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missanthropicprinciple · 3 years

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A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies.

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far:

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios.

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.)

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose.

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study.

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC.

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm.

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.”

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot.

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.”

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else.

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.”

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream.

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about.

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts.

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278).

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature.

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself.

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start.

Works Cited (WIP)

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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This Isn’t Hypothetical for Chris

SPECIAL CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains a series of arguments regarding the Box Boy’s whole concept, and a survivor’s reactions to it, that may hit too close to home both for survivors of assault/abuse and also considering American history of institutional violence. Please do not read if you think you are not in the right headspace for this, and feel free to message me for a rundown/synopsis of this chapter if needed.

CW: References to pet whump, institutionalized slavery, Box Boy universe, vague referenced noncon/conditioning, self-loathing, victim-blaming, survivor’s guilt, ableism (both internal and external). Also includes some self-harm/negative stimming including head-banging during a meltdown.

Nicholas/Henry (referenced multiple times) belongs to @orchidscript

“Excuse me, can I ask a question?” The one who raises his hand is… Eshiram, maybe? He lives over in Dalton, Chris knows him, more or less. Sort of. The way you know people who live near you, even on a campus as big as this tone.

“Yeah, go ahead.” The grad student who teaches the discussion meetings for their Social and Political History class waves one hand in a quick, not quite dismissive gesture.

Behind him, there’s a projected photo of a young man sitting, testifying in court, wearing a suit and tie. Above his head, the words, The Human Pet Industry and Human Rights, 1952-20XX, are angled just so, framing the young man’s head like a halo.

Chris refuses to look at the image of the young man, caught mid-speech. They already had to watch the video recording of it, discuss the way the lawyers phrased their questions to make the young man look innocent or calculating, depending on what they wanted the jury to think, when Chris could have told everyone in here it wasn’t fucking possible for a pet to calculate like that.

Or maybe it was, and Chris just wasn’t any good at it, when it was him.

“So, we’ve spent all week sitting in lecture, and here, talking about how the pet industry is absolutely fucked up-”

“Excuse me?” A girl sitting three seats to Chris’s right and a little ahead of him turns around in her chair to give Eshiram a flat glare. “That is not-”

“Wait your turn, Callie,” The grad student says, looking weary. “Next time I have to tell you to let someone finish a sentence… Man, just, don’t make me do that. Go on, Eshiram.”

Okay, good, his name is Eshiram. Chris is getting better at names, but it’s still hard, and on days like today it’s harder than ever. It’s not that he isn’t paying attention, it’s just that the scar on the inside of his left wrist, that pale reminder of the life he lived before this one, itches and burns more and more as he stays silent, listening to them talk about a life he’s lived like it’s an abstract concept and not a nightmare Chris will never be able to completely wash off his skin.

“Thanks. So, we talk about the pet industry, but I just-... why doesn’t anyone fix it?”

“Fix it?”

“Go in and pass laws… the public push is there to outlaw it completely. So why doesn’t it happen?”

“Because money talks, man,” Another student pipes up, and Chris stares down at his notes, which have gone from neat, if angular, handwriting to a jumbled mix of letters that mean nothing to a series of increasingly anxiety-riddled pointless doodles of geometrics and horses that look like dogs and dogs that look like blobs and blue ink bleeding spots around them all.

On the inside of his wrist, he starts, slowly, to draw little triangles over the scars, filling them in with the deep blue ink. Their voices are all starting to have weight, pounding against his ears, and he should ask to leave, but he can’t remember how to form the words.

“It doesn’t matter how fucking miserable the pets are, if rich people want something, they just bribe the fuck out of everybody until they get it.”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be like that-”

“Pets aren’t miserable,” Callie pipes up, and this time the grad student doesn’t stop her, just looks… interested. This is just a class discussion to him. To Chris it’s a building pile of rocks slowly picked up and thrown in his direction. He has to sit still, to be good, to not give away why it hurts to hear it.

He has to be good.

He drops his head more, blue hair falling across his face to hide it, and digs the nib of the pen into his skin until it hurts.

“Who wouldn’t be?” The student who spoke up rolls his eyes. “Of course they’re miserable. What, you think somebody cleans your house for no money because they’re fucking passionate about Swiffer wipes? All the bullshit in the world can’t hide what this whole system really is.”

“First off, it’s not like that, and second, please do tell me... what is it, really?” Callie asks, poison in her voice.

“Okay, guys,” The grad student says, hands out. “Let’s calm things down a little.”

“You know damn fucking well what it is,” Another girl speaks, glaring a Callie, and Chris looks up from under his eyelashes, almost smiles. Someone speaking up. He pulls the pen away from his wrist, just a little. “Starts with S, rhymes with-”

“Guys. Calm it down.” Callie and the other three all glare at each other, but the whispering among the class slowly settles down. The grad student stands up picking up some papers he has in his hands, setting stapled packets down on every desk. “I’m glad you’re all really passionate about this, and I want you to carry that passion out of this classroom, but we need to focus on the testimonies we’ve been watching this week. Now, each of you has here a written transcript of four examples of testimony from the individuals we’ve heard this week. I want you to read over what Trenton Denver, Phillipa Venn, Yuki Tanaka, and the former Nicholas-”

“You know what’s bullshit, is that you’re all sitting here judging pet owners when I bet none of you has ever even met one,” Callie snaps, and Chris stares down at the rough, photocopied photo on the front of the packet, sees Nicky’s face there. A photo of him before, standing next to his owners during some kind of press conference, and a photo of him after, years later being Henry now, giving a speech standing alone.

