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eiilese · 1 year

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Love the designs and descriptions you did for the straw hats!! I do want to ask, since they all have different roles and skills do they meet the crew at different points in the story? Like, since Robin is the shipwright would she have met the crew at Water 7 or would it still be Alabasta but under different circumstances? Since she’s not an archeologist she wouldn’t have been raised on O’Hara, right?

Just curious to see what your thoughts are😊 - thanks.

thank you so much for the ask!! sorry this took so long to answer it took awhile to gather my ideas. i’m so happy with how well this au thing was received ;u; TY to people who left tags and replies!! i read everything 🫶

here is the original post for role swap! this post has explanations for backstories! i really did try to have drawings to go with everything but i burned out as this month went on so not every character has doodles :(

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i kept everything mostly the same in terms of when the strawhats meet each person. i didn’t want to change too much to avoid changing important character moments that happen in canon

this isn’t a super heavy rewrite, there’s a lot of backstory to juggle and i’m not equipped to write such an in-depth au rn 😭 but i might make separate posts for arcs like water 7 or wci!! though i kept a lot of backstory the same theres a lot of rewrite potential for those sagas

i hope these are fun to read about nonetheless ^_^ i included some stuff from @flute-of-pan pan and @onethousandsunnies because they left tags on the original post that were cool ideas

nami, vice capt.

not much changes!! instead of forcing her to chart maps, arlong might just have her around as a servant girl. regardless, the deal to buy back cocoyashi village still stands and nami works hard for it

generally i think her selflessness and loyalty to her village makes her fit to be a vice captain. she looks out for people at her own detriment and was willing to take the fall for such much ahhh

in my opinion she’s good vice captain material!! perhaps a cowardly one but still reliable. also a good treasurer for the crew as always

zoro, cook

zoro grew up training to be a swordsman and competes against kuina, but he also has a knack for cooking as a hobby. he’s mostly the same but sanji’s “stuck on a rock in the middle of the ocean with zeff” happens to him instead (flute-of-pan suggested the cook always suffers the fate of starvation)

kuina decides to run away and zoro is roped into her plans. it goes wrong and they get stranded on a rock, eventually arguing and ending up on opposite sides of the rock with the little food they brought

zoro finds out kuina gave him everything they had soon after she stops replying to him. he’s rescued thanks to kuina’s dad, who tracked them down with vivre cards. kuina’s had long since burned up

similar to canon, zoro continues striving to become the world’s strongest after her death. i think this backstory coupled with him eating those stomped riceballs at the very beginning of the story is so….(GESTURE) it’s very reminiscent of sanji’s no-waste-policy which he would absolutely also have

sanji, sniper

germa 66 has a mafia aesthetic now 👍i only have the willpower to draw reiju here she ended up kind of cluttered but i like my vision

sanji’s backstory is mostly the same: he and his siblings are genetically modified to be the perfect soldiers, but he had a kind nature that made him the target of abuse. after reiju helps him escape, he ends up with zeff and worked as a janitor. zeff loses his leg while trying to save sanji in a maritime accident; though they don’t get stranded anywhere, sanji has to be indebted to him somehow

when the baratie is opened, he works as a busser/guard against unruly guests. flute-of-pan mentioned that he could fire the canons of the ship

when the strawhats meet him on the baratie, sanji still gives don krieg’s crew food. i don’t think his kindness around that would disappear just bc he doesn’t have a whole starving incident

usopp, navigator

on top of bluffing about being the leader of a huge pirate army, he would create fake maps and brag to everyone in syrup village (especially kaya) about these places he so evidently visited. kaya loved his drawings even if the places weren’t real

his dream is to create a Real map of the whole world, not a fake map that he makes up out of stories. drafting the real world makes him a brave explorer of the seas, which he also wants to become :)

when the strawhats meet him, they were basically relying on nami’s limited sailing skills to get around. not only do they get the going merry but they have a real, reliable navigator now! AND he’s multitalented B)

chopper, helmsman

from a young age he set his sights on sailing the seas to escape from the isolation he faced on drum island. he would routinely make little boats for himself to escape the island on, failing each time, and hiriluk would always nurse him back to health

instead of studying to be a doctor, chopper has a general desire to be helpful and acted as an assistant to hiriluk’s medical endeavors

both flute-of-pan and onethousandsunnies pitched that chopper studied stuff like ocean currents!! overall he studied the ocean real hard but would never leave the island without hiriluk

hiriluk’s death would glue him to doctor kureha’s side and it isn’t until the strawhats come that he has the courage to embark on a new journey

franky, muscian

bro grew up running around water 7 trying to get people to join his band. tom and iceberg are still his family. his shipbuilding skills don’t go past an amateur level in this au. he would develop a line of dinky guitars (or instruments in general) that also had lasers/canons/confetti in them. his dream is A FRANKY WORLD TOUR 🤞FREE ADMISSION

many of his weaponized instruments littered the shipyard, spandam uses them in his attack

after the whole tom/spandam situation unfolds, iceberg is the one to find and reconstruct franky into a cyborg after getting run over by the sea train. but he won’t implement piano key abs no matter how much franky asks 🙄

the newly formed franky family protect the city and throw unsolicited concerts in the middle of the street B)

robin, shipwright

though she’s not an archeologist, she still grew up on ohara! instead of archeology, she’s a gifted engineer. her devil fruit made her an outcast and her strange, misunderstood inventions did not help her case

when jaguar d saul gets stranded on ohara, robin constructs the raft for him :) the buster call unfolds the same as canon except this time, everyone’s actually not lying when they say robin can’t read poneglyphs! she never learned!! again flute-of-pan had the cool idea that she is wrongly accused. still, she’s pursued and branded as a devil child

she ends up with crocodile, who believes she can read poneglyphs. she takes advantage of this and earns his protection from the government but her ruse is uncovered when she lies to croc about what alabasta’s poneglyph says (girl cannot read that!)

robin dreams of creating a ship that can carry her and the friends she wishes to have. after meeting robin in alabasta she joins the strawhats!!

brook, doctor

he was the doctor of the rumbar pirates. an injured laboon came to like brook after he nursed him back to health!! when yorki became sick from disease brook tried his hardest to cure him, but failed :(

he was doomed to watch his crewmates die to poison that he cannot hope to cure because he himself was also dying. when he came back thru his fruit it was already too late :( the rumbar pirates Do record a song for laboon though this event cannot be edited 🤞

met in thriller bark; ik that’s a long ass time to go without a real doctor on board

by the time they meet brook everyone’s already so battered that he has to go to town on them with gauze and stitches. the company delights him ^_^

jinbei, archeologist

i mentioned this in the first post abt this au but his interest in history sparked thanks to the history of joyboy and fishman island being so intertwined. at some point in his youth, jinbei frequently visited ohara (prior to the buster call) and grew a strong relationship with the scholars there (i’m just assuming they wouldn’t be racists 🤪) he runs into robin a handful of times

he secretly learns how to read poneglyphs here leading up to the buster call. he wasn’t on the island when it happened so he managed to avoid robin’s fate

his story proceeds the same from there with the neptune army, joining fisher tiger, meeting koala, etc…

i enjoy the idea of getting invited to be a warlord by the government while simultaneously being one of the most wanted people in the world for knowing poneglyph secrets

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also i’m sorry if there are things i forgot about or details that don’t make sense >—>o

the anime’s pacing has ruined my enthusiasm for awhile lol and i’ve consumed a lot of media since catching up!! everyone’s backstories/canon events aren’t too fresh in my memory but i did some researching to remedy it 🫡

#one piece #art #ei98 art #one piece usopp #nico robin #one piece fanart #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #nami #franky one piece #one piece brook #one piece jinbe #tony tony chopper #one piece sanji #vinsmoke reiju #role swap au

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crushedsweets · 3 months

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HI SO RANDOM BUT YOUR SO COOL AND INSPIRE ME SM AND I HAD A QEUESTION BOUT YOUR AU-WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO COME UP WITH IT CUZ ITS HONESTLY SUPER INTERESTING! (CAP LOCKED WONT COME OFF SORRY FOR LIKE-SCREAMING AT YOU)

AWW UR SO SWEET!!!

ok what inspired me to come up with my AU...

i hadn't really seen many around at the time so i was like ok. lets make this happen.

i really just wanted to have a cohesive explanation for why all these characters with unrelated backstories are hanging out, plus a concrete "canon" (the canon only applying in my AU, of course)

an old toby x reader fic that I wrote back in 2019

i dont shut up ever and too many people let me talk for too long. LOL

there wasn't any specific story/move/etc that i saw that inspired me, aside from the creeps existing obvi...but yeaahh :3c my #1 hobby has always been art and character/story creation or whatever so i think it was just desire to create(and love for creepypasta)!

#asks

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neonscandal · 9 months

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This week is Sk8 3rd anniversary.... So for celebrating, can I ask a few things :

-Who are your fav character from this series? Why?

-What are your fav moments from this series? -What are your opinions on this fandom's famous ships : Reki/ Langa, Cherry/ Joe, Adam/ Tadashi?

Season 2 and an OVA are coming (eventually)! Which is more than we can say for other series' so I'm going to remain delusionally hopeful. I think it'd be nice if, instead of announcing long awaited continuations, new seasons dropped like Beyonce albums. Without warning and like an unexpected blessing. Just like this ask so thank you for reaching out!

FAVORITE CHARACTER

Sk8 has a wonderful band of idiots who I adore but Cherry is, by far, my favorite. Most specifically through the interactions he has with Joe because they are just so catty and mean to one another but you just know it belies an affection from their entrenched history together whether you consider them a ship them or not.

I love that Cherry had this rebellious era and continues to do so as a respectable adult while juggling such a disciplined craft and career. Like, that dichotomy is just 😘👌🏾. Goals, honestly. He maintains this split by ensuring that his S persona and his everyday persona remain mutually exclusive similar to how Adam conducts himself. Which, now that I'm thinking about it, might be kind of sad but he is, somewhat, of a man of contrasts.

Like, the way his talents splinter is so interesting. He is a founding member of S wherein he remains a threat, an established and respected calligrapher... plus, I feel like he customized Carla himself. What a nerd! Plus, Cherry is so gender. ✨

THOUGHTS ON SHIPS

Reki & Langa - idiot x idiot, I love it? But also, how silly to show someone something you love so intensely only for that love to envelope them so completely. Both in how they receive your hobby but also in how they just become a part of your life. Plus, Langa sees Reki's strengths that he takes for granted and its so necessary because they both think the sun shines out of each others' ass. Also, I see them as a reincarnation of AshEiji from Banana Fish.

