious silverware, he wanted to perform a desperate act of purification through his blood to finally wash himself away from the darkness and to get back to the pure light being he had always been meant to be. At least once.

It was written in his eyes which were shyly looking at her through his hair's wheat strands, although he tried to hide them under layers of ice and indifference. His pupils were imprisoned in a web of red capillaries, but they still managed to keep their last drop of pure humanity. It wasn't the same look he gave her every night as he adored her body, neither that of the sarcastic and ironic wizard, it was the one of every time his mothers would have criticized him, of when he tried in every way possibile to impress her, just to snatch her a compliment or a smile. In those moments he tore his heart out of his chest and fed it to his tormentor, craving for trivial affections.

She got up from the floor confident and proud, knowing what to do.

"Go away!" he yelled.

Griffin approached him ignoring all his moans and wrapped his face in her warm hands and traced every feature with her fingers. She felt the difference of texture between his skin and the red scales staining it. She stroked his nose, forehead and lips. She raised the corners of his lips, uncovering white fangs. She smiled and kissed him. Just a smack.

He was blown away, stuck in an idyll that tasted of her. Adrenaline was rushing, he had made it.

She grabbed his hand and looked him straight in the eye, the gold of her irises had never been so metallic. Maybe tired of lies, the purple-haired witch was so determined and a slave to curiosity that she delved into the darkest of truths, even one that would harm her. It wasn't over, she knew it. He was trying to play it cool, but with his eyes in a runaway dance and his smile crooked to the left, he had the classic facial expression of a child who had succeeded in getting away with something.

"Is that all? Is there anything else I should know?" she asked firmly.

That question was a cold shower. He shook his head. He was lying, there was so much more she should have known, the whole side of himself he never had control over. What she was seeing now was just a glimpse of the monster he saw every morning in the mirror, when all humanity crumbled to pieces and his eyes lost their pupils. But he still didn't want that kiss between them to be the last. She would have loved him until there was but a drop of man in him, but after that?

"You're lying Valtor. Show me, don't hold it back"

"Please, I can't!"

She would have run away. He was trying to become human again and she was asking him to show her the monster.

"Just do it!" she ordered, clenched fists and fixed pupils.

"Why are you doing this Griffin?"

She didn't answer him. She was emanating ice from all over her body, posture was stiff, back straight and lips tightened. She wouldn't give up until she got what she wanted.

He started changing, his body turning into the twisted fantasy of three long gone witches, and soon all human features were erased from his face. Stripped of his blond hair, abandoned to the ugliness of his inner skeleton. Now he was way bigger than her, the monster's palm almost the size of her entire face. All his senses were on the alert, looking for the easiest way to kill, the purpose for which it had been built. What she was in front of was a machine ready to kill, plus her neck was so thin.

She didn't even flinch. She did exactly what she had done beforehand. She watched the monster's facial expressions changing, how his blue stoney eyes were boring into her body, finding the most effective way to kill her. And then as if she had read his mind, placed that exact same palm she had held before around her fragile neck, playing the beast's game.

"It would be so easy, wouldn't it?

Damn, it would. The demon could feel her neck cracking under its strength and the air leaving her lungs in her last attempt to breathe.

"Squeeze, what are you waiting for?" she said giggling, but an invisible force was holding the creature back, incapable of applying any pressure. It screamed with rage, not realizing what was going on and why the smile on her face was getting progressively bigger and brighter. She enjoyed the fear flushing down her veins, it was too much to handle and that was making her steady. With her mind blank, she leaned over and with its hand still over her neck, kissed the creature on its mouth.

Leathery red scales began to retreat like clouds after a storm, finally letting his white skin breathe. The demon, his wings were gone.

Valtor broke down in her arms. He was too tired to express the growing happiness inside. He couldn't believe it, something like this had never happened before, getting rid of the other Valtor so quickly was an intangible dream. Everytime his mothers made him assume that form, he would spend hours of excruciating pain, waiting for the beast's claws to disappear. He holed up in the darkness, allowing himself to be consumed bite by bite, seeking in his mind an end to his labyrinth of torment. She had been the first one to get him out of there, a gleam of light at the end of the tunnel. He hoped it could've lasted forever.

He plunged into her eyes like a lost puppy, letting her capture his soul in her thick lashes.

"Don't I scare you? How can you kiss that beast? You must kill the monster Griffin, I'm begging you! Free me, save me, I can't bear it anymore! "

The more he tried to chase it away, the more he felt it crawl through his veins like a poisonous liquid. It was choking him from the inside, he could feel it making its way through his mind, it was making fun of his neurons in a black pool. He felt his head throbbing, unable to contain all that anger and hatred. He screamed in pain in a soundless space, one day he would tear his skull to pieces

"Where are you ?!" he said screaming at the top of his lungs. He couldn't see straight anymore, his whole body shaking with anxiety, blood rushing through his veins and his heart loudly pounding in his chest.

"Hush, I'm right here. I'm holding you, see?"

"D-don't leave ..." he begged her and rested his head on her chest.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm with you, look at me." She cupped his chin in her hand, so he could meet her gaze again.

"Come on, we must get to our room, your wounds are bleeding."

"Your thigh..." he glanced at her leg with his face twisted in horror. Guilt building up.

"It's just a scratch. A pinch of magic and it will go away. It doesn't even burn anymore!" Griffin tried to reassure him.

She concentrated and teleported them to their room in a quick snap of fingers.

"Can you stand up?" she asked him.

"I- I ..."

"Don't worry, I'll hold you. You can do it."

She put an arm around his shoulder and tried to hold him by the waist, taller and heavier than her, backing him was hard: she had to.

Valtor stood up. Pangs of pain. He was weak, his knees buckling, joints croaking, it was as if his bones were breaking from the inside out on by one. He groaned in protest.

"I know, hold on, it's just one more step."

He freed himself of her grip and met the soft mattress of the bed they shared.

Griffin helped him sit up, covered his lower body with blankets, then she placed her hands on his back, focused and chanted a spell. Wet: blood between her fingers. The magic tickled the torn cells giving them a smoother edge.

"I'll be right back." she said. Then she rushed to the bathroom and, in the wooden cabinet, she found a cotton cloth, some ointments, flasks and some bandages. His wounds were too extensive and deep, she had managed to stop the bleeding and somehow reduce their size, now she had to worry about disinfecting.

"This will hurt just a bit."

"Get your hands off of me, now!"

He spun around, his voice high and firm, swollen veins and a sunken neck. It was a defensive act, it seemed to her the desperate move of an hunted animal fleeing its tormentors, veins darting with fear and aggressive bearing, pretending to be the one who holds power. But she wasn't his mothers, she couldn't get upset, he wasn't lucid and this complete reversal of attitude was proof of that. He no longer held the reins of his thoughts, he was finally letting them gallop on their own, fragments of past and present intertwined together. He proceeded by associations of ideas in an increasingly blurred time boundary: the disinfectant burned like Tharma's lightnings on his legs.

"Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you." she said. She had all her senses alert, he approached her by burying his nose in the hollow of her neck, he smelled her skin, traces in the air, caught violet and amber.

"It's me. Look, it's just disinfectant." she reassured him by pointing to the bottle on the bedside table.

Valtor retrated, recognizing it was the woman he loved and not one of his mothers in front of him. His heartbeat became slow, shoulders down, now he almost seemed like a lifeless doll in front of her. He let her keep on her work without any complaints. She finished dressing, then she bandaged his wounds in deafening silence, she could only hear his breathing.

"Stay there." she whispered softly heading towards the little wooden cupboard in the room.

It had been her idea, she felt like a stranger in that house and the thought of going down four floors each time to get to the kitchen, risking meeting her witches, made her shiver. Of course, she was much freer than any member of the Coven, somehow the Ancestors respected her, listened to her plans and strategies carefully, never a word of mockery, all she had received in years of service was advice, few compliments and an expression she could not discern. They were alert, analyzing her, looking for flaws and weaknesses, Liliss stammered something out under her breath, the others two nodded. She felt watched, stalked, obsessed with the thought that sooner or later they would've chained her too in their perverse game. For this reason she avoided all actions, tried to keep relationships with the three as detached as possible, remaining a puzzle in front of the witch of illusions was her goal.

She opened the cupboard and placed the material on the table. She put some water in the electric kettle, opened the inlaid wooden casket and began to choose the most suitable herbs, lightly caressed each one, letting the fragrances dance in her lungs.

It reminded her of her dad, as she watched him as a child as he made her a cup of tea whenever she was down in the dumps. He caressed the herbs in his study with delicacy, immersing himself in the pungent smells, then he would call her beside him in that olfactory research, telling her the benefits of each plant and how to make the most of them, and it was the sharp rosemary for healing, mint for stress, balsamic anise. In that little corner of nature, with the well-known brilliant notes of the cedar peel and the skilled hands of her father who mashed the leaves, her mind relaxed.

She waited for the herbs to finish their brewing time, then she poured the tea into a white porcelain cup adding a teaspoon of honey.

"I made you some tea. It'll help you feel better. Open your mouth, please."

She softly blew on the cup, cooling it off just a bit, and brought it to his mouth. Valtor followed her command, the smell was heady, notes of lavender, hawthorn and red tea sang as the hot liquid ran down his throat.

When he had finished to drink, she put the empty cup away and wiped his lips with her thumb. She kissed him on the forehead and let him lay down, tucking the sheets.

"Griffin ..." Valtor suddenly mumbled.

"Tell me."

"I- I ..."

"It's okay, you can tell me whatever you want."

"Why are you not angry? I- I ... hid you a part of me."

She had no right to be angry. She couldn't be when those pure eyes were fixed on hers in search of certainties. He was looking for answers and confirmation in her words, when she at first still could not realize what she had just seen. Such nonsense could not be described and questioning was useless. What could be rational about the cuts he carried behind his back or the red scales that covered him? Nothing.

What was rational about the man usually full of himself who was now trembling with fear in front of her?

"Why should I-"

"You must be."

Rather, he wanted her to be. He wanted her to scream, spit every insult, every slimy truth, so that he could sink into the depths of his self-contempt. Yet, she was calm and taking care of him. He didn't deserve it and couldn't stand her stare full of love that should've been directed towards someone way better than him. He was a hero for trying to save her from the horror that bore his name and a coward for wanting her still by his side. She hadn't run away from fear and it pulled her even closer to his heart. It was killing him.

"I know, I should've told you." he continued. "My mothers created it, something I have no control over. They wanted to try a new spell today and things spiraled out of control and- "

"And you hurt your back." she said.

And it hadn't been even the first time.