Something in Chris twists with an awful, sick guilt. If he’d only stayed with S-... with Oliver, he could have been a friend to Nicky, whenever he could... and instead, the other boy had had to do everything, to go through it all, alone. It’s not a fair or rational thought, but it’s there, insidious and slithering. His heart wants tries to tighten, to stop beating entirely.

Does he even deserve to breathe, living a life like this one, where everyone rescues him and he never once saved himself?

“Do you need to fucking meet one to know it’s miserable to be kept like a fucking Golden Retriever? People. Aren’t. Pets.” Chris wants to look up, to see who spoke this time, but he just keeps staring at Nicky’s face, his slight smile blurred and pixelated by the copier. Fake, and unhappy, because they were both trapped in lives they didn’t want to live.

“Golden Retrievers are pretty happy dogs,” Someone says, and Chris feels himself choke on their words.

We’re not dogs. We’re people. We’re not dogs. We’re people. We’re not-

“Oh my God, way to miss the point by approximately fifteen thousand miles and also be so insulting to dogs in the process, dumbass. We’re talking about human beings!”

Chris takes in a breath, keeps his eyes down. Digs the pen nib into his skin, deeper and deeper, as hard as he can, trying to drown out the cacophony of noise that is starting to intrude. He can hear their breathing, all of them, huffing in and out. He can hear their words pressing on him, the buzz of the lights overhead is louder for him than anyone else in here, he thinks. He can hear people talking in the hall as another class has let out, he can hear people shouting dimly outside, running to the Student Center, playing frisbee or something on the green space, and he wants to be outside he wants to be outside he wants to move.

Can’t move. Have to be still.

Can’t let them know what he is. Can’t tell. It’ll put everyone at risk. He has to sit still and pretend he doesn’t have opinions on this so nobody looks too close. He has to sit still and stop tapping his fucking foot and stop stop stop moving, stop fucking moving, be still be still be still-

“All I’m saying, is that I have actually met pets before,” Callie announces. Chris wonders why the grad student hasn’t stopped her and sneaks a look up, only to see him sitting and looking bored. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s just something he talks about. He hasn’t had to live it, to see us crying, to know how it feels when they shock you or bring the cane down or make you be still for days and days and days. He’s never seen one of us wake up screaming even when it’s safe.

This isn’t hypothetical for Chris.

“Yeah, Cal, we get it, you’re rich,” Someone says, rolling her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. “We hear about it all the time. Let it go.”

“Eat the rich,” Someone else mumbles behind him. “French had the right fuckin’ idea with the fucking guillotines.”

Chris swallows. He wants to hum, to make some kind of noise to drown them all out, but he can’t. When he, when he needs things, when he needs to tap or rock or hum, it draws attention. Too much attention is dangerous. Have to keep it in until class is over. Just a few more minutes, a few more, just, just a little longer…

“Me being rich isn’t what we’re talking about. I’m just saying none of you knows a thing about the industry, and I do! I grew up with pets! And they were the happiest people I’ve ever met!”

“You don’t, don’t know that.” He doesn’t realize the voice is his own until the eyes feel as heavy as their voices did a moment before, and he notices everyone is looking at him.

He swallows again, his heart starting to pound with nervousness, pulling his sleeve carefully down to hide the drawing he made on his wrist. “You don’t know that,” He repeats, louder this time, willing his voice not to shake. “All you, you know is what, um, what… what what what, what, what they-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Somebody says, and Chris almost stops there.

He manages to finish, “-... what they thought it was safe to tell you, what, what they were trained to tell you.”

“You think I wouldn’t know if my own pets weren’t happy?” Callie looks… stunned, is the only word for it. “You really think that?”

“No, I don’t, don’t think you… would.” Chris hates everyone looking at him. He likes to be hidden, to stay behind the scenes, to blend in with shadows. But he feels like a police siren going off, unmistakable and too loud, with the classroom all looking at him all at once. “They-... they’re… trained. To make sure you, you, you-you-you wouldn’t ever f-find out if they weren’t... if they were scared, or, or miserable, or if your f-f-family was hurting them-”

“How fucking dare you?” Callie’s eyes widened, and Chris watched them fill with glittering tears. “Suggest that my family would abuse our pets? What is wrong with you?”

He almost - almost - apologizes.

Then she adds, “I’ve known them every single day of my life! I think I’d know if they weren’t happy, Chris.” Callie rolls her eyes, arms crossed in front of her.

“How?” His voice is louder, and he doesn’t mean it to be, but his mind is sparking with anger and fear. The warning bells inside his mind are being drowned out by the other thoughts, the way he has listened to too many people give arguments like this, and this week he’s listened to four different speeches by pets detailing abuse, and suffering, and starvation, and drugging, and he’s lived all of it and here she is just dismissing Chris’s life like it’s a fairytale the pet lib people made up to sell magazines and documentaries and not Chris’s actual fucking life. And Antoni’s. And Leila’s. And Krista’s. And Kauri’s and-

And Nicky’s.

Or… Henry, now.

“How what?” Callie sneers the words and Chris shoves himself to his feet. She’s up as well, and she’s taller than him, not that it matters. He’s not intimidated by her height, and he doesn’t even really see her, he sees-... he sees Oliver murmuring, the others will all hate you if they know what you are, darlin’, and mostly that hasn’t been true for him, but with Callie… it would be.