Cherry & Joe - Yes. Was that not evident from above? Yes. They fight like an old (and sassy) married couple and then will have a moment of saccharine sweetness that's just... too much. There's also a hilarious sense of patience Joe must have to adapt to Cherry vs. Kaoru and its more evident because there's who the pair are when they are around others, regardless of who the others are, and then who they are when they're alone. Like, why put on the act, guys? Just kiss already.

Adam & Tadashi - As long as it's consensual, I guess, but I'm sure Tadashi could do better.

Oka & Shadow - Okay, but go with me here. Please thank the chokehold umikochannart had on keeping this ship sailing before they wiped their IG of all evidence.

Adding a few other artists guaranteed to give you the brainrot because I fell down a rabbit hole while looking for umikochann and fan artists deserve so much appreciation for covering the spread when we are awaiting new content so go follow them and join their patreons, buy them a kofi and bark on all their posts because we are not deserving of their labor: angrymorilas, bunbun.ji, @pochiikou and @ratcarney IG.

These artists are my gift to you. As a gift, that means that we should love and appreciate the people whose talents enable us to experience the characters we love even more and be thankful for, however long the stretch, the time that our favorite characters and ships were their muses. And to subsequently not be a prick when their muse changes.

⚠️ Spoiler warning for S1 of SK8 the Infinity anime.

FAVORITE MOMENTS

"Push me, Reki." - needs no explanation.

Reki defending Miya's honor - When you see Miya's backstory, his isolation is really sad and makes him vulnerable to Adam's predation but Reki punched well above his weight to defend Miya and it effectively brought the kid into the fold and I loved that. And that's on the power of friendship. ✨ Reki really subjugated everyone in that friend group and is not appreciated enough for it.

When everyone cockblocked Joe - Not every show needs a beach episode. This one does.

Sia La Luce after hours - the fact that Kaoru, after being bride carried by Joe, broke out of the hospital just to go running back to Joe is just so... beautifully chaotic and unexpected. Add a zest of Jonah Scott murmuring "We're not alone, right, Kaoru?" and I am undone.

When the might of Reki's rain wheels kicked in - Overcame insecurity by utilizing the gift he'd had all along? AGH. So perfect, so proud.

When Reki's laughter melts into that of young Adam's - only because that was really sweet

Not in the show but: sharing this series with my niece and nephew and them loving it just as much as I do. They're pretty young so the Venn Diagram of "Shows I Love" vs "Shows I Can Share With Them As A Discerning Adult" has a pretty narrow overlap. So imagine my surprise when my nephew randomly makes a SK8 joke or observation or when my niece drew fan art of Carla? We also sing and dance and laugh during the intro and outtro so I hope they remember the series affectionately when they're older.

#neon asks #anon asks #sk8 the infinity #matchablossom #renga #kaoru sakurayashiki #sakurayashiki kaoru #kojiro nanjo #nanjo kojiro #reki kyan #kyan reki #langa hasegawa #hasegawa langa #miya chinen #chinen miya #oka shokichi #shokichi oka #hiromi higa #higa hiromi

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jackdaniel69nice · 6 months

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@kaytaygay asked for tokoyami and dark shadow with Kuroiro Shihai headcanons so here you go! I loved doing this because he isn’t someone I have given much thought to before and it was great.

Kuroiro is someone who is familiar with the darkness like tokoyami. He’s the scheming hero, coming up with clever tricks and using sneak attacks to get the upper hand on his enemies. I think eventually they would get along but at first there is a lot of tension between them.

While I don’t think tokoyami would see kuroiro as a rival necessarily because they aren’t that close, he is someone that toko is curious about. There is no backstory for these chunibyos with no explanation for their reasoning to become hero’s so it leaves a lot of leeway on their character. Kuroiro is similar to monama and shinso without being outright antagonistic, he’s still willing to play dirty to win. While I think tokoyami has a high moral standing when it comes to treating people with respect, he won’t hesitate to lie for his own benefits (he is interning under hawks, who is a spy). Kuroiro’s quirk is best suited for support while dark shadow has the brute strength, speed, and flexibility to be one of the most powerful forces in mha (as said by afo himself). It would just be odd for them to be rivals when they are on completely different power levels and focusing on different career paths. Tokoyami admires kuroiro’s dark and scheming ways but is mildly worried about it being used against him, over time spent together trust can be formed and they could have a very strong friendship…in theory.

Dark shadow does not like kuroiro. I have mentioned before that shadow is intimidated by people who hold their weaknesses like light, and in this case the ability to control dark shadow’s body. That loss of autonomy was scary and to make it worse kuroiro used them to HURT fumikage, not cool. Dark Shadow is the equivalent of a hissing cat when near kuroiro, they do NOT want him near them. Still shadow is not completely heartless, if kuroiro puts in special effort to gain their trust they will give it. This would mean promising to never possess their body outside of battle even as a “prank” (which should of been obvious but shadow has trust issues) AND actively doing thing for shadow like spending quality time, doing favors, or giving them gifts. I still don’t think he would be allowed to give them pets tho, simply due to the accidental body merging that could result.

Kuroiro was briefly shown to be a bit jealous of Tokoyami talking to kinoko so there is a bit of tension from his side in that regard. A quick explanation of this has toko quelling his fears and even getting him to talk about how he’s feeling. Tokoyami encourages him to spend more time with her and eventually confess. Honestly tokoyami is just so full of wisdom beyond his years, so many people go to him for advice it’s unreal. This interaction obviously draws them closer and they become real friends.

Once they are friends they share about their interests like all the goth materials they have collected and dark media. Random hc but I think while Fumikage would lean more towards gothic poetry, kuroiro would lean towards art. His quirk is Black, which is a pigment of sorts and I think he would be a painter as a hobby. He would also be able to merge with the dark parts of his paintings so that’s cool. Also he has taxidermy animals (don’t show koda). They go to hot topic for fun hangouts.

As a bonus here is what the MHA Ultra Analysis says about them. While this doesn’t give much insight to Tokoyami’s behavior and feelings towards the other it is interesting to see Kuroiro’s thoughts. I think he sees tokoyami as a familiar soul who can understand him but also holds some jealous and wants to prove himself by challenging him. From a narrative standpoint it is also saying kuroiro’s character is solely made to be a foil to Fumikage, almost his entire character file is talking more about toko than himself. A narrative foil is a character that contrasts from another to highlight their traits. He pushes tokoyami to use his new move Black Fallen Angel and shows Tokoyami’s resourcefulness and resolve to win.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #tokoyami fumikage #dark shadow #mha #my hero academia #bnha headcanons #shihai kuroiro

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discountalien-pancake · 6 months

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A League of Nobleman [sic] is compulsively watchable and also so unsettling, 9/10 ⭐️ would watch again

This kind of turned into an essay, so my non-spoilery thoughts are under the cut.

The Good:

Cinematography was unparalleled. Truly. I praised it before but I have to praise it again. The lighting choices were so good. The way they made the atmosphere early on feel so heavy and almost claustrophobic. Only a handful of scenes were too dark, but even then it didn’t totally detract from the storytelling. The way you couldn’t quite tell right away whether some scenes were dream sequences because of the lens work. The way characters were framed by doorways and windows and lighting and literal theatrical stages. I could go on all day.

And holy shit the acting. The performances are so good and the cinematography really allows every actor to shine. Chen Chou is played by the same actor who played Lan Jingyi in the Untamed and it’s like night and day. Don’t get me wrong, Jingyi was one of my favorite characters in The Untamed, but even though Chen Chou similarly is mostly comic relief in this, his performance feels more restrained, more believable, more rounded. Mental breakdowns in other cdramas often feel so artificial and over the top. In this show, even when the degree of madness starts to strain narrative believability and veer into melodrama, the way it’s portrayed is magnetic. And one of the characters spends 99% of their screentime just sitting and smiling sinisterly but it’s terrifying. Everyone in the show is terrified of them and when you see them and the way they carry themself and the way they speak, you completely understand.

The writing combined with the acting and cinematography makes you willing to suspend your disbelief. That seems like such a low bar, and yet. This show manages to balance the unbelievable magic and sorcery and mysticism with grounded, logical explanations but in such a way that the fantastical still works within this world. Is it magic? Is it trickery? Is it science? It ties in perfectly with the recurring theme of fake vs real.

Another point regarding the writing is that the characters skills don’t exist just to make them more attractive or badass. A lot of period cdramas have a habit of giving the main character some kind of Quirky Hobby at the beginning that is all but forgotten as the story progresses. Talents don’t actually matter to the plot, they’re only there to make the character talented. This show doesn’t do that!

Zhang Ping is a street vendor who makes noodles. The plot doesn’t have anything to do with food—it’s a detective drama with supernatural elements and an overarching conspiracy mystery. The street-vending doesn’t matter almost at all to the plot. But it matters to the storytelling. Hardly an episode goes by without Zhang Ping putting homemade food in front of someone he cares about. Food is how he shows affection. Tired? Sick? Depressed? He will make you food about it. Sometimes it’s played for laughs but there’s more than one scene where it’s a real punch in the feels.

Lan Jue can perfectly copy anyone’s handwriting. Forgery is one of the first ethically questionable things we see him do in the show, and in another show it might just be left at that. But in this one it is completely entangled with his backstory and motivations. It’s so well-integrated that you might not realize it right away when you get to the scene that explains how he came to have that skill. And it once again ties into the theme of real vs fake.

Every single character, no matter how minor, is treated with so much love and care by the storytelling. A lot of dramas treat minor characters as just plot devices. That’s not the case here. Every character has their own realistic motives and narrative continuity even if they’re only in one or two episodes. The show doesn’t just forget characters until they’re plot relevant (*cough*TheUntamed*cough*) and it doesn’t just senselessly slaughter all the characters for the melodrama (*cough*WordOfHonor*cough*). Characters who have a role to play in the overarching plot have frequent appearances and Do Things. They’re not just accessories to the main characters. No one feels like a caricature! Not even the silly bonkers old mentor figure who only shows up for like four episodes!