He was 7 years old, missing incisors and messy blonde curls, when he used to curl up in a corner and gaze out at the sky and the garden below from the large living room windows. He envied the swallows, they were weak, tiny fragile bones destined for a meal to a larger predator, ephemeral existences with a noose around their necks given by the true and only mother nature, yet they sang, they whirled in the sky unaware of any danger in an eternal spring. It was the same with flowers, they would be waiting a whole year to show off their magnetic colors and then bound to perish in a sweet smell that penetrated his nostrils. They all died in a quick smile, almost a game of darts, they threw themselves at maximum power towards the target of no return, as if they didn't care about the ending, it was just a necessary condition for their fleeting beauty. They slowly went towards death not feeling its weight for their entire existence, nothing more than a momentum. Blink of an eye, his irises were now laying on the various paintings hanging around the room: Liliss had an obsession for art and each painting had to represent a specif mood of hers. There were battle scenes, clanging of swords, diaphanous women with bare breasts standing face to face with a young men gambling in the dim black of oil painting. Stormy seas, forests and then aimless flowers and seagulls. Why were they still? What had stolen their right to chase each other across the sky? Someone had decided to enchant them in a precise instant, in a fixed scene against their will, while their fellows whirled free. He felt sympathy for the water lilies forced not to close and for the always red apple stuck in the basket, perhaps because he himself was a still life, the flying, the wanting, the perishing were out of his will, the one of a lacquered image. It was crystal clear in the definition itself, still life, how could a being stained by nothing have vital momentum since its very conception wanted it still? He was still life. In a frame, sick with rot and alive in the stroke of the eternal puppet position imposed by his mothers. Rot bit into his bones, poisoned his nerves and threw them into a muddy puddle where the reflection did not match his will.

His child self decided he would free every little bird from the canvas and destroy all those paintings, he hated still lives, so he bit his lip as hard as he could until the taste of iron flooded his mouth. He moved on to something else, now the game was scratching his skin to color it pink, holding his breath with the utmost force. He learned to control his flames, wanted to test its power and chose his arms as a target. He was a teenager and as he shortened his hair with scissors, he thought what it must be like to stand in their place and be cut off. And he felt it on his skin. It wasn't like anyone would've noticed, the wounds merged with those inflicted by the Ancestors, leaving cords of raised skin. He was their toy, therefore he demanded to be broken and he would help them by making their job easier. Wasn't it what a good son must do?

"At least my blood is red, isn't it?" he said as he interrupted his flow of thoughts. Lips twisted into a sinister smile and wide eyes.

"Of course it is red, but what do you mean?" she replied bewildered.

"It's good news. I'm a beast, it could've been black or blue as well, but it is red just like yours."

His calm tone spelling poisonous words hit her like a shard leaving her heart shattered.

"You're no beast." she said.

"And what would I be if not a creature? These feelings, this warmth towards you, how do I know they're mine? How do I know they're not controlling me and you're just an illusion of Liliss? Are you real Griffin? Can you answer? "

His pupils dilated, he spoke to her in a swirling crescendo, his voice rose, it cracked, its rhythm accelerated hysterically, breathing short and broken, his fingertips digging deep into her arms' skin.

"You can't love me! You just saw it!" he spat out.

She stared in horror at the atrocity of those words. Reality was mangling her eardrums as a cat scratching on a chalkboard.

"Griffin, these eyes, this hair, are just a wrapper, a beautiful case for the most hideous of gifts. If I hadn't looked like this, would you have even looked at me? Would you have ever spoken to me or would you have run away?" he asked. He asked her what she would've done, when he was the one who wanted to escape the mirror every morning. He saw the monster chuckling there behind him, next to his immaculate reflection, laughing, enjoying the blond's stupidity for wanting to conceal his true essence, as if a line of defined eyeliner and eyebrows would've done the trick.

"You're still making questions." she whispered in wonder.

"I must know!" he screamed. "I need to know if you're willing to love a monster, because ... that's what I am."

Griffin cupped his cheeks, her hands so gentle and soothing, and she smiled, the most beautiful he had ever witnessed, a glimpse of light in the pit of darkness his life was.

"You're still questioning, Valtor. You're the answer. You want me to tell you that you are good, that you are a man, to confirm something that runs in your blood, and you still do not know what it is. The answer is your own self, in your doubts. You are worried, you are taking care of something and in this action there is humanity. I cannot give you the answers you are looking for, but I can say that I feel them here. "

She placed her hand on his heart.

"When the spark in you has gone out and your vocal cords no longer vibrate, with no doubt, you'll be a monster. Without even realizing it, you'll spread terror and death, emotions will be unknown to you. But you have those and they're beautiful. You're human, Valtor, this is why you hate the beast, hence you fight. But this back means giving up, these tears on your face, well, they're a victory. I hate the monster, as much as you do, but it's not the one with red scales and big wings. Your own monster is living inside your mind, it feeds off your insecurities and how I'd like to kill it off if I only could! Free you and look at the man, I can say it outloud I- I... L-lo-ve."

Her voice cracked, the word love hard as tears tried to find their way. She held them back and took his hand between hers, in what looked so much like a promise.

"Valtor, I'll never love the beast. I love you."

"What if I were to become one? Would you give up on me? Would you ever leave me in the dark, alone? You'll never leave, will you? Will you always be by my side? Don't lie, please."

The witch hugged him eagerly as her heart broke under the weight of the demons in his mind. The adult with the oversized ego had collapsed into a child to be protected.

She lay down beside him and slowly started stroking his hair, lulling him to sleep. Another sob.

"She left me Griffin, she left me alone in the darkness with that monster. I'm scared."

"Who left you?" she asked softly.

"Believe me, I was good, I had never done anything wrong. I was small, useless, and it was too strong, I couldn't beat it. I was afraid of the dark, and she wasn't there to protect me. So dark ..." he spoke feebly, he turned his head.

Eye frames the void, remembers a room with a forthcoming beast, roaring flames, pain. The vague phrasing, frightened of giving voice to his nightmares, chased his weaknesses with choked breath, tried to catch them one by one, but they were dripping off his lips.

"Who are you talking about?" Griffin asked shaking his hand, giving him all the courage to speak up his mothers never tried to give him.

"Mom." Valtor stammered, gasping. Without even the pronoun my, he was almost referring to entities out of time and space whose name trembled leaving his mouth. She knew he didn't have a mother, the blond man in her arms was a creation of the Ancestors, yet he was longing for a family, bonds made of genes and flesh.

"Mom left me and the darkness came for me. It was so cold, I couldn't move." Darts of frozen darkness, enveloped in himself like a shivering maggot. The creator speaks, the son obeys. The creator breaks his will, sets the rules, commands. Violence, punishment, obedience, blood and broken bones. The cold becomes stronger, snow cuts his face, the son gets tired, he begins to ask questions, he strives to know the purpose of everything. "Your purpose is us Valtor, without us you are nothing" Belladonna ruled.

No words, another cry that desperately asked to be given voice. He was hungry for love.

"I don't want to be a creation. I can't be their son, Griffin. I feel it, I sense it, even they are not that powerful to create life out of nothing. It's burning inside of me, I don't belong to this planet, Whisperia's not my home, but somehow I ended up here with them, the mighty son of the Three Witches. Maybe I wasn't a good child, was I? I wonder if she remembers me. I don't remember her, one moment she was there to hold me, the next she was gone. I can still imagine her touch and scent on my skin, I bet she smelled of roses, because I love roses, don't I? I ask myself where is she now, what is she doing and if she is proud me or if she ever loved me. But she's not here. Belladonna, Liliss, Tharma never left me, though. I know, they're definitely not the mothers of the year, but they never left me. I'm a weapon, I told you, the most powerful of them all, they can't lose me. They hate the man I am, but they appreciate the beast and therefore I'm sure they would never leave me.That's why deep down I think they may care about me, I got what they need. I love them."

He smiled as he tossed his head back among the silk cushions, knowing how much a fool he was making of himself. She was still there, strong and still as always.Trembling lips, every cell of her body was fibrillating, they wanted to detach from it and rush on him like thousands of shooting stars, build him a shelter, save him from his mothers and love him, giving him a bit of that care he had always been denied. She knew her love wasn't enough.

Meanwhile Valtor wondered how much easier it would've been to turn off the light and let himself be swallowed up in an endless dream. Darkness would become his new home, and without even the small glow of its flames, it wouldn't be dark anymore, just nothing. No sound, no fight. Maybe she could've been the one able of dragging him out the pit he had digged himself. He raised his head and tried to meet her gaze for the last time, his lids starting to feel heavy.

"Griffin I don't know how much longer I will be able to keep the monster away. That's why I need to know that no matter what you'll stay by my side. Will you? "

"I.."

Interrupted sentence.

He had already fallen asleep without even waiting for the answer to how much he wanted it to be positive. It was easier to unstich himself from reality and follow the threads towards the dreamlike enchantment, in which the canvas tapestry with their smiling faces imprinted would never unravel.

She sighed. It was her turn to cry now.

She didn't know. That was the answer that was so difficult for her and it was breaking her heart. All the words of courage and comfort that had come easily from her before were now dead in her throat, none of them were for her. She had seen his blood slipping right through her skin, she had touched what was the most intimate about him that somehow managed to appear so right as it sneaked into her bony hands. The red of his blood fingerprinted his pain, left her the keeper of what was dearest to him. As the sea after an undertow regurgitates its treasures on the beach, the darkness in him had left away the most precious of his secrets: she had felt his humanity, now it was up to her to decide whether to wash it away or dry it and no soap would have ever canceled it. She could not wash her hands, she looked at them in the twilight of the night, turned them again and again, searched for escape routes between the lines of her palms, but the more she squinted her eyes in search of a pattern, the further she was pushed away. He was now in her hands.

She threw herself into the silk of the bed and looked at him: eyes closed and his lashes tickled his cheeks slightly. How could a monster be so human? And she, how could she be so hypocritical, unable to give an answer and yet she was hugging him? And fuck, how much the cut on her leg hurt.

Perhaps their relationship was a ship on fire on the high seas. Water and fire, a beautiful tragedy to be consummated in sync until one annihilates the other. Water never dies, it changes shape. The heat of the fire would've forced it into crystalline darts that would hurt the sky like swallows at dawn.

She was a bird. A real one.

Birds fly away.

#winx #winx club #winx valtor #winx griffin #griffin × valtor #valtor #fanfiction

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freckledmountain · 3 years

Text

Lulling comfort

By @freckledmountain for @romeoandjulietyouwish

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Summary:

"Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between. … He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again."

Or, an AU where you hear whatever your platonic soulmate sings or hums! :D

For the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1: Change

Some-

BODY ONCE TOLD ME

the WORLD IS GONNA ROLL ME

I AIN´T THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE sHE-ED

Peter´s endearing screech and dramatics at the starting notes startles a fond laugh out of Tony, making DUM-E beep in curious surprise.

The bot has a screwdriver in his grasp and usually Tony´d chastise him for grabbing tools without permission (he has not forgotten the last lab incident, thank you) but right now he´s much too preoccupied resisting the urge to join in the kid´s slumber party via his own singing.

God bless karaoke.

Peter had looked sheepish when he´d mentioned it to him, the little get-together his scary girlfriend and Ned had planned this weekend at the latter´s place after a ridiculously long week of exams. Tony had absolutely no problem listening to his kid´s voice in his head, but it was still sweet of Peter to ask beforehand.

“You know I work best with music anyway.” He´d said, remembering all the times he´d listened to Peter perform dramatically to songs on the radio.

Peter´d hunched his shoulders a bit, smiling. “Yeah, okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure because Ned might ask me to duet to Take on me again, and last time I sang it you were on a meeting and FRIDAY sent me that video of you mouthing the words and Ms. Potts looked like the disappointed dad from that Shawn Mendes vine- “

…even if he had no idea what the kid was talking about sometimes.

He´d gasped and placed a hand to his chest, feigning offence. “Have you forgotten the time you had Call me maybe on loopin my head for an entire day?”

“…It was a dare?”

“Hmm” he´d said, raising an eyebrow playfully as Peter dissolved into laughter. “whatever you say, bud.”