Or she’d call someone, turn him in.

She’s the kind who would make the call herself, and she’d say it was for his own good, that he was breaking the law, that he-

“How would you, you, you-you… you know? It’d never be safe to, to, to to to to-... to-to… to, fuck, to-” He groans, smacking himself in the head with his hand, and the sudden burst of sensation soothes the broken words inside his head, he can find them again. “It’d never be safe to tell you!”

“Oh shit,” Someone whispers. The same person who made the guillotine comment maybe. He doesn’t care. He’s too angry, now, and not even at her, he’s angry at everyone who looked the other way at Oliver’s parties, or when Owen put Kauri in that video on the internet, or when they watched Jake get arrested at protests or made fun of him when he got set free later and it took two fucking weeks for him to go back to class just because he put his body between Chris and a living hell.

He’s too angry, now, to stop.

“You’re, you’re s-s-soulless,” He hisses, and there’s an intake of breath. “Every single one, of, of, of you is soulless.”

“Chris, let’s calm down,” The grad student says carefully, moving forward. “Callie just has a different point of view-”

“Is it a, a, a different point of-... of view when it’s someone’s fucking life?” He doesn’t mean to be yelling. He doesn’t know how he started yelling. He’s terrified of his own voice and he can’t stop. The lights hurt, they sit on his skin and they hurt and the world is full of noise and he just wants it to be dark and quiet and better than this.

“Everyone who hurts-” Us “-them is soulless, is, is devoid, you don’t have one, and everyone who s-s-sits, who, who sits around, who-... who does nothing while they hurt us-”

“I’ve never hurt a pet a single day in my life!” Callie shouts back at him, and someone takes her arm, a friend of hers.

No one takes Chris’s arm. No one speaks. They just watch him from every corner of the room, and later someone’s going to write a fucking post about this somewhere, and he’ll be a laughingstock, and maybe someone will see the look in his eyes and guess - and know - and call the cops - and he’ll get Jake in trouble again-

“I’d bet every d-... dollar in my, my, my bank account that you have!”

“Christopher Stanton, you need to stop, right now, or I’m going to ask you to leave.” The grad student steps between them, and Chris’s eyes flicker to the older man’s. Suddenly he’s unsure, and he wants to sit down.

Sit still. Silence is better than stammering. Stillness is better than what I do. Sit down, be good, be good be good be good be a good boy be good a pet be good be good after all-

“I mean… they signed up for it, right?” A new voice, the girl holding Callie’s arm. “Pets? They get told what it’s all about before they sign up. Isn’t this kind of… babying them? I mean, they made the choice to be one.”

“Nothing happens to them that isn’t on their contract,” Callie says, smug with triumph, and the grad student doesn’t stop her. “Besides, they really loved me! It was like having a friend right from when I was born. They signed up for this!”

It hurts so much more when he hears it said outside his own skull.

“They didn’t like you.” Chris is spitting venom, suddenly, terrified of himself, of his own anger. He’s so good at not being angry, at not having feelings like this, at having good days and knowing how lucky he is to escape, but right now… “They, they, they didn’t like you, they were told to, to, to be nice to you! You, you just-...”

“I mean, they wipe their memories and shit,” Someone says. “That’s sci-fi horror movie shit, that is definitely fucked up. You can’t think you can wipe somebody’s memory and make them, like, memorize all those fucked up things pets say and then believe they just… like you, Callie.”

“They didn’t want those memories! They sign up on purpose, to give those memories up, because they don’t want them anymore! I mean, what do they lose, really?”

Chris hitches in a breath.

Everything.

I lost everything.

And I’ll never get all of it back.

“That’s why… why-why-why, why you’re not safe, why it wouldn’t be s-safe to, to, to to tell you if they weren’t h-happy,” Chris says, throwing the packet of papers with Henry’s face on the front into his backpack, alongside folders full of paperwork, his textbook, laptop, pens and pencils. “Because you’ll b-believe any, any, any any… any bullshit you’re told.”

Someone laughs, nervously.

“Or maybe one of us has actual experience with pets, and one of us wears the same five fucking t-shirts on rotation because he doesn’t own any others.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Callie.”

Chris stares at her, and it’s not fear that washes cold down his spine, but a blistering, awful, sick rage. “You, you, you-you-you don’t know shit about, about, about about… about m-me-”

Talking is harder, it’s like trying to push words through a wall with an opening the size of his thumb. The wall is built of all the noise and weight and rage and pain and sound all around him. He wants to rock, he wants to tap, he wants to get all the energy coiled inside of him out and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Be good be still be a statue boy that’s my good boy trainee keep still for me sweet boy you wanted this you were made for this you signed up for this you knew what would happen to you you wanted this you wanted this you wanted this you wanted it you want it you’ll always want it-

“I know you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Callie snaps. “And that’s all I need to know, isn’t it? Have you ever even met a pet, Chris?”

He wants to start laughing, at the question, and he’s afraid if he starts he won’t stop until it’s tears instead, and he won’t cry in front of her.

He won’t.

“F-for, for, for, for… for y-your, infor-... fuck, for your, your, your-your-... your-”

No, no no no. He is stalling out, stammering, trains derailed and disappearing into the horrible white light that still lived inside his head, he is stuttering silence is better than stammering you have to stop you have to stop you have to stop-

Callie’s lip curls in a cruel sneer and Chris knows exactly what she’s going to do - how she will hurt him - before she opens her mouth.