In terms of production value, the costumes were beautiful. They were not particularly elaborate or heavily embellished, but they felt so believable. The movement. The color symbolism. The literal physical weight of the clothes echoing the weight of their consciences. The fact that the extras were dressed with just as much care. You don’t get Main Character Costuming Syndrome with this show, which so many period cdramas are guilty of. I just love that they let the beautiful fabric and craftsmanship do the work. The textures are subdued but beautiful and there’s nothing that breaks immersion.

None of the props have that plasticky or Fake look. Weapons actually look like they’ll cut something! Gemstones don’t look like gumdrops (*cough*WhoRulesTheWorld*cough*)! And the masks! There are a number of masks in the show that are just so cool. The designs are sleek and simple and so aesthetic, none of that fancy filigree domino mask from Amazon crap that does literally nothing to hide the wearer’s identity. These masks completely obscure the actors’ faces, because they really don’t want you to know who is behind them. You can guess and you might even get it right but you won’t know until the characters reveal the truth.

And then there’s the books. Oh my god they must have spent so much of the props budget on all of the manuscripts and scrolls and books. The BINDINGS on them. Literally exquisite. Much of the plot has to do with the imperial examination system, either directly or tangentially, so they’ve got their noses in books and manuscripts for a significant portion of the show. The delicacy of the writing paper and the way it flutters on the desk when a breeze passes? The heft of the official documents? The way old, decaying manuscripts look brittle? The way Zhang Ping’s most beloved novels clearly look worn but are in such good condition despite how often he has read them?

Messy, grounded, weighty fight scenes. This show is fantasy, but it’s no xianxia or wuxia—if you want wirework you aren’t going to get it. There’s no fancy spinning just for the sake of spinning. Half of the fights end in the characters grappling or getting bashed in the head with a stick or rock. The fights are fights. They’re not there to be eye-candy. Everyone has a realistic level of ability and way of fighting that matches their personalities. The two scholars don’t just randomly have martial arts. Nobody is able to fly over a wall. There are no cheat codes. The fact that the physical limitations are so consistent actually makes the supernatural elements feel more real to me, in the sense that no matter what bonkers shit is happening in-universe, there must be a logical explanation. A lot of fantasy just handwaves things with “it’s magic!” And this show could easily have done that and made it work but it chose not to.

You don’t get those classic cdrama Hidden Villain shots from behind of the BBEG consulting with his cronies. You keep heading about the mastermind from the minor villains and victims, but the scope of knowledge is limited to what the characters themselves are able to learn or remember. Which means that when a character guesses something incorrectly, we’re on the same page and we’re not left banging our heads out of frustration that the answer is obviously something else.

Everything combined means the world and characters all feel so real. I hardly have to put in any effort to suspend my disbelief. So many shows do this smoke and mirrors routine of ‘we’re done with that now, don’t look too hard’ while this one feels like it’s almost daring me to look harder.

The Not Great:

I’ll be blunt, there is some pretty typical cdrama racism. It’s not a lot, but it’s there. The southern kingdom’s armies are depicted in a typical ‘savage’ aesthetic, though you really only see them in one episode and they’re fighting in a dense forest. There’s also the Hidden Ethnic Tribe With Mystic Powers, though this is not quite what it seems and I don’t hate it the way I do in some other shows/stories.

If a lack of female protagonists is a dealbreaker for you, you’re not going to like this. But if you gushed about The Untamed and complain about the lack of female characters in this I’m probably going to give you some bombastic side-eye. It’s a danmei and it’s going to be a long while before they fix the genre’s gender balance.

The editing. Specifically the censorship. A lot of the episodes are barely over 30 minutes long, including the ending credits. Most people speculate that it was in order to No Homo the two male leads, and this definitely did happen, but I think a bit of it was also political. Some of the messaging in the show is a little on the nose regarding corruption and a government’s responsibility towards its citizens. But yeah there’s like 10 minutes of material that got cut out of almost every episode. There’s literally like, 2 hours of missing footage. Which is Not Great! It doesn’t impact the plot, mostly, so you’ll still get a great story and sense-making progression. But it does really dampen the relationship development between the two leads. Even then, they did an amazing job with what screentime they were allowed. And there is a slightly bonkers re-dub in the last episode. I wouldn’t have necessarily realized it was a re-dubbed line if I hadn’t seen mention of it in another user’s post but it still sticks out as Very Weird in a show that until then was very coherently written. It’s very obvious in hindsight though, because they literally cut away in the middle of the character’s line delivery.

This show is based on a book that was not originally a danmei, and I don’t think it adheres to that book very closely (granted, I haven’t read it and won’t be reading it). But for some baffling reason they decided to keep two particular details the could have been cut without making any difference at all to the show itself. It almost feels like they’re just there to act as a No Homo. You’ll know them when you get to them, and trust me they won’t impact the show at all. You’ll just sort of. Be baffled.

The fucking English title.

The Neutral:

The genre of this is hard to pinpoint. I’ve definitely watched things like it before but if you asked me to name one I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s kind of horror, but also not. It’s definitely fantasy, but whether low or high is kind of impossible to say. I like that about it, but others might want something more clear-cut. I think that regardless of how it’s classified, the show did a great job of being what it is.

Culturally-specific references. The most important one in particular does get explained in-show, but if you’re not familiar with it, you won’t understand right away why everyone in the scene is so shocked. Name symbolism and poetry and calligraphy are among the other things that might go over your head, but generally speaking the show does a good job of explaining everything that is necessary for plot. Anything unexplained is just additional flavor.

In typical asian drama fashion, this show is a complete story in one season. It’s 29 episodes long and due to cutting is a bit abnormally short. I love the One Season, One Story format but for western audiences this might be a weird adjustment. It means the story has to have a clear ending in mind which keeps the pacing and plotting more coherent than in a lot of western shows that just limp their way to the finish line once funding runs out (*cough*SPN*cough*). Which isn’t to say that all one-season shows end well, but it i find it preferable to have an ending in sight. You’re less concerned about a show being canceled before the plot is resolved (*cough*Lockwood&Co*cough*).

It’s Very Polycule. There is no OTP. There is a slight rivalry and implied jealousy between Zhang Ping and one of Lan Jue’s other boyfriends, but he doesn’t have any such beef with Lan Jue’s other boyfriend and Lan Jue has no objection to Zhang Ping’s close friendships either. But even though I truly, wholeheartedly ship Zhang Ping and Lan Jue, I still enjoy the dynamics they have with other characters. I never felt annoyed at the supporting love interests for “getting in the way” because they…don’t. I can’t say much more without getting spoilery but there is only one vertex of the Love Shape who actually wants to interfere and get between the two leads. I found this to be very enjoyable but if you strongly desire a clear-cut OTP or enjoy dramatic jealousy/misunderstanding arcs, this probably isn’t for you. Yes, there is a midseason breakup, but it’s for other reasons.

Anyway I am now obsessed. I’m gonna wait a bit and rewatch to try and pick up on more of the moments that got cut subtle details.

#is there a coherent order to this review essay thing? no.#a league of nobleman

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year

Text

Coming Out As Asexual To Jesse Pinkman Would Include...

Request: HC for coming out as asexual to Jesse Pinkman?

I've done this as someone who experiences romantic attraction I really hope that's okay lovely!! Otherwise just let me know and I can make it strictly platonic :)

Also I'm sorry but I always love me some character backstory lmaoo

If you enjoy, please comment as it really helps me keep motivated!!

Warning: mentions of drugs/drug dealing and light swearing!

(I do not own Breaking Bad or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @dont-care-about-that-bullshit.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Coming out as asexual to Jesse Pinkman had a little bit of a build up from your side. It's not that you believed Jesse wouldn't be anything less than understanding, or that you were afraid about how he would react, but the two of you had just known each other for so long. You were each other's safe spaces: the love of each other's lives, and you were apprehensive about anything changing that.

The two of you had known each other since High School, ever since that fateful day a couple of months before midterms. Your old chemistry teacher Mr. White had grabbed your elbow after the bell rang, and asked if you could stay aside for a couple of minutes. Turns out, as he sat on the edge of his desk and rubbed his tired head, he wanted to know if you would consider tutoring a 'Jesse Pinkman' for a couple of days after school, for some extra credit of course. You were surprised, but quickly accepted. You had seen the kid in the corridors between classes, always pretending to be shoving his obviously unopened books deep into his locker, turning his head slyly over his shoulder to grab a glance of you before he scuttled off again. The same guy you spotted every day after school, sliding his way in between the edge of the parking lot and the bike shed and sliding his back down the wall with a sigh. As he fumbled with his lighter, yanking a cigarette out from the sleeve of his hoodie, be was simultaneously glad to not have to go back home for a while, and also to spot you raising an eyebrow at his antics as you walked past to unlock your bike. He was quick to stub out the butt of his cigarette, wincing as a few sparks burnt as his fingers, before he rubbed them on his trousers and jumped up.

He decided, puffing out the last few wisps between the corner of his mouth, that he was going to be brave and finally muster the courage to ask you out. He had little chance though, for as soon as he came wrangling his hands in front of you, the words blurted out of your mouth. 'Do you want to come round to my house.'

'Yes', Jesse responded without any hesitation. 'Yes. Absolutely.' An awkward tension flitted between the two of you as Jesse began to smile, biting his bottom lip as you flush and shake your head. 'I-I mean, Mr. White asked me to tutor you, and I really-'.

'No, no, it's chill. No explanation needed.' He winked at you, swearing internally to himself as his heart pounded louder than his tongue could speak. 'But seriously, though. Thank you. That's very kind of you.'

Jesse agreed to come round almost immediately, for two reasons. 1) So he could snoop about your house, and nosy through the photos and bookshelves in your room to find out more about what kind of interests and hobbies you had, so he could come into school the next day and bust out the new said hobby set he had bought by scrounging together all the pocket change he had made dealing, just so he could try and impress you.

2) His idea of a perfect day is spent lying sprawled out on your bedroom mat, playing with the loose threads at the corner and nodding along, pretending to listen to what you were saying. Yet any time you raised your nose out of your notebook to see why you couldn't hear any pencil scratching, you'd catch those soft, lowered lashes of his fluttering as he intently observed you from beneath them. He would cough, pretending to be thinking as he darted his eyeline up to the ceiling crown and scratched the back of his ear with the pencil eraser. Bless his heart, it was so easy for you to fluster him: any time you reached over to take his paper and the side of your forearm brushed against his bare skin, he would turn the same colour as his namesake and bury his head into the bracket of his elbows. Or, if you tried to ask him a question relating to chiral molecules, he would try to dodge it by rolling over onto his back, looking all sweet and bashful like a puppy.