His smile softens unconsciously at the memory as he methodically tweaks a few things in his nanotech suit, still listening to Peter belt out lyrics in his head. Truth be told, he misses the kid working alongside him like usual, but he knows how important spending time with his friends is to Peter.

(The parenting books say it´s imperative too, although of course he hasn´t ever read, purchased five on a whim or fret over anything of the sort. Obviously.)

He hopes Ned and Michelle´s respective other halves don´t mind the kids crooning 80´s rock on a Friday evening, but he guesses if they´re anything like them, they probably won´t complain. Soulmates are cool like that.

He remembers all the times Rhodey had told him about his soulmate´s voice inside his own head, how he´d suddenly perk up and grin at whatever melody he could hear, how he´d start humming randomly to join in.

Tony had grown up hearing nothing but his own treacherous thoughts for the longest time, almost losing hope completely at the possibility of having a soulmate right up until adulthood. Heavy metal music blasted over his speakers constantly whenever he was busy in his workshop, but he never joined in. There were moments when he´d thought his love for singing would be soured forever, since apparently the universe or whoever was in charge didn´t have a problem leaving him without someone out there to share it with him in his head.

Thankfully, he always did have Rhodey, and boycould he kick-start the fun in singing again with his flawless Mariah Carey impressions. He´d loved the few times he´d heard Pepper sing too, and there´d even been one memorable instance where he´d surprised Happy vocalizing in an unexpectedly pleasant lilt.

Hearing Peter sing though...simply put, there was nothing else like it.

-and we could aLL use a little changeeeeeeeEEE

…Yes, nothing was quite like it.

Tony shakes his head, smiling, and grabs his phone to text May about the kid´s shenanigans. She´d been more than a little concerned when Peter and him had figured out who the other was, (that was one heck of a superhero fundraiser) but now they´ve become much closer, and Tony can genuinely say they´re friends. He´s glad to have her on his side, because May Parker is, in Peter terms, a very kind powerhouse, and not someone he´d like to mess with.

He´s about to press send when the lights in the room flash red.

Tony´s up and summoning his gauntlet attentively in a second, right as FRIDAY pulls up screens around him, showing footage of the emergency.

“What am I looking at, FRI?”

“Around 30 heavily armed machines have emerged in Midtown Manhattan, boss.” She responds, as the room fills with projections. The robots on screen are huge and ugly as heck, about the width and height of three school buses together. They´re making their way through the streets surprisingly quickly for how heavy they look. People run away, steering clear of their illuminated blasts. “They appear to be releasing high frequency blasts approximately every ten seconds. Local police have just arrived at the scene and are requesting backup, since the blasts are causing structural damage to the surrounding buildings. The source of these machines is unknown.”

“Tell the team to suit up and meet me there.”

“They have already been alerted, boss, but I´ll relay your message as well.”

The rest of his suit materializes around him, and he makes haste to get to the nearest window, half worried and half downright annoyed at whoever was behind this.

“Another one for the robot bingo card on means of world domination.” He says to himself, unimpressed. Just one week without this crap…

He soars above the sky nonetheless, blasting his way towards the fight.

Please stay put kid, he wishes, even as the singing stops.

---

Three blocks.

He´s three blocks away from where Peter is making his way back when it happens.

As big and fast as the robots are, Tony can tell they weren´t exactly made by the finest of the loons who regularly try to take over New York. Not to mention they´re absolutely appalling to look at, whoever designed these things had absolutely no taste, Tony thinks, crushing his twenty-second bot with the suit´s repulsors. It hasn´t exactly been easy, since the wretched machines have no real apparent motive but to blow up everything in their path, but within an hour it seems they´re done with the worst of it.

He can see Nat and Wanda dealing with the remains of one of the last ones below, while a little way away Cap´s talking with a few cops, scoping out the damage. Even though the air is permeated with smoke and there´s rubble in some places, there are no casualties, and they´ve thankfully emptied out the buildings that got wrecked. SHIELD will take care of the rest.

He flies over the skyscrapers, keeping an eye out for any other bots, but it seems like FRIDAY´s finished identifying all of them. He activates a private line on the comms to talk to Peter.

“Done securing the area from whatever that disastrous colour scheme was?”

He can hear Peter´s good-natured groan as his location pops up on Tony´s screen, six blocks away.

“I know, right? I can wear mismatched socks for a week and rock them no problem, but blue with like, eye-melting neon? Yikes.”

“Exactamundo. Couldn´t agree with you more, kid. But hey, it looks like you might actually be able to get back to your sleepover after all. Can´t wait to hear what alarming chorus is going to keep me up until midnight.”

“Oh you just wait, we´re doing ABBA next and it´s gonna be so-“

FRIDAY tears through the conversation with an alarm, but it´s precious seconds too late.

A gasp. An abrupt thud resounding through the comms. A scream. Peter´s.

Tony´s blood freezes in his veins.

“Peter? Peter!?”

He gets there in less than a minute and sees one of the bots with its blaster pointed at Peter, still smoking from the shot.

He obliterates it without a second thought, his mind swirling with fear and rejection at FRIDAY´s next words as he runs towards Spiderman´s crumbled figure.

“No heartbeat detected, boss”.

Chapter 2

The first time he´d ever heard Peter´s voice, he´d been running on three hours of sleep, a frankly heart-attack inducing dose of caffeine, and no motivation whatsoever to sit down with stuffy board members for five hours.

It didn´t exactly come as a surprise that for the first few milliseconds of the “Itsy bitsy spider” chant in his head he´d thought, confusingly, that it might just have been his mind finally resorting to the resurface of old nursery rhymes as a way to tell him to go the frick to sleep.

His heart however, was another matter.

As ridiculous and improbable as it sounded, a new something in his chest rose even before he knew what was happening. He might not have been a machine, but something slowly and irrevocably clicked into place the more he heard that gentle voice go on about water spouts and suns.

He´d stopped short in realization. Blinked.

And then smiled wide enough to lose himself in the mirth of it.

He´d run back to his workshop right after that, laughing like mad with the absolute mayhem of emotions coursing through his whole being, almost crashing into Pepper in the process. She´d looked back at him in concern, questions already forming in her lips, before Tony had frantically mimed at her to keep quiet, wanting to listen to the soft voice´s final notes.

Once the song finished, Tony may or may not have let out a loud shriek of sheer joy and told an increasingly delighted Pepper all about it, practically bursting with excitement.

“Pep! Wait, what do I do now!? Do I- Do I sing it back to him? Do I sing another- crap I don´t even know any children´s songs, JARVIS, JARVIS!”

In the end he´d had to phone Rhodey to yell the news ecstatically to him, because he´d just found maybe the universe hadn´t wanted to screw him over after all, and he felt like screaming it from the rooftops. The little voice was sweet and shy and boyish and happy, and about the best thing Tony had heard in his damn life. He couldn´t have contained himself if he´d tried, and heck if he was going to any time soon.

(“Tones, what- “

“Rhodey!”

“…was that you or a screech owl.”

“It happened! There´s- a little kid! Somewhere! Spiders! My soulmate!”

“The- wait what-? “)

Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between.

…

He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again.

Burning.

He´s burning all over.

Screaming in pain, he tries to escape from the scorching heat, but it´s everywhere, it´s everything, he´s the pain, he´s the fire, everything hurts-

And then as soon as it appears, the pain is gone.

He opens his eyes, blinking woozily.

“Oh, thank God.”

His vision blurs all over for a minute. There´s dampness in the corners, left over from tears.

Tears?

He makes an attempt to sit up, but there´s a hand holding his shoulder gently. He blinks again.

Tries to decipher his surroundings.

He´s laying down in a mostly deserted, grubby looking street. A figure kneels close to him, some sort of red and gold robot type thing. He narrows his eyes at it, trying to figure out why it feels so familiar…but finds, to a detached kind of surprise, that he can´t.

He has no idea what happened.

The robot seems to be very relieved for some reason, just staring up at the sky for a couple of seconds, taking a deep, wheezy breath.

Even with his head feeling like wet cotton, he looks at him with concern. The robot sounds seconds away from fainting. Is he…alright?

When the robot´s face opens and a man´s head peeps out (cool!), he almost jumps back in surprise.

And then…

Well. He still doesn´t have a clue who this person is, but as soon as he sees the man´s expression of utter joy and relief, something inside him settles. Safe.

He blinks in confusion at the feeling. He knows this person. He does.

But who is he?

“Pete? You´re back bud. Do you feel okay?” The man´s (man? robot? man-robot? cyborg? figment of his imagination?) smile fades slightly, looking at him in worry. “FRIDAY” Friday? Who on earth is he talking to? “didn´t you say the CPR made his vitals-“

“I´m- I´m fine” he says, because enormous confusion aside, he is. Maybe his head is scrambled, and he feels exhausted, but he has a feeling he´s been in worse shape before.

A feeling.

The man (he´s decided on man) starts going on about robots, and getting him to a tower with someone called Dr. Cho, but all he can do is blink back, his confusion increasing.

“I´m really sorry” he interrupts, knowing he´s probably going to disappoint the man, but needing to push forward even so, “who- who are you? Are you-? “

He tries to put a word on the feeling seeing the man´s face had evoked in him before, tries to remember who he is or what he has to do with the man or why he feels so…safe. So safe. With him there, even with all the questions going round and round inside his head.

“Are you my dad?”

The man´s face stills. For a second, it looks like his brain short-circuits.

Mood, a thought rings out in his head, unbidden.

That´s when he hears it.

A huge metallic…thing coming through the street towards them, and he doesn´t know why but it makes his heart thump like a rabbit´s in a cage, and suddenly he gets a flash of remembering pain, and he knows these machines, these machines are dangerous, and what if the man gets hurt too-

He pushes the man behind him as he desperately tries to look for somewhere they can hide-

-but the man grabs his hand first and hurries them both towards the sturdiest-looking car on the street, crouching so they´re out of sight.

“Uh, alright. I- this must be really weird for you, but it´ll be okay. Just stay here for now, ´kay? I´ll- We´ll figure this out. You with me?” The man holds his gaze for a second, and it´s so sincere, he finds himself nodding.

The man smiles. “Okay. Give me a sec.” And then he gets up and turns towards the robot.

What the-what´s he doing!?

He reaches out clumsily to drag him back, but the man´s face gets obscured by his robot mask once more and he…

Flies?

The frick? He thinks in bewilderment, as he sees the man lift off and attack the robot with blasts coming from his hands. My maybe-dad can fly!?

Either he lives in a sci-fi novel, or he´s going absolutely nuts.

Could be both at this point, frankly.

The whiz of gold and red fighting the robot is almost quicker than his sight can keep up with, but he persists, looking out anxiously for any opening the robot might have to take the man down so he can try to warn him about it. There is none though, the robot might be exceedingly fast, but the man remains unyielding. He takes another look at the giant machine and sees it´s blaster-

And then it´s like someone takes his brain and shakes it around everywhere, and the throbbing is so sudden he kneels and clutches his head tightly to keep it from falling apart. His thoughts feel shattered and tampered with, and the pain-

He cries out in agony, and tears fill his eyes again.

The man! I have to look out for him!

He tries to listen to the fight again, but just as he tries to focus in on it it´s like a tsunami of yells and police sirens and voices washes over him, and noise, why is there so much noise-

Overwhelmed, he kneels until his forehead touches the grainy concrete, and wishes he would just pass out.

He doesn´t, though.

Among the oversaturated ocean of noise, one adds to the mix.