“I think you should stop trying to talk until you can stop being such a fucking sp-”

“That’s enough.”

Chris had forgotten the grad student was even still here. He jumps, stumbling into his chair as the man pushes forward and blocks Callie from Chris’s view. Chris’s legs catch in the metal legs of the chair and he falls backwards, slamming on his ass into the carpeted floor, barely catching himself.

The carpet burns under his hands.

Only one person laughs.

It’s Callie.

Chris’s face burns bright red, shame and humiliation sweeping over his skin, and he lost nearly all the words, all at once, drowned in the screaming noise inside his head. All he can remember is how to spit, “I fucking hate everyone like, like, like you! You fucking bitch!”

“Leave the room, Chris.” The grad student’s voice is sharp. “That’s over the line. You’re done in this class for now. I’ll email you later and we’ll schedule a meeting to talk about whether or not you should come back.”

Chris’s lungs stop working. He can barely mouth what?

“Hey, wait a second.” Eshiram pushes to his feet, jabbing a finger in the air as he points. “Callie’s the one who worked this up into a fight, Chris didn’t-”

“Cut it, Eshiram, I’m not interested. Chris. Get out of the room, take a deep breath, and cool down. We’ll talk this out later, okay? I won’t mark you absent for class, or mark down participation, or anything. Just… take a walk.”

Chris can’t remember how to speak. All he can do is nod, good boy, take your discipline, discipline is a humane and necessary part of-

He has to get out of here before he calls someone Sir.

“If he goes, I’m walking out, too,” Eshiram says, strong. He was taller and bigger than the grad student, who looked at him, weary, as Eshiram steps over and offers Chris his hand. Chris takes it, skin crawling, and pulls himself back to his feet. “It’s not his fault and I’m not going to sit here like it is.”

“Yeah, me too,” Guillotine-Kid says, pushing to his feet and grabbing his backpack. “I’m out, too. I’m not going to fall for that propaganda bullshit.”

“Me, three,” Says the girl who had very nearly called the human pet industry exactly what it is. “This is bullshit, Darian’s right. She works him up and gets him all mad, and then you kick him out when he fights back? This is exactly the fucking problem we’ve been talking about!”

“Don’t be fucking dramatic, Tali,” Callie says, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be such a fucking nightmare asshole, Caledonia,” Tali shoots back.

“Okay. Okay, okay. Just… class dismissed for today. Look over your packets and we’ll meet next time and talk it out. I can see this isn’t going to get back on track. Chris, we’ll talk about you coming back to class when we meet, but until then… just… just work on the assignments.” The grad student sighs.

Chris yanks his hand away from Eshiram, and Callie’s triumphant little snort hits him in the back like a blow as he stomps out of the classroom and into the hall, the rest of the class streaming out behind him.

Eshiram calls out his name, but Chris doesn’t stop.

He should, he should stop, Jake and Nat always say it’s important to reward people for their work towards changing hearts and minds, and to appreciate the little things like people helping you stand up when you can’t stand for yourself, but he… he can’t stop.

If he stops, they’ll know what he is.

If he stops, they’ll tell someone.

If he stops, he’ll cry in front of them, and Chris has cried too often in his life. He just runs down the hallway, as fast as he can, taking turns and twists and stairways until he’s on a different floor, a different side of the building, and he’s totally, utterly lost in it.

He curls up in a tiny bathroom the size of a closet, lights off, door locked, presses himself into the corner in a room that smells like air freshener and bleach, and starts to rock, violently, forcing his head to smack into the wall with each forward motion, and again when he rocks back.

Again, again, again.

It quiets the screaming inside his head, but it can’t make the last hour not have happened.

Silence is better than stammering, stillness is better than what I do, I signed up for this, I signed up for this, I wanted this I wanted it I was made for it I deserved it we’re happy we’re supposed to be happy I’m broken because I wasn’t happy like this I signed up for it I have to be good to be good I am a good boy be still be silent be still be be be-

His phone starts buzzing an hour or so later, when he misses his lunch date with Laken. Over and over and over again.

He doesn’t pick up.

He wouldn’t be able to speak if he did.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth

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cerastes · 4 years

Text

I’m fine where I am. At least for now, I’m fine where I am. I work for my mentor, who supports me and teaches me still, I have a job at all during a pandemic, when I know many a colleague of mine does not. I am in a position where I can try new things and experiment with my craft, not through just theory, but through being able to put it into practice. I like where I am. I like who I am.

But I feel as though I wish to do more. Two years ago, in anticipation to my busy 2019, I started proactively trying out new things. More proactively than I usually am, I mean. Some stuck, others were a nice experience that I’m ok with not revisiting, others, I’m not particularly enthused about but I made promises regarding my presence and activity in those that stand to this day. I wish to do more. I understand that part of this hunger tinged in frustration comes from the pandemic in at least some degree; I intended on working out more than ever before this year, and I intended to start practicing archery.