'Yeah, but like, more importantly? What's your favourite colour :)'

He snuck out of his house a lot as the two of you grew older, and his parents became less and less tolerant, and more and more truculent voicing their concerns about the company he had begun to keep: the non school endorsed 'extracurriculars' he was roaming the alleyways until near midnight to partake in. It was easy to tell when he was coming; you didn't live too far from Jesse, only a couple of houses down the lane from his. It starts with his lamp flicking on as he tries to sneak back in. Then come the shadows: the belligerent, all-encompassing umbra cast by his parents as they pass through the doorway. Last is the shouting, followed by the slam of a windowpane and the light swears falling out of a tumbling Jesse as he lands in the thorn bush in his front yard.

You already have the curtains pulled aside before Jesse can even come running down the street, guided along as if by an invisible string back to the one and only person he's ever felt safe with. Ever been able to be his true self with, without any fear of judgement or repercussion. With red crested eyes, you dragged his arm up onto your porch roof, happy to just let him sit and cry for a while in well deserved peace. Thankfully the roof peaks just past your bed, allowing you and Jesse a corner to curl up into, with nothing but a few inky splattered stars past the shaky blue spruce treeline to hear his anguished wails: a wounded creature lost to the night. You hesitantly slid an arm around his hip, bunching it under his hoodie until he sighed in relief at the feeling, and in embarrassment used his sleeve to dry away the snot from his top lip.

'You know', his voice was shaky as he pulled his legs back behind him and rested his head heavily on your shoulder, scraping against the tile with his sneakers. He peeked up at you like a wounded bird, kicked and beaten and broken and still with such hope in those wide, beautiful eyes that it almost blinds you against the peeking edge of the lavender twilight. He stopped, frowning, before somehow drawing the courage to shuffle closer to you. 'You're the only thing I have left that I care about.'

At first all you could feel was the jut of his chin as he talked on top of your shoulder, but then all you could feel were his closed lips pressed tentatively onto yours. It was short, not for lack of wanting, but due to the fact that Jesse was absolutely terrified that you would shove him away. And so, before you could even register what was happening, Jesse's forehead was backing away from yours, a tremor rolling through his body as he grew aghast at what he had done. All you did was place the back of your fingers against the side of his cheek, drawing them down slowly and allowing him to calm down, to realise that you cared just as much about him too.

You could see the weight of the world slump off his shoulders: the relief grinding the axe out of his back as you replied: 'I care about you more than you could ever know, Jesse.' Surprising him for the second time that night, his eyes widened in a blissful disbelief as you rushed forward and pressed a close-lipped kiss against his bottom lip, enjoying the way he seemed to collapse into you at the feeling.

The two of you had never gone further than that, mainly because Jesse adores you more than anything, and he both respected and picked up on the fact that you never seemed inclined or wanted to go in a sexual direction. To be completely honest, this man is touch starved to the high heavens, so a solely romantic relationship based on touch as a love language is like, a perfect world to him. All he wants, day after day, is just the ability to wake up and see you. To be with you, to find new joys and new quirks and to see you anew, to experience you as if for the first time over and over and over again.

Like, stroking his hair back and curling up into the back of his chest on his brand new mattress? Tickling the nape of his neck and making him laugh himself awake as the two of you eat cereal in bed in his brand new place? Having him lie against your chest, using those delicate fingers of his to run over the veins in your arms until he has each cell of your skin memorised? Making him shiver when you wrap your arms around his waist and smoosh your face into his bare back when he's standing at the stove, secretly trying to make you eggs for breakfast? How glad he is that you agree to go and grab the orange juice from the fridge, so you don't spot how his eyes roll back in his head and he begins humming happily to himself as he plates up? Bliss! Utter bliss!

So, you take him out one night after he gets back home from 'work', as he likes to call it, telling him you'll treat him to some bowling and hot dogs out in the town. He hadn't been to the entertainment complex since he was a kid: it was the last place he remembers having his birthday, just a couple of years before his parents gave him the boot. Hell, it was the last place he remembers his birthday at all. He had cheated at bowling by secretly putting the bumpers down during his friend's go, and had also beat every single one of them playing the zombie blaster game in the arcade, winning enough tickets to buy an old games console that he then later ended up trading on the streets.

Turns out, his muscle memory kicks in, and although he wins the bowling fair and square this time, he does come up with a bottle green corduroy teddy bear holding a cushioned heart as an apology later, having defeated you at the arcade games as well. You don't mind though, just appreciating the youthful glee in the crinkles underneath his smiling eyes as he slides up at the food counter next to you, yuck-ing when his elbow lands in a sticky patch. It's soon replaced with a sweet hum and faux gnashing teeth at your fingers as you feed him a bite of your hot dog, his hand coming down to drag your free hand onto his lap so he can fiddle with your fingers contently.

Turns out the adrenaline from your night out was enough to just make you blurt it out. You just love him so much. And he loves you more than anything. And so it just tumbles out.

'Jesse, I-I'm asexual. I mean, you probably already guessed, but I just wanted you to hear it from my own lips.'

Suddenly he's lowering the hot dog bun down back onto the table tray, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. You can see the cogs working in the back of his mind as he tries to figure out if he can remember from his high school biology classes what asexual means, but the confusion soon melts from his face when he sees how worriedly you're staring right at him.

He tugs at your hand, and brings it up to rest against his baggy shirt, right on top of where his thudding heart is beating. 'Asexual, huh? Oh yeah? Oh, right on!' He's so awkward bless him, that he kind of raises his fist out of instinct to fist bump you before realising himself.

You explain what the word means to him, and he nods fervently the whole while.

'I just want to be with you, to be with you, you get me? I just want to be close to you, you know? Like... I kind of always knew? I didn't know the word for it, but, like, I love you all the same, okay? You're perfect. I mean it.' He reaches out to brush his knuckles over the side of your chin, but you can tell he's getting restless to hug you by the way he begins fidgeting his legs on the seat, but he's too shy to outright ask you if you're okay with that level of contact still, or if you want him to chill it a bit. So you just pounce on him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and trying to hide your smile in the crumpled folds of his hood.

He cups your cheeks, grinning like breaking day as he presses hundreds of little kisses over every inch of your face. Any time a waiter comes over to ask you two to stop, he just throws his hand out and shouts over your shoulder loud enough for the whole place to hear: 'yo, that's my S/O bitch! And I love them, man - they're the best thing in my life, so show some respect! They were really brave today!'

I mean, the two of you get kicked out, but the giddy giggles as the two of you run home bumping into each other, hands tightly pressed together the whole while makes it worth it.

He becomes 100% more perceptive and caring after that day, if that's even possible with Jesse. Like, he knows how horrifying and scary and confusing life can be, and he never ever wants you to feel uncomfortable, or beaten down like he is by it. He always asks if he can kiss you, always double checks it's okay before he pulls you down to sit on his lap. He makes sure you're comfortable when he rests his forehead against your own and just spends as much of his life as he possibly can breathing you in: replacing the air in his lungs so they're only full of you, and he can finally feel alive again. He always makes sure you're okay when he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, his arm splayed over your stomach as he rests against your back, his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he tries to make you laugh by recounting the time he was so desperate to impress you in gym class, that he nearly knocked his front teeth out when he started swinging from the climbing ropes.

He still looks over at you with that exact same wonderous look in his eye, every time. And that will never, ever change.

#breaking bad #jesse pinkman #jesse pinkman imagine #jesse pinkman x reader #jesse pinkman headcanons #asexual #asexuality #asexual headcanons #breaking bad imagine #aaron paul #asexual reader

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xalygatorx · 1 month

Note

Aha it worked! Wooo gotta love tech sometimes (See Vox you do have uses!)

Any who, all joking aside here is the fic submission. As I said I’m okay with you using Ellie(the fic is your gift after all) and using her and seeing examples of her might help with the writing process? Brief backstory on Ellie and Al is that they’re childhood friends but she moved up north when she turned 12, so the two didn’t reunite till years later.

Honestly, not fussy on what setting you want to do 1920s life or Hell.

1920s path-Some people just don’t know how to take no for an answer. Ellie learns the secret she always knew when a fan of hers (she’s a singer and dancer at a speakeasy) breaks into her shared home with Alastor late one night having followed her after work. That night Alastor had been indulging in his hobby when he finds his dame running through the bayou looking a mess with unsavory company following her. (They’re married)

Hell path-Alastor is glad to have his darling dame back in his life and there’s so much of Hell he wants to show her. Date night in the Pride ring followed by Ellie running interference when Vox interrupts it by asking Ellie to work for him.

I like to give options so you have stuff to run with. Let me know if you have questions:)

A/N: I generally don’t write others’ fanon OCs (I appreciate your offer, it’s just a me-thing, idk why but it gives me a kind of plagiarism ick even if it’s a gift work) BUT I’ll work in some of these details from a F!Reader perspective and hopefully that’ll be just as fun. :) That said, I’m leaning toward the 1920s path, so let’s just see what happens!

Hope you like the outcome and thank you for the request!

Warnings: Paranoia and mentions of possible infidelity, stalking, home break-in, anxious thoughts around your marriage and you blame yourself, you and Alastor have history, period-typical sexism and victim-blaming, a chase scene during which you’re injured, murder, graphic violence, blood, Alastor is unhinged but he loves you and that’s what counts, right? (In fiction, yes. Yes, it is.)

I’ve killed for you. Who else can say that? | Human!Alastor x Cabaret!AFAB!Reader

Crossposted on AO3

The other girls had started to get into your head and, truthfully, you couldn’t blame them. Or yourself. Not for thinking it, at least.

It was another night of brief unwinding after a show. You were a little sore, but nothing you couldn’t manage. In fact, the little pep of adrenaline that followed a night of dancing was enjoyable.

Some days, it was the closest you came to happy.

Your husband wasn’t a fan of the occasional after-show smokes you partook in with your fellow dancers—not because he liked to order you around, but because he was worried about you hurting your voice.

Those social cigarettes had become a tiny way of getting back at him as his nightly disappearances had increased through your marriage without any attempt at an explanation.