Except this one isn´t grating. This one doesn´t make everything seem like too much.

Because it feels like it´s coming from within himself.

He´s at a loss for what´s happening, but the voice slowly and lightly blocks out all the other noise, grounding him in a gentle tune. In a flash, he recognizes the song. He knows where he heard it last.

Mr Stark.

And he remembers.

“Kid? What are you doing up?”

He shrugs, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Baby Tarzan laughs onscreen.

He half expects Mr Stark to push him for more details, but he seems to understand Peter´s not in a talking mood and walks up to him solemnly.

“Scoot.”

He does, and Mr Stark plops down next to him, wordlessly extending his arms out in invitation. Peter falls into the hug gratefully and sighs. Exhaustion pulls down on his bones, but he´d rather not get back to the nightmare he woke up from. Mr Stark snorts softly at something in the movie, and then they both jump a bit at the sudden loud gorilla roar. They keep watching the movie, and Peter´s curls are brushed back gently in a soothing motion.

He wants to sleep. But he can´t.

But he´s safe here, isn´t he?

His chest grows heavier as he thinks of the dream, and when he blinks, his eyelids dampen. He hasn´t shed a tear yet, but Mr Stark must sense something again because his hand at Peter´s hair stills.

And then he starts singing.

It´s a lulling comfort, and Peter melts into the embrace, allowing his tired eyes some rest.

He´s safe.

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

He´s safe.

With a final shot from Iron man´s repulsors, the robot powers down, and Peter runs out to meet Mr Stark, almost crushing his ribs in a hug.

“Woah, woah!” The helmet´s visor pulls up, revealing a grinning Tony. “Did that actually work? FRIDAY told me you were freaking out and I thought it might help calm you down.” He says, hugging him back. “But it did more than that, didn´t it?”

Peter´s too relieved to do anything but nod happily into his shoulder, but he gets the point across.

They stay there for a full minute, just holding on to each other. Until Tony grumbles out a “and I can´t believe you remembered Phil Collins before Iron man, seriously.” and Peter bursts out laughing, lightening the mood.

“The man didn´t sing that soundtrack in five languages for nothing, Mr Stark. It slaps.”

Tony hides his smile in Peter´s curls, and hugs him close.

#Writing #The friendly neighborhood exchange #WHOOO #irondad and spiderson #I love them #platonic soulmates

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mcheang · 5 years

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I'm back and with an idea i just had to share with you a fic with Alya knowing Lila was lying but wanted to knock Marinette down because he felt jealous and inferior to Marinette who had talent and headstart to her carreer and celebrity connections (she was still friends with her cuz Mari had a lot of perks )so she has an excuse to lash out her frustration and Mari calls her out saying Mari has been nothing but a good friend and she's been nothing but a bad person bcuz of her insecurites

Jealousy doesn’t become a hero

I very much prefer writing Lila and/or Bustier salt. But I hope this draft satisfies you.

When Volpina had been defeated, Marinette went to check the Ladyblog and was relieved to have found the interview deleted. Adrien must have informed Alya.

Imagine her surprise when Lila kept lying about her time with Achu. Despite her evidence, Alya dismissed it as jealousy.

Um...maybe Lila decided posing as her BFF was a bad idea and asked Alya to take the video down?

When Chameleon came about and was given the most embarrassing defeat of all time, Marinette sat watching Lila give her class a full-detail tall tale about how she rescued (defeated) her.

Then, struck by inspiration, Marinette went back to class, a triumphant air about her, her smirk barely repressed.

Adrien saw but shrugged it off. He figured Marinette realized Lila would get caught sooner or later. He joined her at the back later and soon their old seating arrangement was back.

That night, Alya was surprised when she heard a voice in her bedroom window.

“While I am glad that you don’t run after every akuma now, I hope you still check your sources, Alya.”

Alya turned and beamed. “Ladybug! What’s up? Do you need me for another Mission?”

Ladybug leaned against the wall. “No. I’m here regarding Lila. I’ve been hearing rumors that you posted an interview of her claiming to be my BFF- without checking with me.”

Alya blinked. “Oh. You think I’ve been suckered. Don’t worry, Ladybug, I know Lila’s nothing but a liar.”

Ladybug blinked. “But your interviews?”

Alya nodded and went to open a page on her laptop. She figured one of her classmates must have spread the rumor until it reached Ladybug’s ear (she doesn’t know why Lila was akumatized into Volpina). “I did post her interviews. But do you know how you can control who sees what you post? I made sure those interviews could only be seen by our class. And I have to approve what comments appear on every post. The comments you see are made by our classmates solely, but Lila doesn’t know all that because of their usernames. Like I’m going to ruin my journalistic career for a tabloid post!”

Ladybug blinked again, confused. “But why indulge Lila? Why let her lie to your friends?”

Alya shrugged. “It’s a weird way to make friends, sure. But maybe once Lila realizes how cool we are, she’ll learn she can trust us with the truth.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. Manipulating their classmates to serve her food is not a way to make friends. (And dismissing her was not very friendly of Alya either!) “You are lying to me, Alya Césaire.”

Alya started backward, and started to get nervous. Ladybug was the reason her blog was so popular, and her only chance to become a hero. She was the smartest girl in Paris and could see through lies like glass.

Alya had 2 choices. Lie again and be exposed (and never be a hero again or granted interviews), or tell the truth and never be a hero again (but at least Ladybug is more likely to forgive her)

“Fine. I indulge Lila because it’s nice to see someone else in class get the spotlight.”

Ladybug tilted her head. “I’m sure Chloe has been improving.”

Alya shook her head. “No, not her. I mean Marinette.”

Ladybug was shocked. “The bakers’ Daughter?”

Alya wasn’t surprised Ladybug knew Marinette, not when she was the one who arranged her first official interview with Ladybug.

LB: How is she in the spotlight?

Alya sighed. “She’s the most popular girl in class. She gets confessed to on a regular basis. Even my own Boyfriend was interested in her before me. She knows Jagged Stone, which is probably how she knows Lila is lying. Marinette even got her designs praised by Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeois. Her parents are owners of the most popular bakery in Paris. Clara Nightingale and Adrien Agreste both think she is star material, and worthy of being called Ladybug.”

Alya kept going on, noting that Ladybug’s surprised face wasn’t exactly discouraging her. In fact Marinette was still too stunned to react.

“I just wanted someone else to be in the limelight. And if it couldn’t be me. I’d rather it be anybody else, even a liar.”

Ladybug gathered her thoughts. “So you’re just jealous? That Marinette is popular? But you’re popular too.”

Alya gave a bleak laugh. “Hardly. In class, I’m dismissed as the obsessive and nosy reporter. I don’t know any celebrities and they certainly don’t follow the Ladyblog. More people download apps for akuma alerts and hero sightings than subscribe to my blog. I’ve been dismissed for proposing crazy theories, which in hindsight is reasonable.”

LB: I’m assuming you didn’t tell Marinette you know Lila is lying because of that.

AC: Obviously. Because then I’d have to back her up and she would be the hero again. I used the excuse that she was jealous, and she was. But I knew Marinette is above jealousy. It’s annoyingly. She was ready to give Adrien up to an ice queen.

LB wrinkled her eyebrows, drawing on her professionalism and burying her own hurt for later. “If you are upset by Marinette’s success and annoyed by her attitude, why befriend her?”

AS: Because of her connections! Thanks to her, I got to star in Clara’s music video. She somehow got you to agree to do an interview with me. I persuaded her to take over as class president so I didn’t have to do the real work and Chloe wouldn’t be in charge anymore. She gives me free custom designed clothing. And no offence to my mum, but Marinette’s pastries are the best breakfast in the world.

Ladybug finally stood up tall. Alya had been so lost in the relief and satisfaction of finally venting out her jealousy and frustration that she had momentarily forgotten that her listener in the shadows was a very influential idol whom she wanted to make a good impression on.

Ladybug said coldly, “From what you are saying, it sounds like Marinette has been a better Friend that you have ever been. You are as bad as Lila Rossi. You lie for your own gain. And if there’s one thing I despise above all else, Miss Césaire, it’s liars.”

As Ladybug launched her Yoyo out, Alya rushed to make her plea. “Wait! Please wait! I’m sorry!”

LB: No, you’re only sorry you got caught.

ALya cried out, “what can I do to make it up to you?”

Ladybug gave her one last impassive look. “For starters, I’d say tell the truth. To everyone.”

Ladybug left Alya in horrified and torn silence.

As Ladybug returned home, she detransformed and wept on her balcony, amid the perfume of flowers. She could finally face the betrayal and sadness she had kept away in front of Alya.

Tikki sadly cozied up to Marinette’s neck, trying to offer comfort.

Hawkmoth was alerted by a teenager’s despair, agony and betrayal.

Hawkmoth: Hooray, I get to akumatize Marinette after all!

He doesn’t. Adrien saw Ladybug outside and went out to join her. As he searched for Ladybug, he saw the akuma heading for a weeping Marinette.

“Marinette, move!”

Marinette looked up in surprise (Tikki quickly hid among the flowers) “Chat?”

“Cataclysm!” He destroyed the butterfly in front of her face.

Marinette gasped.

Chat quickly steadied himself on the balcony. “Marinette, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

Because she was definitely not alright. Those were tear tracks on her face. Chat felt sad that his princess was sad, and wanted to rip out the face of whoever made her cry.

Marinette shook her head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Chat was doubtful. An akuma appeared. Clearly she couldn’t handle it. “Are you sure? I’m here for you, you know.”

Marinette finally burst into sobs. She leaped into Chat’s arms. Chat held her close as she confessed the source of her troubles.

“I just learned that Alya wasn’t really my Friend at all. She was just using me.”

Chat was confused. What was she talking about?

Marinette saw his confusion and explained. “I was the one who told Ladybug about Lila first. She got mad and went to confront Lila, i assume that got her akumatized. When Lila got akumatized again today, Ladybug went to visit Alya to make sure she knew Lila was a liar.”

Ok...Chat guessed that explained Marinette’s attitude just before lunch ended.

“And it turns out Alya knew Lila was a liar all along. She never really posted her interviews to the public. She’s just been indulging Lila because she wanted to knock me down.”

Chat was shocked. “And Ladybug told you all this?”

Marinette let out a bark of laughter. “She didn’t have to. I heard Alya myself. I was near her bedroom door when I heard voices saying my name. Once I heard what Alya had to say about me, I didn’t bother knocking or to announce myself. I doubt Nora would bother mentioning me since she was preoccupied with the twins and her parents weren’t home.”

Chat guessed Marinette had new evidence that Lila was a liar and wanted to show it to Alya. But instead she happened to hear a conversation that revealed Alya’s true colours.

Marinette wiped her cheeks bitterly. “She did everything today willingly. She left me to sit in the back alone, without consulting me. She dismissed me and accused me of being jealous. All along, she was the jealous one, and I actually thought she was my Friend!”

Marinette buried her face in her hands.

Chat rubbed Marinette’s back consolingly. “Cheer up princess. You still have the rest of your friends, and me.”

Marinette sniffled. This was not comforting to her. Her friends weren’t much better. And she didn’t see Chat regularly.

Chat sensed he was failing at comforting her and tried again. “So what are you going to do tomorrow. Will you confront Alya?”

“I don’t know. I sit next to her and she is the first person I talk to every morning at school. But I can’t see her face without wanting to shout Liar now. And if I do, she’ll just turn the whole thing against me, like Lila did. (Lila did what now?) I don’t know what to do.”