There’s fun things to do. Streaming has been fun. I like it. Doing it as a group has been fun. I had always wanted to do more streaming in general, it’s just very calming and fun to sit there and talk while playing a game. I’m glad I’ve had AK to sink my teeth into, both in gameplay and in lore (seriously, how can a game so perfectly tailored for me exist?). Recently, I’ve started a creative project with my best friend. I’m very happy about this, we’re still very much in the preliminary phases, but I’m so happy it’s him with whom I can embark on this journey of creation. I guess it paid of to nerdify and weebify him, because I don’t think this would’ve been able to happen before, and I’m both a hermit and someone who has very particular views and opinions on the creative process and how to tackle it. I almost never collab, because I enjoy the silence and my own presence more than I do the company of others, but if it’s with my best friend, that doesn’t apply, I do enjoy his company more than my silence and presence. I’m happy about that.

I don’t know what else I’m going to try my hand at, and this is a weird thing for me to feel, but... I feel as if I could be doing something. Whenever I feel this way, I try things, because I dislike inaction, and I dislike people that endlessly complain about their inaction while remaining, you know, inactive. Makes my blood boil, I’ll be truthful, the whole “what am I doing with my life?” line of thought and vague text posts. If you have time to ask yourself that, you have time to get up and look for something to do, to be, to enjoy, to indulge, to create, to consume. At times I think it’s a harsh judgement, and it’s not like I don’t get how depression works -- been there, buddy -- but you can’t wait for someone to rescue you. I don’t resent self-indulgent media for being popular and not for me, but I do quite resent it for popularizing and romanticizing the idea that your sadness is something you need to be rescued from. You take the first step, and people will naturally help you out from there, but if you just loiter there saying sad and vague things, no one will bother.

In any case.

I’m looking for that, for that extra something I want to do. I don’t know what it is yet, but I know I want to do it, I feel as if I am wasting time not doing it. I am fervently inspired by seeing people I know chasing after things they’ve wanted to do. I, too, want to chase. Improving is a nice feeling. Trying out new things is a nice feeling. Routine is nice but only as long as it is constantly evolving instead of just becoming a stagnant cycle.

Speaking of particularities regarding creation, though quite obviously I love reading, I’m still more a writer than a reader, and I don’t really talk about my creations. And being honest, I don’t often fancy hearing about others’ in a vacuum (ie. conceptually, “this is my OC!” I’d rather you write a story and show me that). This is a me thing, and I don’t think this explanation will actually be understood by too many (conceptually? yes, otherwise? no), but I think there’s too much You in your creation. This is perhaps just my psychologist brain being itself but people telling me all about their OCs unprompted, to me, who automatically reads between the lines both as seasoned reader and a psychologist, is akin to subjecting me to their psyche, and god I know this sounds cheesy and try-hard, I know, it is painful to write, but 6 friends in the last few months have made big life decisions which were foreshadowed to me by how much of them they put into their creations, which were shared with me. Likewise, I feel like sharing my creations too much, on a conceptual level, even, is putting myself out there. I doubt anyone did, but if anyone wondered why I don’t really share what I write or create with any sort of regularity, there’s why. I just think it’s intimate, and I don’t think intimacy is something to show to everyone, which I know is a weird damn way to see creative endeavors, trust me, but that’s how I view it. That’s not to say I don’t want people to see my things, not at all, I do update my writing blog now and then, after all, and I love seeing people read my stuff, this is more about... Sharing OCs, for example, in a vacuum and talking about them? Feels too weird for me.

Well, there’s that, but there’s also the fact that I also have another particularity (yes, I know) in which I don’t particularly care to hear about OCs as much as I want to see them in an actual written piece. Let me put it this way: I don’t care about a sock puppet if you show it to me during lunch, but I do care for it if you put up a play and let me see the sock puppet in action. I think people should enjoy art and creation in any way they do, but conversely, I like seeing creation in action, not conceptually. Conceptual is easy and vague. Write a story. That’s more exciting and enriching and lets me get a clear view of your created character more than your psyche and all the things you may not even know you’re clamoring (that you put on absolutely every OC, yes, we notice), so write, write, and write. Give your characters a context, scenario, a story.

Of course, I am merely speaking of my own preference. What’s more important is that you enjoy what you’re writing and what you’re doing. I just think a proper story in motion is far more interesting than concepts. I used to love “the concept of”, maybe you remember, I used to make a lot of posts regarding ‘concepts’ and being in love with the concept of this and that in writing. That’s been one of my major changes, honestly, I don’t love concepts anymore. I love execution now.

That’s about it, yeah, head emptied. Sleep now.

#Nothing negative at all just thinking and read more-ing it so as to not put a slab of words on the dashboard

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everwitch-magiks · 4 years

Text

dance with somebody (ch. 16)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 15

When Dex steps into Chowder’s bedroom, his single knock on the open door no more than a nostalgic habit, these days, as opposed to a present requirement, he’s certainly not expecting to be faced with, well. With this.

“What’re you doing?”

Chowder looks up. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with a myriad of different colored post-it notes spread out around him. Dex crouches down, picking up a couple of the notes (yellow and pink, respectively) to skim through their contents. Louis, helped solve Halloween cupcake disaster, 2 points. Hops, volunteered to do dishes entire week, 6 points.

Dex raises both eyebrows towards Chowder. Chowder, meanwhile, is staring down at the colorful mess surrounding him with a decidedly troubled expression. He sighs.

“I’m figuring out my dibs.”

“With a points system?” Dex prompts. He’s not sure if he’s impressed or concerned. “Looks ambitious.”

“I just don’t want anyone to think that I’m being unfair,” Chowder explains glumly. He picks up a green post-it (Jader, gave up half his vanilla scone at breakfast, 1 point) and stares at it dejectedly. “Or that I don’t care about them. Oh no, what if I pick Jader, and then Joyo inevitably assumes that I hate him? I could never do that to Joyo."