The ratio of a singular smoke to hours of unexplained absence, however, felt a little off to you.

“C’mon, babydoll, I hate seein’ ya like this.”

You looked up from the thousand-yard stare you had aimed at your vanity, the bulbs lining the mirror burned into your retinas. Phantom beams dotted your vision every time you blinked.

Betty was likely your closest friend behind the curtain. The other girls were all pleasant enough—you’d only ever had one co-star you couldn’t stand and she’d left months ago—but Betty had your back. You knew that.

But it still bothered you when she spoke ill of Alastor.

“He’s runnin’ around on ya,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Watch your tone, Betty,” you muttered tersely, glancing around the dressing room as you took a drag from your cigarette and then proceeded to extinguish it in the tray nearby.

Alastor was somehow able to go off in the middle of the night and act his chipper self the very next day and yet you felt crippling guilt from having one cigarette and knowing he’d be disappointed to smell the smoke on your breath. He wouldn’t even say anything! Maybe that made it worse.

“I know ya love him,” Betty sighed, taking your hand and giving you a patient look that made your insides squirm. “I know it, honey. And whenever he’s been by, he’s been great! A regular charmer!”

“But?” you asked, waiting for the killing blow.

Betty gave you an apologetic quirk of her rouged lips before releasing your hand and going back to toning down her show makeup back to her usual amount of cosmetics.

“He’s hidin’ somethin’ from ya if what you’re telling me is true,” she said sagely as she packed up her little purse. She offered you another cigarette that you politely declined before she put her little tarnished case of those away too. “You’ve asked him about it?”

“Many times,” you sighed, feeling your heart splintering.

Never a full break—that, you might not recover from—but a splinter. Because you knew if he came clean with you about what he was up to, even if it was shacking up with another woman, you could find it in your fractured heart to forgive him.

It was Alastor, after all. As far as you were concerned, he was the center of your universe. Even when the sun had long gone down and he was nowhere in sight.

“Then he’s doin’ somethin’ he ain’t ought to be doin’,” Betty said, pity in her eyes when she looked at you next. You tried not to be offended by that look and failed, instead turning away from her to face your mirror again and finish getting ready to leave. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ve been there. But ya deserve better.”

“Society says I deserve whatever he gives me,” you sigh as you clip your clamshell purse shut. “He’s my husband.”

“Society’s changin’,” Betty countered as she stood up. She smiled down at you with a hopeful gleam in her eyes. “We gotta lead the charge! Keep on him about it. Maybe do some extra nice little things to remind him what he’s got back home. If he’s smart, he’ll see reason. If he ain’t, you can stay with me ‘til ya back on your feet.”

Fear clenched in your gut like icy water at the idea of you and Alastor divorcing. Not only because you’d be ruined—a divorced woman who overstepped in her husband’s affairs, what decent man would want you—but because a life without Alastor…

…well, it’d be properly miserable.

Maybe that was the perspective you needed tonight. It just wasn’t the one Betty had intended to give you. Having Alastor by your side some of the time was better than losing him completely. You just needed to remind him of how much you loved him.

That thought stuck with you as you finished getting changed and gathered up your things. Betty, bless her, waited around until you were ready to leave. The incident in the alley last week hadn’t left either of your minds.

Last week, a regular—whose name you didn’t even know—had been waiting outside the dressing room door that led out to the side alley adjacent to the club.

You’d been alone at the time and thankfully not the last to leave that night. You weren’t sure what would’ve happened to you had Betty not walked out just a moment or two after.

You still couldn’t shake the crazed look in his eyes. The way he so very nearly salivated while he spoke to you, talking as if he knew you though you’d never spoken before.

He got upset when you admitted you didn’t know him. When you suggested that he leave or at least let you leave so you could go home.

The man had taken a step forward just as the door swung open again and Betty had walked out, immediately taking in his demeanor and then the way you were curling into yourself as you looked for an escape route, and asked what was going on.

Outnumbered, he’d taken off before anyone else could be called. Not that much would’ve been done anyway. There was only so much the boys in blue were willing or able to do about creeps outside of clubs. Some of them stood by the idea that, if anything, it was the dancers’ fault for tempting them.

Betty had walked you home that night despite it being out of her way. You begged her to call you when she made it back and the trill of the rotary in your living room had never sounded so sweet when your dear friend had finally gotten home safely.

You hadn’t been worried about the phone waking Alastor. He wasn’t home.

You also hadn’t noticed that you’d been followed that night.

Needless to say, you were distracted on the walk home. How could you not be?

Tugging your coat around your form, you sniffled against the chill of the night air. Or against the tears beading in the corners of your eyes. It just didn’t make sense.

You knew Alastor. You’d known him for years. He’d never, ever struck you as the sort of man who would run around on his wife. But what else could it be that took up so much of his attention and time in the pitch hours between midnight and morning? What else was there to do in those hours than entangle?

Toss and turn and wonder where your husband was, you supposed bitterly.

Maybe he hadn’t been the type of man to run around on his wife before he married you, you thought. Maybe you’d brought it out in him. It was easier to think you’d done something wrong than it was to consider you weren’t enough for him. Either could be true. One of them had to be because otherwise, what was the point in getting married at all? Appearances? Housekeeping and meals?

That last bit was unlikely. Alastor was neat by default and an incredible cook. His mama had raised him well and he’d been receptive to her teachings. He’d never expected you to take on all the housework by yourself. He was appreciative when you did—especially on the nights that he came home from the station tired and with his lovely voice exhausted from broadcasting and recording—and was always willing to help you otherwise.

You sighed softly as you turned the corner and climbed the porch steps to your shared home. His family home that he’d inherited after his mother passed. Strong in structure and with little more than a long stretch of swampland behind it to pipe noise into the night. Your neighbors were miles off, which was how Alastor liked it. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t have minded having a few more folk around.

After retrieving the door key from beneath the stone beside the stairs—another sign that Alastor was, once again, out—you unlocked the door and stepped inside, habitually leaving it unlocked behind you in what was perhaps a silent, foolhardy wish for him to not be far behind you.

It took some time for something to feel wrong.

You’d made it in, set down your things, and had a couple sips from a little glass of brandy while checking what you had in the kitchen.

Maybe a nice breakfast would be good. Tomorrow was meant to be his morning off, if you could correctly recall. Coffee and some breakfast—eggs, toast from your last batch of bread, maybe some of the venison he’d frozen from a hunt—together sounded… Well, it sounded wonderful.

There was the crux of your frustration, your bitterness about his secretive disappearances. You missed him.

You also missed the squeak of the front door hinge while you were shuffling around the kitchen.

It didn’t take long after that.

You actually perked up a little when you noticed the cautious footfalls from the foyer. Was Alastor actually home? It’d be early for him if he was, but you were already trying to hem yourself in from being upset with him again.

Just be nice, you told yourself. Men like women who are nice. It’s no wonder he’s running off on you if you’re just a nag all the time.

Goodness gracious, your inner voice was starting to sound like your mother’s.

“Al?” you asked to the empty air, a faint smile on your lips as you set your brandy glass on the island and turned toward the doorway leading to the hall. You could see his shadow filtering to the floorboards by the light of the moon coming in through the front windows. Why wasn’t he answering? “You’re home, um…early.”

Be nice! you scolded yourself instantly when you heard the drip of mild accusation in your tone.

The man who rounded the corner wasn’t your husband.

You froze immediately, your hand constricting your glass so tightly that you distantly wondered if it’d break. “Can… Can I help you?” you asked, voice shaking. You were shocked you could speak at all.

“You can keep playin’ house, doll,” the man said. The second he spoke, you recognized him as the man from the alleyway last week. The shadows retreating from his features as he stepped into the kitchen confirmed that. “Name’s not ‘Al,’ but you can call me whatever you like. Just havin’ your eyes on me is a treat enough.”

You tried to sound as authoritative as possible as you said, “Get out,” but it came out as a squeak. You tried again, begging this time as you edged around the island to try and keep it between you and the stranger encroaching. “Please leave. My husband’s just upstairs, I’ll scream—”

“If he’s upstairs, why were ya surprised he’s home?” he countered and your gut dropped as you realized your mistake earlier. You’d just assumed it had to be Alastor. No one else came out this way. No one…

…No one else was out this way.

“Are you gonna kill me, sir?” you asked, voice shaking in full now when you could no longer help it. “Please don’t. Don’t hurt me, you can have whatever you want. There’s a safe in th—”

“I don’t want your money, sweetheart,” he cooed at you and you felt bile creep up the back of your throat. “Just want you all to myself is all. Why, I’ve been comin’ to your shows for years, even when you were just doin’ the dancin’ and not the singin’ bits.”

Your stomach turned at the thought of being watched by this man for years when you’d only known about him for the danger he presented for precisely one week. You wished you hadn’t downplayed your run-in with him last week to Alastor when it came up in conversation—then again, if the “Bayou Butcher” still being at large hadn’t convinced him not to leave his wife alone at night, you doubted the full breadth of last week’s incident would have.

Maybe it was better that you hadn’t. If this man did, in fact, kill you, if he was crazed enough to break into your home and say these things to you, then you were sure he would’ve tried to kill Alastor if he’d been here to stand in his way. And, oddly enough, despite everything, the thought that Alastor would be okay, even if you weren’t, soothed your shaken soul.

The man misunderstood your little microexpressions of relief for compliance. When he lurched forward, you scrambled back and went against every “submissive little lady” lecture you’d grown up with as you hurled your glass at his head.

Your aim had been fairly spot on, so in the time he took to duck away from your attack, you whirled and sprinted for the nearest exit—the door to the back porch.

Louisiana bayous were ecological wonders, but they weren’t safe to run in. Normally you steered entirely clear if you weren’t with Alastor, who’d grown up just off these swamplands, and even then it took some convincing from him for you to go even a meter or two past the line of cypress trees.

Not so tonight. The danger was in your home and soon to catch up with you.

Knowing that, you sprinted blindly into the swamp with only amber-hued hunter’s moonlight to see by and any fleeting memories of the paths Alastor had pointed out to you over the years that were more solid to walk on.

You ran out of those paths quicker than you would’ve liked, hesitant at first to keep going as opposed to hiding in case you hit water and the splashing drew attention to your location.

When the buckshot splintered the tree beside you with an ear-splitting bang, you chanced the swamp.

You didn’t know how to use a gun. You didn’t really even like Alastor’s guns that much, but he was a hunter and he was careful with them.