Chat’s heart broke at how lost Marinette sounded. He tiled her chin up so she would look at him.

“Tell you what, princess. Tomorrow, you are going to walk with your back straight and head proud into that classroom. You are going to give Alya Césaire a polite greeting and ignore her. Talk to your other classmates. Listen to music. Write in your notebooks. Revise old lessons. Do whatever. But don’t give Alya the time of day until you are ready to face her.”

The next day, Adrien was prepared. He ignored Lila and gave a confused and sad Alya the cold shoulder.

When Marinette arrived, Adrien was all sunshine and immediately invited her to a conversation.

Marinette gratefully accepted. And though she stumbled, she kept Chat’s advice and ignored Alya’s nudges and comments.

They kept talking until class started. The girls were thrilled to see progress.

Throughout the first half of the school day, Alya kept trying to talk to Marinette or slip her notes. Marinette ignored her.

Alya guessed what had happened and braced herself. She had to tell the truth. She didn’t want to know what Ladybug would do otherwise if she didn’t.

When Lunch came and Adrien invited him to join her; Alya firmly grabbed Marinette’s hand and said in a low voice. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Marinette reluctantly followed. Unbeknownst to her, Adrien and Lila decided to eavesdrop, for different reasons. Adrien wanted to be there for Marinette and Lila wanted dirt.

In a deserted classroom, Alya finally said the words. “Ladybug told you about last night, didn’t she?”

Marinette’s answer was vague. “She didn’t have to. But she did give me a brief warning this morning. I connected the dots on my own.”

Alya laughed bitterly. “Of course, even Ladybug chooses you over me.”

Marinette stayed silent, waiting for Alya to continue.

“Let me be clear, Marinette. I’m only being honest because of Ladybug. I’ve only been your Friend because of what you do for me.”

Even though Marinette was expected it, it still hurt. Thankfully, her only controlled response was an audible exhale.

Adrien: How could you Alya?

Lila: oh snap!

“I know Lila’s lying but I indulged her because I wanted someone else to take the stage instead of you.”

Lila: she knows?

Marinette raised a brow. “Even at the risk of your blog’s reputation?”

“The interview is only seen by our class. The public can’t access it.”

Lila fumed. She had been played. Alya had used her instead of the other way around. Silently, Lila brought out her phone to record the conversation. Despite Adrien shaking his head, Lila glared at him, daring him to lecture her now.

Lila got the whole juicy bit. Alya admitted what she was jealous about, her betrayal to Marinette. And at the end of it, Marinette was still composed. Adrien had to admire her for it, standing strong in the face of such betrayal.

Marinette: you did all of that just to hurt me? Out of petty jealousy? That you accused me of envy- you resented me that much? and you only used me for free stuff and have been my friend when it's convenient? (This was part of the request) you know, I actually felt hurt that you were just taking advantage of me Alya. But now I just feel sorry for you. Some people like Chloe and Adrien are lucky, they are born with opportunities we can only dream of. But the rest of us, like Nathaniel, like Kitty Section, like myself. We work hard. Sure we have help from our friends, but we never take advantage of them. We have struggled and yes, we do face setbacks, but throughout it all, we have stayed true to ourselves. But you, the moment you see someone thriving, you don’t focus on improving yourself, you just try to leech off that person, like you did to Lila, and like you did to me. You can’t think of safer methods to record akuma fights. You never listen to anyone’s reasoning and criticism of your theories. You are stuck in your own entitled world, that you can’t see the bigger picture. You’re a parasite, Alya Césaire. So...I won’t expose you, because I have no doubt you’ll turn everyone against me. But I won’t be your Friend anymore.”

Alya wasn’t bothered. “Fine. So we agree to never speak to each other again unless necessary?”

“Yes.” Marinette walked out first. Adrien and Lila scattered before she could open the door.

Adrien immediately went to grab Marinette for lunch and did all he could to distract her from her recent ordeal.

Meanwhile, Lila edited the video to avoid incriminating herself and sent it to the class group chat.

She hates Marinette sure, but no one plays Lila for a fool and gets away with it.

The class is shocked and angry at Alya, who tries to claim that Lila is lying. She runs away from the mob and returns as Lady Wifi to punish Lila.

Ladybug defeats her but Alya demands a question if Ladybug is friends with Lila. Feeling sorry for Alya, Ladybug announces that her only Best Friend is Chat Noir. She does not befriend civilians.

Alya is sentenced to switch seats with Nathaniel. Adrien takes her place as Deputy. Nino dumps Alya. Lila and her new desk mate keep sabotaging each other.

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #adrienette #marichat #lila karma #lila is exposed #lila salt #lila gets exposed #ml salt fic #alya salt

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slasherkisss · 4 years

Text

Thunderstorm - Jason/Reader

[a commission for @floral-and-fine that they gave me permission to post! thank you for your support <3 if anyone is interested in a commission please dm me!]

THUNDERSTORM - JASON VOORHEES

You couldn’t feel anything anymore. There was only wind.

Only rain.

Only thunder.

Those were the only sort of feelings you could register in the periphery of your mind as the rest of your body focused solely on pushing forward. On fighting its way through the intense breeze that had blustered its way up into a gale of dangerous proportions, each smack of sideways ran biting into your skin like a small animal. As though the sky was raining teeth over Crystal Lake rather than its hydrating water. Or, perhaps, like small eels that bit into your flesh as they hit you from above, each bite more intense than the last despite the slow numbing of your skin to the assault as you wrapped your thin coat tightly around your body. The curse that left your lips was swallowed up by another snarl of thunder above you, followed by a sparkling crash of lightning that lit up the bare trees to look like ominous hands reaching down.

Dammit, you thought, this was all the damn weather’s fault! Though, in reality, you knew it was definitely your own fault.

Jason had warned you earlier that there would be rain, his fantic gestures to the oncoming dark clouds lumbering over the horizon going ignored as you shrugged him off with your usual smile and kiss to his masked face. You assured him that your trip to town would only last a few hours, enough time for you to come home before the rain assaulted the forest around the both of you. He had protested longer than usual, of course, his worry for your safety leading him into nearly scooping you up into his arms and locking you up in his hidden shack and underground tunnels beneath the abandoned Camp. It was only when you whined that you wouldn’t have any food, and that if it DID turn into a storm you would have little to stock up on, that he reluctantly agreed to allow you to leave his side.

He had held your hand tight to his, larger grip covering your skin as he momentarily refused to let you go. Though his expression was unreadable against the mask he wore, you could tell by his body language and by the tilt of his head that he was worried. That he was wearing a tight frown against waterlogged lips and knit brows along his uneven eyes as he watched you exit the home with a wave and a blow of a small kiss to his face that left him sitting in his home, twiddling his thumbs with worry that you might be okay.

You really wished that you had listened to him.

Another blast of thunder pulled you from your momentary reverie, your breath catching and burning as the cold are bit into it with deadly force. It hurt to breathe in this weather, you realized with a wince as your lungs froze over from the inside. As you walked you felt your leg catch something, some sort of branch or fallen log, and you fell forward. Your hands splayed out, catching yourself by your elbows in the muddy forest floor and you heard your ankle twist and crack with a sickening snap of bone, making you cry out just as a strike of lightning fell from the sky. You felt your heart beat faster as tears welled in your eyes, a hopeless sense of dirt and grime sticking to your soul as much as the real substance stuck to your body as you curled in on yourself on the forest floor, shutting your eyes tight and adjusting to lean on the same log you had fallen over. The pain in your ankle throbbed, reminding you of your mistake. One of many.

Somewhere, in the distance, you heard the crash of a tree as it fell over, struck by lightning and run ragged by the wind. Would that be your fate too, you wondered? Besides freezing to death, would your next likely source of destruction be the very forest you loved walking through? A tree could come down and crash into you and you knew it, breaking so much more than the bone in your ankle as you tried to make yourself smaller against the raging storm. You shut your eyes, trying to block all the wind out. All the rain out. Another sob left your lips and you didn’t try to muffle it this time, because even to your own ears the sound was nothing against the roaring wind.

As you grew tired and your bones grew numb, the slight sense of something hovering around you roused you from your momentary fade into the void. Daring to pull your eyes open, you could only squint beyond the dangerous drops of rain to try and identify just what was before you now. Was it an animal, trying to catch an easy meal? Perhaps that would be an easier way to go. The circle of life and all of that…

You were even more surprised when it picked you up, heaving you into strong arms and all but crushing you into a chest that rose and fell with worried, heavy breathing. The body itself was not warm. It provided little safety from the chills that caused you to shake like a leaf in the being’s arms, but the grip was familiar and so was the mask clad face that gazed down at you with worry in its gaze. You inhaled sharply, hand shakily reaching up as you bit your lip and dared try and smile through the ache of your bones and the chill in your spine:

“J… ason?”

Your question wasn’t answered. Instead Jason turned around and began walking through the woods, his body shielding you from the rain as it fell and bit against his already undead skin. You relished in the fact that your form was no longer being buffeted by the storm. That you could no longer feel the pain on your skin as badly as in your body or your lungs. Your eyes began to droop again, but, each time they did Jason paused to reach up and squeeze your cheeks a little too tight for comfort, making you face him and stare into his mask for a long moment before he continued to walk. It happened more than once. More than twice. You got the message after a few more times and tried to force yourself to obey the silent command he offered:

Stay awake.

So you did, willing your heavy body to keep itself up. To focus on the world around you, mainly the strength of the man holding you. The way his grip squeezed you against his body and his breath came in ragged gasps, as though his lungs struggled to work through the worry he had for you. You felt slightly bad, you realized, having to need him to carry you. To leave his home to find you in the pouring rain. The frown that touched your lips made you aware of how chapped they really were as you continued through the forest, unaware of the direction either of you were turning or moving until a familiar, raggedy shack came into your view.

Jason’s home. He had brought you home.

You registered the sound of rain hitting the tin roof above you and the dryness of the air around the room placing a smooth, relaxing feeling into your lungs. One of warmth as opposed to the previous burns of cold air. The echo of a fire crackling somewhere in the distance warmed your ears and your body as the sudden heat of the world around you made you break out into a cold sweat, your form shivering in pain as you winced through your shut eyes.

You felt Jason set you down, the softness of blankets mixing with the hardness of the floor beneath you. You finally allowed your gaze to open up, coming face to face with the Crystal Lake killer as he looked you over with firm hands and an expression of worry painted in what you could see of those beautiful eyes of his. When he saw your gaze open, you were greeted with a startled look and a hand flying to your face, touching your cheek and turning your head to either side, to make sure that all of you was okay under his grip as he examined you.

You could only smile against his hand, leaning into it despite it being as cold as your body was. You sighed needily into it.

“Jason… you came for me…”

Your voice was so weak. So quiet. Jason’s heart burned at the sound of it. The sound of you flickering out so fast, like a flame dying in the wind. Standing up without a second thought, Jason tore himself away from you in order to look around his home, pulling out things he had stored for your visits to him from small holes scattered across the makeshift home, sending certain tools and occasional bones clattering to the floor as he did so. The sound wasn’t impressive underneath the rain, but it was enough to startle you.