“Dude,” Dex says. He’s trying very hard not to smile. “You don’t have to make a decision yet, you know? It’s not even Christmas.”

Chowder frowns.

“It's almost Christmas.”

“I suppose,” Dex agrees carefully. “Are you sure this isn’t just some big procrastination project? Got any big finals looming, hm?”

“Finals,” Chowder scoffs. “Are finals really more important than the precious feelings of our hardworking underclassmen?”

“Oh my God. What’s all this?”

Nursey strolls into the room without knocking. He places a kiss on top of Dex’s head and then plops himself down between Dex and Chowder, his hand lingering softly at Dex’s nape.

“Chowder is having a bit of a dibs crisis,” Dex fills him in.

“Oh, man. Hard same.” Nursey frowns. “I was dead set on giving mine to Ford. Of course Ollie and Wicks had to go and snag her, first.”

“She and Tango seem pretty happy up in the attic, though,” Dex points out. "And this way, you get to be hausmates with both of them this year."

“I suppose that's true," Nursey allows. Then he shrugs. "And I guess I’ve still got Louis. He’s let me borrow his good bluetooth speakers basically this whole semester, so. Might be an option."

“What?” Chowder exclaims. “No, wait, I might pick Louis. You two couldn't maybe give me some time to figure this out, before you stake your claims?"

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, C,” Dex tells him gently.

“That’s definitely not how it works,” Nursey agrees, his grin playful yet his tone kind. “If there’s someone you have in mind, Chow, you should just go for it. You snooze, you lose."

Chowder whips his head around, aiming his wide, pleading eyes at Dex.

“You’re not considering Louis, too, are you?”

“Honestly? I wish I was considering anyone.” Dex sighs. “I would’ve gone with Whiskey, but obviously that’s out, and I feel like the Waffles have gotten this strange aversion to doing any of those dibs type favors for me since I became captain. I think they don’t want to act like they’re sucking up for the wrong reasons, or something.”

“Maybe give them some proper incentive?” Nursey suggests merrily. “If word got out that you’re, like, completely undecided about dibs, I’m sure both the Waffles and the Scones would be falling all over themselves to please you. Might be fun to watch.”

“Nah. I’ll figure it out eventually.” Dex shrugs. “Graduation is still really far away. I’m not gonna worry about it, yet.”

“It’s not that far away,” Chowder disagrees. He sounds serious. “Guys, it’s almost Christmas. That means we're graduating in less than six months.”

Dex very nearly flinches. Six months? How is that even possible?

“That can’t be right,” Nursey says slowly. His expression has turned uncharacteristically unchill. “Fuck. Why haven’t I applied to more grad programs, yet?”

“I need to start looking at job listings more seriously,” Chowder chimes in. He's looking down at his post-its with an expression that’s unusually difficult to read. “I guess I can't put it off forever."

“Hey,” Dex says. He’s trying his best to sound reasonable, despite his own inner turmoil. Suddenly, the feeling of Nursey’s hand that’s still resting at his nape seems more important than ever. “It’s not over yet. We’ve still got a whole semester.”

“Yeah,” Nursey says quickly. “Yeah, you’re right. And even after, it’s not like you guys are ever gonna be rid of me. Got your backs, remember?”

“That's true,” Chowder agrees quietly. He’s not smiling, Dex notes with no small amount of concern. Especially considering the fact that Chowder kind of hasn't smiled at all since the start of this conversation. His whole expression looks wrong, somehow, without that familiar spark of effortless joy. “It’s all happening so fast. I wish everything could slow down, just a bit.”

“We’re just gonna have to make every moment count,” Dex says firmly. Impulsively, he reaches for Chowder’s shoulder. “We’re here for you, man. You know that, right? We're always gonna look out for each other. Always."

“Of course. Yeah, of course.” Thankfully, that seems to do the trick – Chowders lips curl into a soft grin. "Ugh. I think I'm just gonna go through my notes for that UX design final one more time. Can't be more stressful than trying to choose a single Waffle for dibs."

"Or a Scone," Nursey reminds him brightly. "There's some good freshies, too, let's not forget."

"Says you, who's got your eye on Louis, too," Chowder points out with an amused roll of his eyes. "I may be panicking, Nurse, but I'm certainly not stupid."

"Ah, and here though myself completely subtle." Nursey grins. "Weren't you gonna study?"

"Actually, yes." Chowder gets to his feet, only to immediately pause. He narrows his eyes towards Nursey. "But if you lock down Louis while I'm stuck cramming user interface design techniques, you can expect some serious payback."

"Chill, man." Nursey's grin softens. "Look, I haven't actually decided on Louis yet, but if it would make you feel better we could have some sort of dibs treaty until the end of finals week. After that, it's anyone's game. Sounds good?"

"I suppose that’s fair." Chowder nods, and Dex is relieved to see the genuine smile he offers in return. "I think I left my books downstairs, so. See you guys later."

He pads out of his room, leaving Dex and Nursey alone in the sea of post-its.

Immediately, Nursey scoots a little closer to Dex.

"Just us, huh," he remarks, his tone a clear attempt at casual even though his smile indicates otherwise. "D'you wanna get lunch, or something?"

Dex hesitates.

"I've actually got some things I need to work on," he says carefully. "Could we maybe meet up later?"