Even though you didn’t know how to use it—despite his multiple attempts to at least teach you the basics in case you ever needed to—you knew you should’ve grabbed the rifle from beside the back door on your way out. It might’ve slowed you down some, but it would’ve worked as a club if you couldn’t use it as it was meant to be used.

And at least then, the man pursuing you wouldn’t have had a chance to grab it.

Your kitten heel caught in a patch of mucky silt and suctioned the shoe right off your foot, something that at first startled you but then you decided was for the best. You slid off your other shoe and kept running, your bare feet molding better to the uneven terrain and making less noise whenever you hit something solid.

“GET BACK HERE, BITCH.”

That was your sole warning before another shot was fired, this one grazing and searing your right arm and wrenching a shriek from your throat.

You wanted to scream. To cry. To collapse. You were finished. You’d die out here at this maniac’s hands and, if you were lucky, it would be quick. You had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be. Even if you did scream again, no one would come.

No one else is out this way, your racing mind repeated like a damning mantra.

Except someone was.

A double life had always been in the cards for Alastor and he’d known that even when he’d married you. He’d known that and maybe it was unfair that you hadn’t.

He’d decided long ago that it’d be more unfair to you if you were privy to his darkest deeds and nightly prowls. His hunts. He didn’t want to see that pretty sparkle leave your eyes. Your smile.

More than that, he didn’t want to be the cause of that sparkle growing dull.

It’d seemed, however, that he’d managed it though despite hoping for the opposite.

No matter how many dances you two had, how many mornings and afternoons you spent cooking together and humming along to the radio or your favorite records, how many times he’d told you how much he loved you (and you returned said sentiments), you’d still grown sad.

He couldn’t blame you. He couldn’t blame you for much of anything, but especially not for that. He knew what it looked like. And he could deny the scenarios you put forth, the questions you had, but he couldn’t give you a proper answer to those questions either.

Alastor had to wonder though how you could possibly think he’d ever want anyone else. How you could think he’d ever disrespect you in that way, even if that was something he wanted.

He simply wouldn’t have gotten married if he had.

In spite of all the additional secrecy your marriage had caused him to maintain and the heartache it had wrought when he could have just not married you in the first place and brought you into this macabre world of his…

…Well, Alastor was a selfish man. He’d wanted you. He still did. And until you finally couldn’t stand it anymore and gave him the boot, he’d endeavor to keep you.

These thoughts weren’t uncommon ones on nights like this when he was out hunting or disposing of a kill. Tonight was a night for disposal, however, and thinking of you while submerging the split corpse before him into the muck was taking the edge off.

A gunshot not too far off put the edge back on.

Alastor looked up at the sound when it split the air, his hands busied by tying ropes onto his latest game—a magnate from just outside of town who used his wealth and influence to blackmail the women he beat and raped into silence. Former employees, current employees, ladies of the night, his own daughter…

Never again. The man who’d once thought himself above the law, human decency, likely even God Himself, was a slowly bloating corpse soon to make a hefty snack for the gators or whatever found him first.

He stilled his hands momentarily—it wasn’t as if the swine was going anywhere—to listen. Distantly, he heard a bit of splashing, but little else. It was uncommon for someone to hunt out this way, especially at this hour, but he supposed it was possible. Maybe a couple of local drunks had meandered this way to play a bit of “fish in the barrel.” As long as it wasn’t disturbing his darling wife after her night of work, then—

Another crack of gunfire and a reactionary scream.

A familiar scream.

Alastor’s features darkened with horror and rage. With a violent tug, he finished the rigging on the body and let it go, leaving it to bubble and sink beneath the swamp as he took up his axe and stalked through the bayou he knew better than the mapping of his own blood-red hands.

And, quietly, a means of focus and, for tonight, self-soothing, he began to hum under his breath.

You could hear the fumbled clinking of the rifle being reloaded, trying to maintain distance between yourself and your stalker even as your legs grew numb with exhausted agony.

Strides became lurches as your body wore down and you knew that you needed to hide somewhere before you simply collapsed.

The thought occurred to you too late as one more well-aimed shot at the log in front of you caused you to recoil and your dress to catch in a bramble, dragging you down into the mud.

“No, no, no, no, no…,” you whispered hoarsely, pulling at your hem and trying to shred it when it didn’t come free. You pushed your hair out of your face, the tendrils sticking to your skin with a mix of bog water and sweat, and gave your skirt a harsh pull to no avail. Unless he misplaced your location—even if he did, it would only be for a moment or two—you were trapped.

“Seems a little unnecessary, eh, doll?” the man huffed, his heavy footsteps sloshing along the watery path. “Makin’ me work for ya like this when all I ever did was support ya. I wouldn’t leave ya alone night after night like yer big shot husband does, y’know.”

“Leave me alone,” you ground out. “Or just kill me, I don’t care anymore!”

“I’m not gonna kill ya, dollface, that’d be a waste,” he murmured, looming over you. Even though the shadows cast across his face were nearly impenetrable, you could feel his eyes on you. All of you.

You curled in on yourself to try and muster up the courage to fight back to whatever extent you could, even if it was just in an effort to frustrate him to the point of killing you before he could do whatever he was really intending for you.

Just as you prepared yourself to go down kicking and screaming, an odd whistle caught your ear.

And an airborne hatchet caught his.

The man shouted, ducking down to the side and clutching his ear, where a chunk of the upper ridge and part of his scalp had been cleaved free of his skull.

The hatchet buried itself in the ground nearby, just out of your reach, but that didn’t stop you from scrambling to try and grab it while he was distracted. It might be your only chance to get out of this.

Your addled, panicked mind hadn’t even yet formed the question of where the projectile had come from. Or from who.

What did it matter if you died by this pig’s hands or by the Bayou Butcher’s after all?

A ghostly, ominous humming graced your ears just as your fingertips found purchase on the hatchet handle and your stalker wrenched you up by your hair, away from your prize.

Your dress tore up the seams until it detached from the brambles, your arms reflexively clutching around your body and the torn garment around it to preserve your modesty and protect yourself from his hungry gaze.

The next hatchet sank into his shoulder, blood spurting from the wound and coating you both before he dropped you.

You fell back into the water, your head striking against bedrock with a dull crack. Your world spun, but you desperately tried to stay focused and shake off the shock.

Vaguely above you, you saw your assailant grabbing at his shoulder and also trying to ready the gun, which was now next to impossible with his dominant shoulder joint shredded around a hatchet head.

The humming grew louder, more familiar, as the source drew nearer. Until your head stopped spinning, you’d started to wonder if you were hallucinating because the approaching tall, lean figure sure looked like…

“The fuck you think you are?” the stranger grated as he tried to free the hatchet from his shoulder. A poor choice, Alastor noted, considering he’d bleed even more heavily the second the weapon was freed.

On second thought…

“Let me give you a hand with that, pal,” Alastor murmured serenely as he reached forward, gripped the handle, and planted his foot against the other man’s gut. He wrenched the weapon free and red flooded down the man’s front as Alastor gave him a sharp kick that sent him onto his back.

The man was hardly conscious now, let alone mobile, so Alastor felt secure enough to turn to you. At least secure in ensuring your safety. He couldn’t think about what you might be thinking of him at this very moment.

“Darling, are you alright?” he murmured as gently as he could, a stark contrast to his severe, menacing tone of just seconds prior.

He bent down, careful not to approach too quickly lest he frighten you back or cause you to further injure yourself. No matter how much he wanted to just scoop you up and take you home.

You looked alright, more or less. Understandably shaken and horrified, but seemingly with superficial injuries. He noted the burnt graze on your arm from one of the earlier gunshots—likely the second based on the timing of your scream—and a slightly dazed look in your eyes that he couldn’t be sure was a head injury or shock. He assumed both until proven otherwise. Your poor knees were riddled with scrapes from the terrain, but he’d made it in time, it seemed.

The thought pulled a faint but deeply felt sigh of relief from his chest.

“Al?” you croaked and it snapped him back to the present.

“I’m here, dear,” he said softly back, holding out an arm for you in invitation. His heart simultaneously warmed and broke when you scrambled to crawl into it.

Alastor may have forgotten about the stalker for a little while if his pained grunt hadn’t “ruined the moment” between you two.

While he would’ve much preferred to draw out the death of the man who’d tried—and partially succeeded—to hurt his wife, Alastor choked up his grip on his axe as one would a baseball bat, turned your face into his chest with his free hand pressed against your other ear to deafen you to the noise, and split the man’s skull in a single swing.

The man went limp after a short pre-mortem spasm and Alastor sighed, returning his attention to you and determining that he would see to whatever you needed of him before he went about sinking his second corpse of the night to bury the evidence.

More than a few things made sense now, you numbly realized as you let your husband sweep you up into his arms and carry you back home.

It had never made sense that he’d cheat on you. But you supposed you’d never wanted to consider what sorts of secrets the lack of an affair would leave you. And you’d always thought it a bit strange how blasé he could be about the active serial killer loose and on the move right in your hometown.

You’d always seen some measure of darkness in Alastor. Just never directed at you. So it was easy to pretend it wasn’t there at all.

Your muddied fingers gripped his shirt before you pried them off, feeling a bit badly about getting his shirt dirty. Your thoughts lacked prioritization at the moment, shock addling the most pressing aspects of your current situation and your heart muddying the waters even more.

Alastor had killed that man. He’d done it for you.

He was a murderer—that was where he was all those nights. He’d never betrayed you.

Unless he was copying the Bayou Butcher’s methods, he was the Bayou Butcher. The very murderer he’d reported on for months in his news segments on the air.

He’d killed for you.

Who else could say that?

You sighed a little and buried your face against his neck, mumbling an apology for getting mud all over him. An apology he chuckled weakly in response to.

“You’ve dirtied a killer’s collar, sweetheart,” he said softly as he worked his muddy boots off on the porch and then carried you inside. “It’s not you who should be apologizing.”

Tension hung thickly in the air as he waited for you to respond, the truth nestled at long last in his words.

You measured those words as you leaned your head back to glance up at him. He met your eyes and you saw the quiet fear in his, something you’d never seen in those chocolate-brown eyes before. Fear that you’d reject him, knowing in full now what he was.

Maybe you should have.