Jason wrapped what felt like at least four blankets around your form in an instant, the heaviness of each one indicating their woolen material as they weighed you down more and more until you were hunched beneath their near unbearable grip. Whimpering, you tried to adjust your legs, and all but screamed when your ankle bent uncomfortably in the process. Jason was down next to your legs in an instant, pulling them from the blanket cocoon he had created for you and examining the wound with careful eyes and even more careful hands.

Large fingertips brushed the slowly bruising and burning skin of your ankle, making you whimper and squirm as you felt him touch at the point where the bone had bent, making him pause as he watched your face. You could see it in his gaze: Sadness and hurt. Fear and betrayal. You knew what he was thinking, the strange connection had with him whispering those words in the wind of your mind despite him never opening his mouth:

Why didn’t you listen to me? Now you’re hurt, too… You almost died… Why didn’t you listen?

You brought him forward and kissed his forehead, whimpering as you did so from the awkward position it put him in. When you pulled away, you smiled weakly at him.

“Thank-you, Jason,” You whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you… I should have… You saved me still, though, and I’m alive now because of you. I promise I’ll never leave your side again, alright? I’ll stay here with you forever now… Just us.”

This seemed to satisfy Jason as his shoulders relaxed and his eyes grew soft on you, gazing into you like you were the only two people in the world. In this bubble, safe beyond the prying eyes of society within the lake, perhaps you were. Reaching out to you, he touched your face and brought it close to his, pressing your mouth where his lips would be and sighing from his hockey mask with a gentle murmur of words you couldn’t quiet identify beneath his mumbling softness.

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread on your lips as you ‘kissed’ him back, the gentleness with which he was holding you already warming your chilled body up as the two of you sat together, pressing your bodies into one another. He was careful to avoid your hurt ankle as he let your legs wrap about his waist, his form leaning onto yours and covering you up in him.

He was over you. He was on top of you.

He consumed you.

And you were fine with that. His weight was welcome on your body as you relaxed into him. His face pulled from your lips to nuzzle into your neck, hugging you as he sighed with satisfaction at the position. Like this he could keep you close to him. Like this he could protect you from the rain and the wind and the outside.

Like this, you were his.

#jason voorhees #friday the 13th #Friday the thirteenth #jason voorhees imagine #jason voorhees x reader #slasher x reader #writing commission #queue the hell are you

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just-jammin · 4 years

Text

Relighting

Word Count: 2024

Summary: The obscure yet infamous game of Sburb has probably caused some trauma & all-around bad times within the Chaos Family.

Their resident Protector can tell you all about it, and about how this predicament can be solved...

So. It’s been a while.

Not in the sense that I haven’t spoken to anyone in a while, just that I haven’t written a journal since... yeah, it wasn’t that long since I did that, but my point still stands.

Look, this whole Sburb thing is crazy ever since I first knew about it, but this is just outright ludicrous. The world-ending meteor shower, trying to process the abstract concepts & lore within the game, witnessing death itself... it’s not my cup of tea when it comes to first-hand experiences.

All of this reminds me of... something. It reminds me of a story that I’ve heard once while participating Mass, in a Homily. I can’t help it but think that it’s so much similar to our situation as of now.

How? I’ll tell it here.

>> —^— <<

In a dark, quiet room, there were four Candles.

Peace, Faith, Love, & Hope.

These four elements are very important to the story, as it is related to the people’s thoughts & actions. The Peace within the group, the Faith of triumph & joy, the unconditional Love for each other, and the Hope fueling our will to go on & go forth.

It’s all present in this session, as the Chaos Family. Even though we never formally met each other until the game started, and somehow one of us was accidentally sucked into it, we still have some camaraderie with each other.

And that’s when things started falling apart.

>> —^— <<

While talking to each other, the Candles noticed that Peace was melting.

You see, we never had proper Peace. We’re all about Chaos, right? But this is our kind of Peace; knowing that everyone is having fun & laughing along to our antics is our kind of Peace. It means that every single member is getting to know each other more.

Yet somehow, when we entered the Medium, things got serious. When I thought setting up a Zoom call tutorial thing for the extremely confused members was a mess, I didn’t expect our problems to be worse when we got our own Planets.

Don’t get me wrong, all of our Sprites did say that our Planets’ purpose was to strengthen ourselves. But all I could feel was insecurity. Scared of moving forward. And I bet the others felt that too.

Basically, our first impressions of our planets are outright Hell.

I think this is why fights started breaking out whenever we talked to each other. Whether it was a memo in Pesterchum (which we had to download), or just meeting up in one of the Planets, arguments are thrown here & there. Unfortunately, it escalated to rowdy fistfights that we had to have a hard time to let them struggle & break it up.

To be fair, sometimes I was in those fights. It was... rough.

Needless to say, this was a different kind of Chaos. It wasn’t the one we’re used to, nor the one that brings people together. It was the kind of Chaos that tears relationships apart and basically destroys everyone, inside & out.

When Peace had been standing in its final moments, it cried out, “Oh, what’s the use of me being here?! Everybody has been making a fool of themselves by causing nonsensical conflict!

“That’s it! I’m done here!”

There’s no Peace in there. Not anymore.

Its light flickers out.

>> —^— <<

There were three left.

And it had been for days.

Until one time, while the Candles were talking, they noticed that Faith was melting.

Faith. It’s hard to say when it was there in the first place.

I mean, to be fair, a lot of things are difficult to see in this Family, or the rest of Tumblr, actually. (Heh... I miss Tumblr...) But Faith comes in small things, like the friendships of others. And even full-on relationships. Little things like that can let us keep on believing that we can do better for ourselves.

That was... unfortunate.

Although entering the Medium was a win for all of us, there were also some losses for a handful of us.

It included our friends outside the Chaos Family. And even some of them in the Family.

Almost everyone not participating in our session is dead.

Dead. Gone forever.

It was a hard one to take in. Some of our real-life family relatives in our houses are still alive, but our Tumblr friends impacted some of us the most. People were crying. Like real tears.

And for some reason, I didn’t.

Almost all of my friends are here, my brother is here, and honestly, I didn’t have much back on Earth. Sure, my parents and relatives are gone, so that’s... depressing. But I can cope with them here. They’re the reason why I’m thriving.

The others? Not so much.

Faith had shouted while getting weakened, “Look, my own Faith is dwindling too, y’know?! They’re moping around in their own disbelief!

“I’m out!”

I guess I’m the only one who had more of it. But only by a smidge.

Its smoke wafts away in the dark.

>> —^— <<

And then there were two.

Unfortunately, Love was next to melt.

Ah, Love. This one is somewhat different from the story I’m telling than the source material.

You see, our Family’s Love never dwindled. We all still care for each other, no matter what happens to any of us. Through thick & thin, we helped each other to get ourselves up & going.

Heck, some of them got together romantically. Not that I’m too envious of them, but to be honest, they’re really cute with each other. A handful of them loved those outside of the Family, but you know what happened...

It’s just that we talked to each other less over time, either because of the missions we were given or because we just didn’t feel like talking to each other. It’s ok, I do respect their reasons, whether good or bad.

However, it just made me more concerned. I bet the others feel the same about that, but I think it’s been taking over my brain recently. I even tried talking about it to the closest people I know in the Family. No responses were made.

It doesn’t help that I have to literally build my way up, going through a complicated labyrinth of temperature-changing caverns filled with walking & talking thorny devils that hate me so much they shoot blood from their eyes at me.

Not to mention that I only have my annoying older brother with me, who only set my issue aside when I tried telling him. It sucks.

So no, our Love never dwindled.

It just became more isolated.

And yet, Love sobbed out, “Come on! Why am I not strong enough for them?! I thought I can keep all of them together!

“I can’t take this anymore!”

It just... feels like before. Numb all over.

Hehe, shit. I’m too familiar with that...

Love’s warmth faded away soon.

>> —^— <<

Only one was left standing.

The Candle of Hope.

Hope...

Well, that’s the only one that’s actually relevant to our session, huh?

It’s one of the main Aspects of Sburb, so of course it’s relevant! According to my Sprite, Hope is the embodiment of all positive emotions & beliefs, including Hope itself. It’s a pretty nice Aspect, in my opinion.

Anyway, Hope’s the one that got us through all our shit. Yes, even the very bad times. It’s basically a lifesaver for the Chaos Family and the rest of Tumblr. It can be distributed in many ways, from simple things like compliments, to posts like those ‘One Note a Day’ ones and a bunch of others like that.

But this, this is what I thought we were lacking the most at the time.

By that time, a little girl came running inside the dark room.

She noticed the other three Candles, melted & burnt out.

“Peace? Faith? Love?” she tried to call out.

I... didn’t think it was there when we started the session, nor when the fights started to break out. Not even when... when my friends started struggling with themselves.

Heck, some of them wanted to let their lives go to get to God Tier... or for worse intentions...

Shit, everything sucked.

The girl started tearing up, calling the other Candles repeatedly.

“Why?!” she finally sobbed. “Why aren’t you still burning?! You’re supposed to stay till the end, right?!”

At least, that’s what I thought... before, uh, that happened.

You see, it was one day while I was struggling to find my way through the Land of Rumors and Elements when someone stood in a distance away from me. When I tried to process who it was, they somehow got to me in quick speeds & punched my glasses off of me.

I was at a disadvantage by then. I tried to use my two knives (alchemized ones; they looked cool & they were more fit for fighting) to get them, but my eyesight is pretty crap. I missed my slashes so many times.

Then I felt them getting one of the knives, and it turned into what was basically a very inconvenient sword-fight. It went on for a long time, trying to injure free spots before getting parried repeatedly.

I then noticed a sharp pain on my right side.

When I turned my head towards the feeling, my right arm was on the ground.

Bleeding. Aching. Hurting.

Fading.

I faced the person one last time, and I only see a silhouette. On their head is a mint-colored circle with three wisp-like appendages... a symbol...

The next thing I knew, I was lying on stone. I was... weak. And tired.

On my side was my Sprite, a golden retriever with water buffalo horns & a fedora. She had a mournful look on her face.

I closed my own eyes & took a deep breath when I realized.

I was dying.

“RIGHT?!?!”

She cried out before falling to the ground, practically drowning in her own tears.

Then I felt as numb as I could ever be.

>> —^— <<

Then she heard a voice.

It said, “Worry not, child. I’m still here.”

She looked up to see the remaining Candle in the room.

“Why should I not worry, then?” the girl questioned.

It replied, “I can relight the others if you truly acknowledge my presence.”

She perked up at the response she was given. Crawling closer towards the Candle, she followed up with, “And why is that?”

A soft chuckle came out from it.

“Well... isn’t my name Hope?”

>> —^— <<

I didn’t expect to feel a burst of cool air from where my arm was cut off. At least, I didn’t expect it to be the first thing I felt since I died.

Then I felt something on my back, pushing me up & up until I recognized it as floating in the air. Little by little, my senses came back to normal. The numbness had subsided, replaced with what I think was... power.

My lungs breathed air again; I can make sounds; I can see, smell, hear, feel...

I’m human again. Alive. Awake.

Unfortunately, living again came with having to deal with pain. Remnants of the aching on my right arm arrived, so naturally, I let my left hand clench where it hurt. There was a scar on where I was touching, but I can unusually feel the rest of my arm...

Yep, I got my arm back. Nice, I guess. Let’s set that aside for now.

One other detail I noticed was that I was wearing a mostly yellow outfit: a sleeveless shirt, some leggings, and dark green boots, along with long fingerless gloves. I then took a look at a puddle to see that my reflection has a superhero-like mask on my face.