"Sure. Of course." Nursey's response comes just a little bit too quickly. "That's chill, man. Whatever you need."

Dex studies his boyfriend's expression for a moment. It's been a concern of his, ever since he started setting aside time to work on his secret project, that Nursey might eventually start to realise there's something Dex isn't telling him. Dex has been monitoring carefully for any sign of doubt or confusion on Nursey's end, and this is the first time he thinks he's seeing exactly that in the subtle frown that's replaced Nursey's relaxed smile from a moment earlier. Obviously, it's the opposite of what Dex hopes to achieve with his secrecy.

Thankfully, the solution is very simple.

"Hey," Dex says quietly. "It's for you."

Nursey looks puzzled.

"I'm doing something for you," Dex clarifies. "That's why I've been a little busy, lately. It's going to be a surprise."

"Oh," Nursey says. He sounds surprised, already. "You're… Huh. What is it?"

Dex grins softly.

"A surprise. Duh."

Nursey raises a curious eyebrow.

"Don't I get a hint?"

"You really don't understand the concept of a surprise, do you?"

"Fine. Be that way." Nursey smiles a little excitedly, and Dex relaxes a bit. "I suppose I'll see you at dinner, then? The guys all want to go to Jerrys.”

"Actually, can we do dinner just you and me?" Dex asks quickly. "There's been so much team stuff, lately, and I've honestly kind of missed us. Tonight, I want to just... Order in. Preferably from someplace that makes a mean garlic bread. And after, we should put on Netflix and get in bed so I can cuddle you while you rant about the dubious plot changes in another one of those Austen adaptations."

Nursey blinks. For some reason, he's staring at Dex with a serious look in his eyes, one that's only vaguely familiar.

"What?" Dex asks, a little self-consciously. Was it something he said? “You like those period dramas. Don’t you?”

Nursey drops his gaze. He takes Dex's hands in his and holds them gently, almost like they're something delicate, like Dex is someone precious and worthy of protection.

"You're in love with me," he says quietly. "Aren't you?"

Oh, shit.

It's true, is the thing. And honestly, Nursey can’t have been unaware of it up until this moment. Really, he must have known. Dex might never have said it in so many words, and they’ve technically only dated for a few months, but it’s not like either of them are blind to the fact that they were dancing around this thing between them for several years, before. That goodnight kiss out on the porch at the very first kegster of the fall was never the beginning.

Dex briefly considers making some sort of joke to downplay this moment, if only to stop Nursey from being completely obnoxious about it in a minute or so. Except, the heavy look in Nursey’s eyes compels him to make a different choice.

"Yeah," Dex says, almost steadily. "I am in love with you. Quite hopelessly, actually."

Nursey’s breath hitches. He squeezes Dex hands tightly, and then he’s leaning over, capturing Dex’s lips in a fiercely desperate kiss that leaves Dex completely breathless. And if Dex didn’t feel it so completely, just then, in every achingly delicate touch of Nursey’s fingers against his cheek, his throat, all the way down his chest, he might’ve been a bit anxious about the fact that, technically, Nursey didn’t actually say it back.

As it is, Dex isn’t worried. If anything, he’s amused.

“You’re welcome,” he chirps gently after they break apart. “I guess I should be thankful you didn’t just tell me to chill, or whatever.”

“Fuck you, man,” Nursey breathes out, his voice breaking in a way Dex didn’t expect at all. “Also, just, shut up, okay? You already know that I’m writing literal fucking poetry about you, about your freckles and your eyes and your hips and your smile and your stupid fucking lips, okay. I’d like to think you’ve been able to safely assume that I’m more than casually into you.”

“I’d like to think that’s the impression I’ve given you, too,” Dex says slowly. He feels a little confused. Suddenly, he’s tempted to drag Nursey across campus to the wood workshop and just show him, right now, to expose everything that he’s dreaming and hoping and wishing. “Nursey. Hey, Nurse. Look at me.”

“No, you’re right.” Nursey takes a breath. He meets Dex’s eyes with a watery smile. “I don’t know, man. It just hits differently, when you say it out loud. Feels more real. It’s like you spoke it into existence.”

“Maybe something for your next poem,” Dex teases gently. This moment feels too fragile, somehow. He racks his brain for some way to break the tension. “Did you ever read me the one about my hips?”

“Um.” Quickly, Nursey looks away, his smile suddenly more of a bashful grin. Bingo. “Did I mention that one, just now?”

“You did.” Dex grins, too, taking in Nursey’s clearly flustered expression with interest. Oh, this is gonna be good. “Tonight, okay? Read it to me, tonight.”

“I don’t… It’s not my most coherent work, probably.” Nursey clears his throat, and Dex grins a little wider. It’s not often that he manages to make Nursey this unsettled. “I mean, I’ll see if I can find it.”

“Suppose I’ll just have to inspire a new one, if you don’t,” Dex suggests slyly.

“Actually,” Nursey breathes out, already moving to climb into Dex’s lap. “That sounds-”

“Oh my God!” Chowder exclaims from the still open door. “We’ve been over this! You both have your own rooms, okay, you’ve literally got zero excuses for getting your freak on right in the middle of-”

Dex presses his lips briefly against Nursey’s before scrambling to his feet, quickly slipping past Chow into the hallway.

“Sorry, Chowder!” he calls out over his shoulder as he takes the stairs two steps at a time. “Love you, Nurse! Bye!”