Instead, you’d just love him harder.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat and smoothed away the little streak of dirt your hair had printed along his jawline. “I dirtied my husband’s collar,” you corrected him gently, offering him a tiny smile when his gaze looked a touch more watery. “But I’ll thank you instead for saving me.”

Alastor inhaled shakily, cradling you tightly against him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and took you both into the upstairs bathroom where he kept his extra stash of first-aid supplies and could see to your wounds and wash the dirt off your skin in a better light.

The title is a quote from Gone Girl and Al’s hunting style contains references to the Huntress from Dead by Daylight (who is also my beloved killer main).

Thanks again, hope you enjoyed it! x

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #completed request #human alastor #1920s au #mind the warnings #hazbin hotel fanfiction #asexual alastor #hazbin hotel alastor

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cmentary-drive · 3 months

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Lore in progress, idk how to title this

Just blah blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff

There was this one girl in your high school, you kept eyeing her. Her style brought some of your attention to her, she looked as if she did ballet. She was one of those mean rich kids, so that's very likely. Luckily you never picked a bone with her and the two girls she always seemed to have around.

You knew she was mean, often you supported a wall listening how the three of them always had something pissy to say about a group of four girls, honestly, you thought it was deserved. The quartet was loud, goofy and cringy, never shutting up as if they had some main character complex. Hearing the arguments between them all was some sort of entertainment, because Sabine usually had a point calling them out for their childiness as her two minions had her back.

Such scenes had you wondering if she was actually friends with them. You never heard them talk outside those verbal fights and each break you saw her smoking outside of school, all alone. Nothing weird, you were there for the same reason, borrowed a cig from one another and walked away a few times, no other interactions with her at school whatsoever. You never had many on you, but it was that unspoken rule to return the favor back and forth, you knew how frustrating it was to be left hanging with no nic on a school day. While you always went for the lowest price, her were the good, expensive type. Cig is a cig, she never pointed the low quality of yours out, but hers just looked, smelled and tasted as if they were made of gold and saffron.

During early teens both of you went to the same summer camp around Moorland Stables. Few times you landed on the same dressage training group as her, got shot eight few insults towards your riding skills. It wasn't that deep, the frustration was understandable, she just did and said what she had to, for you to attempt getting your shit together.

For her it always looked as if she was a rider for a living, for you it was just a hobby and a way to kill some time during summer.

One year, she just didn't appear at the camp, neither did she the next year and the year after that. You only saw her in school for few more years, but after graduation it was as if she vanished. Probably went to some private college or whatever spoiled kids do to get into adult life.

As for you, you couldn't bother to get a degree. Your parents worked a lot, you've rarely seen them. Usual form of communication was some cash on the dining table with a note aside - “for the groceries”.

You didn't mind their absence much, as a teen you never got along well - any conversation turned into shouting whether was it the mess your room became or you lack of belief towards your fathers religion. Throughout the months of failed theraphy and medicine having effects worse than powdered sugar the communication in this so called ‘family’ regressed to them just keeping you alive and taking on more shifts.

It didn't last long, you worked a few part time jobs at once, one day you served coffee, another you fixed a bike or walked a neighbor's dog and watered their plants. A lot of tasks for your start in the adulthood. It wasn't necessary to be said, you didn't want to live with them, they didn't want you around either. As weeks passed in the rush of your working hours, you lived at your parents place and slowly raised your savings to get a place of your own.

It would take some time to get there and you did your best to hurry the process. What you didn't expect to rush so quickly was your folks’ lifetime.

Mid your shift at a local coffee shop you got a call - from the insurance company informing you about their passing.

Both fear and relief flew through you like a river. No explanation about the circumstances of their death.

You had to suck it up, it didn't upset you much, but it would be a lie to say it wasn't offsetting. Either way you had to make it to the end of your shift, you couldn't let your pay go to waste like that.

As you didn't have much time to attempt any grieving, you stood through your entire lunch break by the back door with the cheapest cigarettes and processed whatever you remembered from the phone call.

There was no sadness, or anger. As for a loss of supposedly close to you people, you didn't feel too much. More thinking than feeling the situation through - should you stay at their apartment? If you were to move out, where? Should you run a funeral? Give a speech during? Call other family members? A lot of questions and little answers. As little as remains of your cigarette pack. Ten minutes passed quickly and you had to return to work.

Throughout the few weeks you handled many phone calls, signed a lot of papers you didn't care to read through. Your mother's cousin took care of all the arrangements luckily for you. They also kept the ashes remaining from after the burial, which you didn't even witness. Tight working schedule and lack of sentiment resulted in you not going to the funeral of your parents.

Around a month later, which flashed by as you worked your ass of you found a letter by the main door of the cheap apartment you used to share with the recently deceased.

“From: Esmeralda Holdsworth

to Odette Nobledew”

As you got out of your uniform you sat upon the no longer shared table and opened the envelope.

“Hello dear, I'm horribly sorry for your loss,

I deeply grieve over my daughter's passing as well as her husband's. I'm sure it's a hard time for all of us asnd I write to you with my intentions of help. Your mother mentioned how you were saving for your own place. I know it's difficult to exist in the place holding so many memories - good and bad. I talk with the Moorland's and we found a nice cottage for you. We all believe Jorvik and Aideen can bring peace upon one's mind and soul. I know you've only visited us for summer, but maybe you could consider exploring this beautiful island and learn to love it as much as we do.

Hugs and condolences,

from your grandma and old friends.”

#dont think about this too much it's very likely I'll just scrap this as whatever i had before #starstable #ssoblr #star stable tumblr #sso oc #sso #sso oc lore #odette Nobledew #star stable online #odette Nobledew lore #did i reread this? no #i wrote it to immediately hate it

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aiura-stan · 5 months

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it’s 1-3! really!

The thing in his arm is called “black pete?” I seem to remember it being “black beat…”

Ok update: just checked the original, and the katakana does in fact read “black beat” (buraaku bi-to.) So it must have been a error by the translators.

ブラック・ビート= black beat.

Also, for fanfiction reference, here’s Kaidou’s chunnibyou narrative/backstory: “Black Beat” is the godlike (or demon like) force in Kaidou’s right arm. Dark Reunion, an organization dedicated to weeding out ‘unnecessary’ elements from mankind, wants to steal (and presumably extract) that power from his arm and use it to create a new world order. Kaidou will prevent that from happening, since he is the Jet Black Wing.

Shun’s hobby is people watching?

Also, I like how Shun gradually grows out of his chunni behaviors over the course of the series. Or at least, he lets himself show others his real personality a bit more. Pretty sure he wears the arm bandages up to the very last chapter, lol.

We never do learn how a snake appears in the sleeve of that student’s shirt, do we? Saiki implies it wasn’t him. There’s no logical explanation for a snake appearing in someone’s sleeve, so it must have been another psi user, presumably one that can use a power like saiki’s teleport/apport ability.

I like that Saiki is still interested in what happens, even though he already left the classroom… I’m sure part of it was protectiveness (it is a poisonous snake after all) and the other part was curiosity. What I want to know is why Saiki was entirely uncurious as to how the snake got there in the first place. It’s not like snakes appearing in students’ sleeves is an every day occurrence… did the student put it there himself? Why? Asou must have known this gag would leave the audience with questions, but he never answers any of them.

Snakes don’t attack unprovoked…

least realistic part of Saiki k thus far. that there might be espers in the world? entirely possible. that a weak and badly injured snake would attack a person out of nowhere? you’re thinking of the wrong animal; serpents don’t do that.

A hopeless case indeed. Though that’s definitely Saiki’s fault.

This is the end of 1-3!💫

#read-saiki #read-saiki 1-3

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emotionally-charged-arson · 9 months

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2am Transitus thoughts since I can’t do fanart right now.

I am THE number one Lavinia apologist, idk what exactly Arjen was doing with her but her being desperate and going to Henry because she wanted the screaming ghosts in her head to stop and Daniel happened to have this dickhead for a brother makes a lot of sense to me.

On the flip side, I have no idea why they threw the “also I’m totally cool with killing my daughter for monetary gain” motivation in there. I’m sorry it makes zero sense to me and I hate the Wicked Stepmother trope as it is.

Why is she married to Abraham in the first place then? What solid reason do Abby and her have to hate each other when Abraham seems like a grounded, reasonable human being he who knows an evil white lady when he sees one? Why does Lavinia, in a conversation WITH HERSELF, say that she regrets what she did to Abby and should go and comfort her after Message From Beyond? Why is the character designed to resemble the “”Gypsy”” archetype a greedy and untrustworthy troublemaker for no genuine reason??

Last point notwithstanding, her motivation in canon just confuses the hell out of me. Through the entire second act she oscillates between a desperate, suffering woman who just wants Daniel to leave her alone that Henry takes advantage of, and a calculating evil witch character that’s just as shitty as Henry himself. Pick a lane, lady.

I have this pile of retcons and headcanons where I just completely got rid of the inheritance-chasing fortune teller persona and made Lavinia’s ability to see Daniel completely spontaneous (though she does have some backstory it makes a little sense for that I completely made up out of thin air, may talk about that later but we’ll see how this post does). The short version is that she’s the same as everyone else. A normal person loves their family, who endures a horrible experience, whose horrible experience is only amplified by their low socioeconomic status, and who is brutally taken advantage of by Henry to a violent end. She did some awful shit but ultimately it comes down to Henry being a manipulative asshole. Lovely.

…but then my aunt bought me this little aesthetic pack of tarot cards last nigtt he and I started reading about the history of this occult stuff in Western countries. And it got me thinking about another way she could be characterized.

I’m not gonna go into a tangent about this but the point is all that divination stuff like tarot cards, ouija, crystal balls etc became popular as novelty in the 1880s and 90s, especially in England and the United States. There were of course occultists who took it seriously but in widespread terms it was sold as what it was today. A harmless little game.

I dunno. Maybe Lavinia got really into that stuff as a hobby and that’s why it’s not weird that Abraham is married to a “”witch.”” Maybe she has it in the back of her head that none of it is real, just a way to kill time and a quirk of her personality.

Then Daniel dies, and she starts seeing spirits. With no genuine explanation. In desperation she associates it with her stuff and tries to talk to him that way, but it’s like Ayreon and his visions. He doesn’t know about Time Telepathy and she doesn’t know about the “crossroads” world Daniel is spending an unusual amount of time in. Little pointless explanations of something far bigger than they can envision.