I did not know how the fuck they got on me.

Yet one thing’s for sure: I’ve ascended and went to God Tier.

And my role?

I relight our Family’s bond & trust with the help of Hope.

With shining eyes, the girl picked the Candle up and lighted the other three.

Peace, Faith, & Love.

All together, alight again, in the dark room.

>> —^— <<

I am the Rogue of Hope, the one who distributes Hope to others.

#hOOOOOOLY FUCK THIS MIGHT BE MY WORLD RECORD-#I STARTED WRITING THIS YESTERDAY #OH MY FUCKING GOD I AM SO HAPPY & PROUD RN #homestuck #sburb #sburb au #sburb session #fan session #[Homestuck AU]#chaos family!#just writing some bullshit #(yes that’s a tag now)#chaos & conflict

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fourdaysofrain · 5 years

Text

So What?

Summary: Tony and Peter exchange Christmas gifts.

(This is my Irondad Fic Exchange fic for @iron-spideyson! The original prompt was, "It’s the first time the Parker’s are coming over for Christmas and Tony is stressed over impressing May and picking the perfect gift for Peter. Little does he know that Peter feels the same." I strayed from it a bit, but I hope you enjoy!)

Read on AO3

“What do you get the man who has everything? Might I suggest a gravestone inscribed with the words: so what?”

The air in the cabin still hummed with the energy of the Christmas party. A few hours ago, all the rooms had been filled to the brim with as many superheroes and families of superheroes that could fit. The holiday season made Tony nostalgic for old friends, sue him. It had been hard to believe there was snow building up outside when everyone was surrounded by the heat of the party.

Now, however, the cabin was empty save for a few of Tony’s closest friends. Most of which were either already sleeping or heading that way. Tony himself was dozing on the couch, a natural progression from when he sat down so Pepper could put Morgan to bed.

His right arm was dangling from the armrest, the soft amber light from the lamp hitting it in a distinctly artificial way. It was a constant work in progress. Tony had just had another breakthrough with the skin color, but it still wasn’t right. It had too many yellow undertones on the inside of his wrist, and too many pink ones near his elbow. Recreating the texture of skin was a no-go as well: the wrinkling was too artificial. It was fine from a few yards away, sure, but it made people uncomfortable up close. The whirring was noticeable to anyone near when he moved it. Tony could pick it apart for hours. The whole project of making a hyper-realistic prosthesis was an entirely frustrating endeavor. Pepper had pulled him away from its blueprints in the early hours of the morning far too many times.

Tony woke up from his half-asleep state when he heard the floorboards creak from behind him. He smiled to himself, glad he offered for the Parkers to stay the night. Peter shyly came into his field of vision and hovered by the other side of the couch. He was holding a manilla folder carefully close to his chest, as if he was afraid of crushing it.

Tony’s body creaked as he raised himself into a sitting position. “I was hoping I’d get some one on one time with my favorite intern sometime today. What’d you think of the party?” That was another reason he had invited Peter to stay the night: there had been too many people at the party to have a conversation with someone specific for a meaningful amount of time. Peter barely had enough time to say a jaunty season’s greetings to him before getting swept up into something with Rhodey and Carol.

“It was really great, Mr. Stark. It was crazy to see everyone in one place that wasn’t a huge fight.” Tony huffed out a laugh at that.

“Times are a-changin,” he said as he looked out the window to watch the snow for a moment, stewing in his thoughts.

He motioned for Peter to sit next to him. He grabbed a blanket from underneath the coffee table and joined Tony on the couch. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the comfortable warmth of the room contrasting against the cool chill from outside. Tony could tell there was something on Peter’s mind. He waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“I uh… Got you something for Christmas,” he finally said.

Tony peered at him through the corner of his eye. “Is it to do with the folder you’re holding?”

“Ha ha,” Peter deadpanned. He adjusted his grip on the manilla folder. “Uh, yeah.”

Tony shifted his position so he was looking directly at Peter and nodded at him to continue.

“It’s not like I could buy you anything, because you’re already a billionaire, so I figured I had to make you something. And it took me a long time to figure out what to make, ‘cause I’m too old to just make you a card.”

“There’s plenty of free space on the fridge if you ever change your mind,” Tony quipped.

Peter just rolled his eyes and continued on. He was barely able to cover up a smile. “Thankfully I’m still young enough I don’t have to worry about getting a present for everyone I know. Trying to figure something out for everyone here would be crazy. I pretty much just got something for you, May, Ned, and MJ.”

“Well, I’m honored. Are you going to keep me in suspense?”

“It isn’t really… normal.” Peter rubbed the corner of the small manilla folder he was holding, on the verge of tearing it open before Tony could even get the chance.

“Kid, I’m a freshly-retired superhero. I’ve learned to appreciate the unusual,” Tony said as he slowly leaned forward, escaping from the fluffed-up couch cushions he was laying in. His arm clicked and whirred and the artificial skin gathered on the inside of the elbow. Peter forced himself to look elsewhere.

“Ok, well… here.” He stuck his arm that was holding the folder out towards Tony stiffly.

Tony took it and slid his hand over the surface for a second before opening it and sliding out the few pieces of paper that are inside.

“Kid…” His voice was thick, but Tony couldn’t decipher which emotion was at the forefront of his own mind.

“I don’t want to offend you, but I had some ideas for your arm.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck as he talks.

“You being smarter than me is never going to offend me.” Tony offered him a warm smile as he flipped through the papers in front of him. There were a few beats of silence as Peter let him look over the designs.

“Hit me, kid. What’re you thinking?” He put the papers on his lap and looked to Peter.

“I- uh, I wrote it all out in the papers.”

“Yeah, I prefer to hear it from the source.”

“Well… I think you want your arm to look like a normal arm, which is great!” He took a deep breath and looked at Tony. “But your main issue is always going to be the uncanny valley. It looks so much like a human arm, but there’s an artificial element to it that will make it seem… weird.” Peter’s voice fell flat when he reached the end of his train of thought. He looked over to see Tony scratching his jawline with his left hand, pointedly keeping his prosthesis still so it wouldn’t make noise.

“Then let’s say I’m one of the most renowned tech geniuses in the world with any materials I need at my disposal, who’s to say I can’t get over the uncanny valley?”

Tony’s tone was challenging without any heat behind it. He was just testing to see how much Peter thought about this. It was like before the Blip, hours spent in the lab going back and forth at a mile a minute trying to work out some bug in the suits. Back when all of their issues could be broken into two parts- finding out what the problem was and solving it.

“I’m sure you could, but at some point…” Peter trailed off.

Tony met Peter’s eyes. He still looked intimidated. If he had a hero complex before the Blip, Tony saving the entire universe only worsened it. He nodded at Peter, hoping his eyes looked kind enough.

Peter cleared his throat. When he spoke again, it was more confident. “Is it worth it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… You can make the most human-like prosthetic, but at the end of the day, you just take it off and go to bed.” Peter’s eyes gained a competitive spark. “Why not lean into the skid?”

Tony looked back down at the blueprints. Maybe he was right. Besides, the kid had style. The arm he designed was clearly based on his suits. It had a red base with gold tracing the joints and a silver stripe from shoulder to wrist. Pretty good for a first draft. In fact, it was a bit too good for a first draft.

“Kid, have you designed Iron Man suits before?”

Tony was half joking, but the way Peter quickly looked away made him bark out a laugh.

“Ned and I were really big fans--” Peter’s explanation was cut off by Tony’s laugh deteriorating into sounding like a tire losing air.

“Lord, kid, that was better than any present you could’ve given me.”

Peter put his head in his hands and Tony leaned over and nudged him with his shoulder. His movement caused his arm to whir and both men flinched. Tony felt the mood shift.

“Can I say something?” Peter asked.

“What’ve we been doing so far?” Tony’s voice was still tinged with playfulness.

“No, I mean…” Peter looked over, the soft light making his face seem even younger. “Can I say something real?”

“Of course, kid.”

“I think the realistic arm is something… normal. But you’re not normal, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughed and rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left. “Now I see why Rhodes likes you so much.”

“No I don’t mean--”

He waved Peter off. “I’m messing with you, kid. I know what you mean.”

“Like… You saved the whole universe, so it’s not like you can ever blend in, no matter how many hyper-realistic pores you put on a prosthetic.” Some idle part of Tony’s mind made a note of adding pores to the next design. “You need something new, something that shows how you’ve changed. Not just trying to stay the same as you were before the Blip.”

Tony huffed and stretched his prosthetic out in front of him. Kids Say the Darndest Things, eat your heart out. “Wow, and I thought Brucie was my therapist.”

“What can I say,” Peter said. He looked wryly at Tony. “Dying made me more introspective, I guess.”

Tony groaned. “Maybe wait another couple of years before making jokes, Pete.” He paused, then added, “I appreciate this, kid. Takes a lot of guts to call me out, but it should happen more often.”

Tony put the blueprints back in the folder and set them on the coffee table, mentally making a note to pick them up and move them to the lab in the morning. If he woke up early enough, he could probably get it fitted and put on before breakfast.

“Well, you’re not the only one with surprises tonight, kid,” he said as he grabbed a box from underneath the couch. “Had to keep it safe from prying eyes.”

“Oh, Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing big.” He waved a hand non-committedly. “I talked your aunt’s ear off trying to figure out what you wanted. She thought I was joking about getting you an Audi.”

“You didn’t--”

“I didn’t,” he assured. Then he tilted his head and said, “Though all you have to do is ask--”

“Mr. Stark!”

“Hey, I’m kidding.” He mentally switched gears and handed Peter the box. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of all the superheroes, so here.”

Peter took his time with unwrapping the gift, making sure to untie the bow and not tear any of the paper. Tony briefly considered poking fun at him, but the moment was too fragile.

Once he finished unwrapping the paper, there was a photo album left behind. It was bound in a black hardcover and didn’t have any defining characteristics besides a stylized spider design embossed in gold foil onto the lower right corner of the cover. For such an ostentatious guy, Tony was glad he reeled it in for this one.

Peter flipped through its pages and saw pictures of the Blip. Pictures of Tony and Pepper, of Morgan learning to walk, of everything. Eventually he landed on the first page, which was a large print of Tony’s favorite picture of the album.

It was taken only a few months after Thanos snapped. There had been a memorial set up for Spider-Man in Queens. Tony had been walking numbly through old haunts when he saw it. He didn’t know how, but it had been only a few blocks from Peter’s apartment.

The memorial was surrounded by flowers of all types and colors. Drawings of Spider-Man, from childhood scrawls to professional portraits, were taped on the wall surrounding it. Candles were set on every available surface. Where there was no space for more, nightstands had been brought out. There were Sharpies of all colors strewn on the ground around it.

The focal point of the memorial, though, was the wall itself. Someone had written over the white paint of the building in large block letters, “Spider-Man saved me.” Surrounding that, were hundreds of other messages. All from people Spider-Man had affected, describing how he saved them. Tony may have been one of the few left to grieve for Peter Parker, but he was far from the only one grieving for Spider-Man.

“They uh--” Tony tapped the picture of the colorful wall. “They painted over this after a year or so. Figured you should see it.”

Peter traced his finger over some of the writing. “Wow, this is…”

He looked over to Tony. Neither man was crying, but they were both getting dangerously close to being emotional. Thankfully, it was late enough in the night they could blame it on being tired.

“I figured you probably felt a little behind,” Tony started. “Five years behind, really. So I enlisted FRIDAY, along with everyone who wasn’t dusted’s phones, and raided their pictures. There aren’t many good ones early on, but y’know. They get better. We never forgot about you. Any of you, really, but you were… the kid.”

He cleared his throat and pointed at the rest of the photo album. “If you look in the back, there’s a little flash drive that has a rundown of all the tech changes in the past five years, if you’re interested. Knowing you, I’m sure you’ll be all caught up by morning.”

Peter flipped through a few more pages and then leaned back into the couch, staring upwards.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“I can’t look at it for too long. I will cry,” he said to the ceiling.

“Glad you like it.” Tony sighed and leaned back next to Peter. “I was the brains, Pep and Morgan helped me out with the actual ‘asking other people for pictures’ part. You’ll have to include them in any thank you card correspondence.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever written a thank you card in my life.” Peter twisted to his side to look at Tony. “Is that bad?”

“Well, it’s not kill half the universe bad,” Tony admitted.

“I thought no jokes?”

“Eh.” Tony turned his head to meet Peter’s eyes with a smirk. “They’re funnier when I do them.”

“A man who has everything has nothing if he doesn’t have love.”

Tag List: @ironfamjam @addi-is-amazing @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch @wellplacedbanana @night0seven @unfathomable-universe @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @spideynamu

#let me know if you wanna be tagged!#i love fic exchanges #but im also bad with timelines haha #art writes #irondad #iron dad #spider-man #spiderman #iron man #marvel #mcu #wooooo #irondadficexchange

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beastars-takes · 5 years

Text

Beastars Chapter 4

Picking up where we left off...

Oh, Legosi, what’d you do, buddy.

I have to admit I went into this comic knowing maybe a little too much about where it was headed. I can’t help wondering what all this would have looked like if I’d gone in totally blind. Got to be some whiplash from thinking Legosi killed Tem, to realizing he’s just a nice weird kid, to this.

We understand very little about the universe of Beastars at the outset--it allows us to assume we know things, only to tear down those assumptions later. What does it actually mean to be an apex predator in this world? We’re only beginning to get an idea.

Starting off in a high school is a great touch because it provides this veneer of normalcy and safety--immediately punctured by Tem’s murder, and then further kicked to pieces by one chapter after another. There’s no safety here.

I want to talk more later about how great Haru is, but I love how lucid she is even here. Just...tapping his arm. Are we doing this, or what?

This moment is really reinforcing both of their worst feelings about themselves. Such a crappy meet-cute.

I think if I was going to make one real complaint about Beastars as a whole, it’d be how little exploration of Haru there is as a POV character. She’s definitely just as fucked up as Legosi is, and endures trauma after trauma. Her chapters are great, but mostly focused on bad things happening to her, or her relationship to Legosi. Even Bill’s experienced more self-actualization at this point.

There’s definitely still time, though. I am always ready for more Haru chapters.

Lots of perspective errors in here, but again--a great example of pushing beyond the comfort zone. Pages like this are the reason the newer chapters look so good.

Haru indicates throughout (internally, and in what she says) that she doesn’t care about these guys or what they think. Her thoughts when she’s grabbed by Legosi suggest that’s not entirely true, but she’s definitely incredible at projecting fearlessness. The fact that it leads to even more abuse might be a bonus for her, as much as she hates herself.

This little subplot is interesting (and very high school) because it’s not really clear how much of what Haru is accused of she actually did. Here she downplays it as “a little kiss” but we learn later from the boyfriend that they did in fact sleep together.

Haru’s such a shikse.

Mizuchi is a fun counterpart for Haru early on because they have some commonalities--they’re both ultimately acting out of feelings of powerlessness. Only where Mizuchi hurts others, Haru mostly just hurts herself.

I think it’s easy to get thrown off by her tough talk throughout this chapter, but I think she’s really run out of rope here. She has zero friends (apart from maybe Louis, who makes it clear she’s not a priority to him) and now nobody’s willing to even talk to her.

Love when Legosi turns into a black rectangle with eyes.

Should have used this power more often.

Some of these panels are so weird and impressionistic--something that can’t really be replicated in the 3D animation of the show. The show styles it in a different way that’s impressive all on its own, but the early chapters of the manga are so aggressively striking. I really hope when the show drops on English Netflix it’ll inspire people to take a look at the source material.

Size and proportion are really fluid, especially early on--his body is so huge compared to his head here. Lowkey terrifying.

And of course Paru undermines my commentary by making him super cute in the next three panels. Look at this murderous goober.

So here we are. Both of these guys have gotten through their teens stewing in self-hatred, and their self-destructive coping mechanisms are both failing simultaneously.

And then they both get a second chance.

#beastars #beastars takes #beastars spoilers #beastars liveblog #legosi #legoshi #haru #mizuchi

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jamlavender · 4 years

Note

1, 15, and 20 for the hdm asks! <3

Thank you Alice! <3

1. favourite quote?

These are huge clichés but anything to do with atoms melting back into the universe gets me going, so: “And when we do find each other again, we’ll cling together so tight that nothing and no one’ll ever tear us apart. Every atom of me and every atom of you... We’ll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds and in those little specks of light you see floating in sunbeams...” (The Dunes, The Amber Spyglass) and “The first ghost to leave the world of the dead was Roger. He took a step forward, and turned to look back at Lyra, and laughed in surprise as he found himself turning into the night, the starlight, the air... and then he was gone, leaving behind such a vivid little burst of happiness that Will was reminded of the bubbles in a glass of champagne.” (The Abyss, The Amber Spyglass).

Also the early description of Lyra as a “coarse and greedy little savage” always makes my heart sing!

15. which character do you think had the best development?

After wracking my brain over this question, I’m not sure what to say! I know Mrs Coulter is the obvious answer, but she doesn’t actually develop that much, does she? She develops an obsession with her daughter, which is only called love when Lyra’s not around (she literally smacks her in the face when they’re in the cave!), and only throws herself into the abyss to save Lyra, not because she’s switched alliances in a deep ideological sense (one could argue, and I would, that her alliance to any group beyond the power they can offer her in that moment is tenuous) or because she regrets the atrocities she’s committed. Asriel doesn’t undergo much development either: he’s never called to account for murdering Roger by anyone, and his change-of-heart towards Lyra is only because she does something that impresses him and which advances his aims. It’s pride in his daughter (extra emphasis on the his), not real love, nor regret for the pain he’s caused her. Lyra and Will end up traumatised, most of the others end up dead, and of those that survive - Iorek, Serafina, Mary - I don’t feel like any of them undergo huge character changes in the trilogy itself. So I don’t know! I’d be keen to hear other opinions on this.

20. what do you like/dislike about the books in comparison to the show?

This could be a whole essay, ha. Nothing will beat the original prose of the books, and I know a common complaint about the show is that the dialogue struggles to bring the magic of the source material to life (and I agree with this). But there are some changes the show has made that I love. The whole separator scene with Lyra screaming “Mother!” is brilliant, as is the later scene of her and Mrs Coulter screaming at each other through the door. I also love Amir Wilson’s Will, while book!Will fucked me off half the time. Little things like that. But even when I dislike a choice the show has made, it doesn’t make me angry or anything. I revel in the scenes and changes I love, and go back to the books (or my own imagination) if I don’t like what they’ve done.

#asks #his dark materials #brevity is not my strong suit forgive me

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kellyvela · 3 years

Text

Chronicle of a Death Foretold

July 21, 2018

In the earlier published Targaryen family tree as found in The World of Ice & Fire, Princess Daenerys did not exist. In her place was Prince Aeryn Targaryen, Jaehaerys and Alysanne's sixthborn son who died young. Besides Aeryn having been exchanged for Daenerys, several other children of Jaehaerys and Alysanne were shifted in their order of birth.

Regarding these changes, Elio Garcia has stated the following:

... George had some new ideas for some of the names and the stories of the children who died young, and corrected some issues that came out of his original birth order (we actually got the names of all the kids quite late in the production of TWoIaF—literally a month before we had to finalize the book—so there was not much time to interrogate it). However, the stories of those who live to adulthood, as published in TWoIaF, do remain the same (just, of course, much more detailed).

[Source]

November 20, 2018

(...)

It was the hour of the owl when Queen Alysanne was awoken by her daughter shaking her gently by the arm. “Mother,” Princess Daenerys said, “I’m cold.”

—Fire & Blood - Volume I

May 19, 2019

Standing before the Iron Throne, Dany steps forward and kisses the man she loves. A perfect kiss, an expression of pure love and passion.

We push in on them until we’re tight on their faces -- their eyes closed, his hand behind her head, her hand on his cheek.

Dany’s eyes open suddenly as she draws a sharp breath.

Jon’s eyes open as well, already filling with tears. For a moment, neither moves, as if moving will make this real.

In a wider angle, we see Jon with his hand still on the hilt of the dagger he just lodged in Dany’s heart.

Her strength leaves her and she collapses to the marble; he keeps her in his arms as she falls, kneeling down to the floor beside her.

He looks down at what he’s done. Terrible. And necessary. He hopes for one last moment with her.

But her eyes are already glazing over. Winter has come to the Throne Room. Dany lies dead in his arms, Pieta-style, as the snow drifts down.

—GAME OF THRONES "The Iron Throne" - Written by David Benioff & D.B. Weiss - Based on A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin

January 19, 2020

WELT: Again: We know what will happen to the Mother of Dragons. How do you want to surpass that in a novel – with an alternative literary version?

—GEORGE R. R. MARTIN “Die Leute kennen ein Ende – nicht das Ende” - WELT 2020 - (Translation)

April 18, 2021

Q: It is my impression that there are parallels between Westeros history and current events in ASOIAF. so in your opinion to what degree is George martin's history cyclical? Because we have a lot of parallels. For example with the current history and the dance of the dragons.

Elio: You know George even uses that line from talking about the the arms of house Toland, the dragon eating its tail, but it was from the Archmaester Rigney which is a reference to Robert Jordan the writer of the wheel of time, that history is a wheel or time as a circle. I think George certainly deliberately sees, creates parallels. I mean this is a very obvious example, you know if you read The World of Ice and Fire, you saw the family tree of the Targaryens, and the family tree for Jaehaerys and his offspring changes quite a lot when fire and blood comes out. Because George realized that he wanted to create a kind of parallel by introducing another Daenerys. and he said like, i like the symmetry of it, I like the the sort of the way. You could perhaps read it as reflecting on Daenerys's story, maybe. I wish it was true. I mean I think fans of Daenerys need to be really worried about what's going to happen to her. Although I guess Game of Thrones maybe has revealed kind of where things may possibly end. Again the journey is going to be very different. I think you know circumstances, things are going to be very different. So there's a journey that matters. But in any case, so yes I think George uses cycles and things a bit. He likes setting up parallels of events, he likes paralleling characters, he likes paralleling events, and he likes paralleling the past and the present as well.

Linda: I think certainly that when he fleshed out the details of Fire and Blood, even when he first did the sidebars for The World of Ice and Fire, and they just grew. We could see that, okay here he's looking at foreshadowing or commenting on current events by doing a similar scenario in the past and he definitely likes to play around with those aspects.

[Source] (*)

(*) Thanks to @istumpysk and her friend for sending me this link!

#asoiaf #game of thrones #grrm #elio garcia #daenerys targaryen #the world of ice and fire #fire and blood

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