Abraham doesn’t believe her and thinks it’s just her being way too serious about her occult stuff while he’s busy trying to keep his daughter from regressing any further than she has.

Henry is the only one who will talk to her and go along with her terrified ramblings, not because he believes her but he sees an opportunity in a clearly hysterical woman and she’ll be more cooperative if he pretends all of it is real.

Then she dies, and through it is forcefully disillusioned from her little games even though they’re all she could hold onto for an explanation.

I dunno.

#ayreon #transitus #I don’t hc this at all I just had a thought #I personally like my “was in the US Civil War and is one all too familiar with meaningless death schtick #but Ayreon is so interpretive and I love making multiple renditions of the same person #Lavinia especially fascinates me in that sense #tldr I hate when stepmoms are shitty people even when it makes no sense for the plot #that’s such a cheap shot to me when the whole first act of Transitus is about Daniel’s BLOOD RELATIONS making him miserable #I am so stupid about this album please ask me about it

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jeffbytes · 7 months

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decided i'm not gunna share my full story regarding my self ship hiatus, more just a brief overview here, untagged. i did some thinking on this, and the full explanation with backstory bears the risk of painting the hobby in a bad light and a "warning others to avoid doing it" more than anything else, which wouldnt have been my intention at all, it's definitely personalised risk

my circumstances health wise and why self shipping had a severe negative effect on me are exceptional circumstances and not something that an overall PSA brush could paint the whole community with in a non bias way. i dont want to scare anyone! youre probably fine and dont need to step back from it if your relationship with selfshipping isnt as detrimental as mine was. people can be uncomfortable with doubles without experiencing delusion as well, they're not hand in hand and my experience while likely shared by at least one other person, cant be seen as a be all end all risk warning for everyone that does it

the TLDR (not really lol), it got too real for me and was affecting my ability to live a normal life dodging doubles and losing months of my life to states of disassociative delusion. i'm awaiting to be seen by a high intensity team who deal with this sort of thing (they were supposed to see me in November, still waiting, god save the NHS) until then i'm not engaging too heavily in selfshipping in order to retain my sense of self and stay grounded to reality - as morbid and unpleasant it is to be grounded to said reality rn anyway. focusing on my new job and videogames and drawing other stuff. not stopped completely just keeping it at arms length, to keep in touch with myself and my current state

it's a lovely creative outlet if it doesn't border into the line being blurred too much, something that probably only becomes a risk if you've got similar health conditions and i dont want to make anyone second guess themselves if theyre having a good healthy time with it ;; i wasnt having a healthy time with it, scrolling social media was like a minefield of risk, i was constantly upset and uncomfortable due to circumstances i had no control over, i lost months of my life to disassociation. it is what it is

i'll return to it properly someday, when i know it's just gunna be a fun artistic hobby for me when i've resolved all my Issues™ and i'm not doing it for escapism or comfort or filling a hole anymore, just a side hobby to an otherwise regular headspace

#jeffs personal posts #i hope this makes sense and doesnt come off preachy #side note that now ive been in real love anything else feels meagre in comparison #we stayed friends and im happy but now self shipping doesnt feel like it would ever compare #thats got nothing to do with my MH so im tagging it instead but #id rather stay in reality and keep my head on for the next opportunity at falling in love irl again #it's so much better. SO much better. no f/o could have compared #very thankful we stayed friends too shes been such a dear friend to me before during and after

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bardinthezone · 1 year

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Night Vale and the Power of Stories

So I’ve been losing my mind about this latest arc. Full hyperfixation. Studying for finals? Calling my parents? Enjoying other hobbies? Eating?? Who’s she, never heard of her. There is only the “#wtnv spoilers” tag.

Anyways, inspired primarily by this post, this post, and this post, I have been thinking about Night Vale as a place of stories.

Night Vale is a deeply weird place. It is a place where all the crazy conspiracies and contradictions and creepy crawlies can coexist (try saying that 5 times fast), and it is built on stories.

We know from “109: A Story About Huntokar” that Huntokar singlehandedly saved the town from nuclear destruction in 1983. This in and of itself is beautiful, tragic, terrifying and wonderful (I could write a whole essay on the lasting effects of the Cold War on the American psyche and how that’s impacted our media, but that’s not what this post is about). But what Huntokar says in describing this moment is fascinating: “ The people of Night Vale huddled, waiting for the end to their story.” The use of the word “story” here is so poignant and poetic. This was her town, a narrative she had lovingly followed since its inception, with an ever rotating cast of characters, finally seeming as though it would come to an end. And yet she managed to continue their story. The people of Night Vale, of every alternate universe Night Vale, are kept alive because Huntokar wanted to keep the narrative going. It is a town kept alive-- inverted and shattered and bizarre, but alive-- because someone saw the tale coming to an end and wasn’t satisfied with that. Night Vale is a place of stories.

And Cecil. Cecil Gershwin-Palmer is such a wonderful enigma. He’s a deeply troubled man, he’s the town’s beloved radio host, he is the voice of Night Vale. As the town’s only (?) regular source of news, he carries incredible weight in shaping the public’s perception of reality. It is his radio show that keeps the people informed through all of these earth-shattering events-- it is Cecil who, for as goofy and cringefail (thank you @bigcommunist for that phrase) as he can be, has been responsible for keeping his citizens safe. In “227: A Word With Dr. Jones,” Dr. Janet Lubelle notes that one of his traits is “town leadership.” When Cecil speaks, things happen. He rallies the people, against Strexcorp or the Beagle Puppy or Steve Carlsberg and his dry, dry scones. Hell, he says “weather” and everyone stops, or sometimes (Like in “204: Audition”) it literally saves his life. @lostboywriting raises a fascinating theory about Cecil having inadvertently brought the Faceless Old Woman into existence through his repression of his complicated relationship with his mother-- and while this contradicts with the backstory presented in "The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives Inside Your Home," who’s to say that both origins can’t be true, with how splintered and fractured Night Vale’s existence (and especially relation to time) is? Perhaps Cecil, as the Voice Of Night Vale, is capable of changing the world more than he knows.

Either way, this is why Dr. Lubelle’s Explaining of the town has so much of a tangible effect on it-- because she’s coming in and using something “empirical” to change the narrative. That is why she’s so threatening-- because how do you argue with the facts? How do you argue with science? She is using logic to insist that her reality is right, that these stories and poetics used to keep the town alive are meaningless. That it would be better for them to not exist than to exist outside her narrative. She said it herself-- she cannot imagine that anyone thinks differently to herself about anything, and she is all to happy to provide any who disagrees with an Explanation. No matter the cost.

In 227, Cecil remarks that “Science is not good or bad, as language is not good or bad, as religion is not good or bad, because humans are not inherently good or bad.” This sets up a fascinating play between science, language, and religion that I think is perfectly encapsulated by Dr. Lubelle, representing science, Cecil, representing language, and Huntokar, representing religion. Whether she knows it or not, Dr. Lubelle is directly undoing all of the hard work of Huntokar, and attempting to use Cecil as the most powerful tool at her disposal.

And this works in conjunction with my distinction of the What vs. the Why. We can take the incursion point of November 7th, 1983, and view it through both lenses. From Huntokar’s perspective, we get the Why: Night Vale was in danger, and it needed saving, so she saved it. But from Dr Lubelle’s perspective, we just get the What: Night Vale was the target of a nuclear missile. Nuclear missiles are unstoppable by any force known to science. This is a town that should have been empty for 40 years.

I posit a world in which Dr. Lubelle reduces Night Vale to what it “should be:” A town ruined by nuclear destruction. The empirical facts, the anchors that held Night Vale down to reality, the threads that Huntokar broke-- Dr. Lubelle is seeking to tie them back together. And with the Voice of Night Vale on her side, Explained and ready to share the Truth, of course she can make that happen. Perhaps Huntokar takes center stage again to show that science is not the end-all-be-all. Perhaps Carlos steps in to replace Dr. Lubelle as the Scientist in this equation, to provide a good alternative to her callous methods.

Or I could be totally off-base with that prediction. I imagine the bodies being dug up in the sand wastes and the murals of flesh will play a major role in the finale. Maybe she’ll uncover the splintered realities of Night Vale and won’t know how to explain them away. Hell, people keep hyping up a Desert Bluffs return, what with the Sandstorm tapes and the talk of doubles-- Maybe Kevin and Lauren will be the “religion” in the triumvirate, and drive Dr. Lubelle mad with their unrelenting fervor. Who knows? I have my theories, but I’m just excited to see where this all goes.

Also from a meta perspective, this is 100% harkening back to all those early-days fan theories that “Night Vale is a normal town and Cecil is just off his rocker” (Thanks @maxgicalgirl for that one!). Welcome To Night Vale is a show that has never been about continuity and tight lore-- it’s about spinning a fun narrative, it’s about the poetry, the music, the aesthetics; it’s about everything that Dr. Lubelle HATES. From a meta perspective, Dr. Lubelle is every theorist who tries to ruin the magic of a story, who nitpicks it endlessly because it doesn’t adhere to how the “real world” functions. She doesn’t care about why story elements are included, she just needs what’s included to adhere to her worldview. And I can’t wait to see her get taken down, no matter how it happens.

Thanks again to @maxgicalgirl, @lostboywriting, @eclipse-song, and everyone who’s been sharing their thoughts about the latest arc on tumblr. I would not be writing this without y’all!!

#im sorry to everyone who says shes hot but shes basically a colonizer #''im new to your community but your culture is backwards and wrong''#''let me fix it with my superior science and reasoning''#shes so evil i hate her /pos #finknor wrote her so well #and janet varney is an incredible VA #i cannot express how much I love this arc so far #i really hope we get more on the 1983 storyline because that is just positively fascinating #a town that should have died long ago #that should have been reduced to ashes #and yet here they are #lubelle would fucking hate that if she found out #also WHATS GONNA HAPPEN TO EVERYONE WHO GETS EXPLAINED???#cause if cecil is getting explained i dont think itll be permanent #but #ough its just so GOOD #also carlos. my man. where are you. when are you gonna show yourself #when will we get to know your tragic backstory cause there is SOMETHING going on there #i swear she was just trying to get to carlos and the rest of the town was an added bonus #wtnv spoilers #wtnv 227 #wtnv #welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale spoilers #cecil gershwin palmer #dr janet lubelle #uowii #huntokar

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