“That’s a fine, isn’t it?” Pips calls from the living room as Dex practically sprints past. “Hey, wait! Major fine! Pay the fuck up!”

Dex let’s the door to the Haus fall shut behind him. As he makes the now familiar trek across campus, he doesn’t stop smiling for a single moment.

ch. 17

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #will poindexter #chris chow #derek nurse #nurseydex #dexnursey #dibs #friendship #romance #chirping as flirting #dance with somebody #evie writes #fanfiction

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

Like Emptiness In Harmony

TMA AU of 160. When Jon wakes up after that statement, he finds that he’s changed just as the world around him has.

on AO3

Jon came back to himself... no, that wasn’t right; Jon’s self was far too nebulous a concept for that. How many weeks, months, years had passed since he’d truly been himself, free of influence by eldritch powers? Had he even truly been himself before he’d joined the Magnus Institute, or had he been controlled by the Web back then, too? Would he even recognize his true self, his human self, anymore? (Were his true self and his human self even the same thing these days?)

Jon came back to consciousness on the floor of the safehouse, with Martin standing over him, and for a brief second things seemed alright, seemed as normal as they ever were, before he saw the terror in Martin’s eyes and remembered what he’d read out loud before passing out and knew (lower-case) that something had gone terribly wrong.

The details were still fuzzy in Jon’s mind, though, and as Jon struggled to put the pieces together, to wake up more fully and figure out exactly what kind of trouble he was in this time, he was only able to say a single word.

“Martin.”

But... but it didn’t sound right, somehow. The word was clear enough, luckily, it wasn’t like he was trying to spit it out through a gagged mouth (which was a sensation Jon unfortunately knew all too well thanks to Nikola), but the tone was off. Jon was confused and curious and scared, but when he called out Martin’s name, none of that came through. Instead, his voice sounded... smug, smug and vaguely condescending, much closer to the sort of tone he would have used to dismiss Martin before Prentiss’ attack than the one he’d meant to adopt now.

“Jon?” Jon wasn’t sure how much of the uncertainty he heard in Martin’s voice just then was real and how much of it was just his mind projecting. Probably some of both there.

Jon cleared his throat and tried again.

“Martin.”

It came out the same as before--exactly the same as before, actually, his tone and enunciation both identical to when he’d said Martin’s name before, as much so as if he’d recorded it before and simply played it back again instead of actually speaking anew.

An analogy that, when Jon examined it more closely, seemed entirely too on the nose.

“My god.”

He said the words only partially because they were what he actually wanted to say; if Jon were free to speak his mind, his speech would probably be significantly less coherent right now, and filled with half-formed questions. But this would have to do at short notice, combining actual meaning with a way to test his current theory.

Sure enough, he was able to say those words just fine, just as he had... how long ago was it, now? Minutes, hours, an eternity ago? And with them came that same smug, self-congratulatory tone, one that almost made Jon want to punch himself in the face for sounding like that. But it wasn’t really himself that he wanted to punch in the face at the moment, just as it hadn’t been himself, exactly, who had first said those words. It was his voice, sure, but the words themselves, the mind behind them, were not his own.

Jon opened his mouth to say Fuck Jonah Magnus, but was far from surprised to find that the words refused to cross the gap between his mind and the world around him.

It was all starting to come together, now. It didn’t click, per se, just continued on the progression from lazy analogy to hunch to theory to something just shy of a dark certainty.

Why did nobody ever swear in the statements, goddammit?

Though that- that wasn’t quite true, was it, there were one or two instances in there where-

And then it clicked. Jon Knew, then, what he could and couldn’t say, the exact limits of his strange new vocabulary. (Or... not new, really. None of these words were new to him. Perhaps he would never say anything new again.)

“Jon, are you alright?”

Even Knowing what he could say didn’t mean controlling his speech was easy, though. It was a little like trying to conduct a conversation by flipping through a dictionary, having to find just the right word in its pages every time a new one was needed.

“No. No, of course not.” The words were right, or close enough at any rate, but the tone was all wrong, and it wasn’t even Jon’s own voice this time, the voice and words of a now-dead man leaving his lips instead.

Jon laughed, then, and that at least sounded normal enough... well, for a certain definition of normal, at any rate. It sounded sharp and cold and full of fear, without a hint of humor to be found, and that wasn’t normal for a laugh, no, but it was what Jon had intended at any rate, a sound that was still all his own.

“Jon, you’re, you’re scaring me a bit, something about your voice seems weird...” Oh, good, he noticed that much at least. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know... and it makes me very afraid.” At least it was his voice again, now, not that of... well. Jon wanted to call Mike Crew a killer, a monster, but those weren’t exactly distinguishing features, were they? Martin probably didn’t even recognize the voice that Jon had adopted a moment ago; it’s not as if he’d had the chance to chat up Mike before Daisy killed him.

“Right. Alright. Well then, er... is, is there anything I can do to help?”

Jon laughed, and this time there was humor to it, or at least levity, despite the world having gone wrong, despite his voice no longer being entirely his own, because no matter what Martin was still Martin, trying to help, putting Jon’s well-being above all else, even when the world was quite possibly falling to pieces around them.

“I am unsure if I will... be able to stand myself up again.” Between the words and the hand extended in Martin’s direction, Jon hoped that the instruction would be clear enough.

Evidently it was, as Martin took his hand, helping pull Jon off of the floor and back onto his feet. It took more effort than it should have, Jon thought, Martin grunting and breathing heavily by the end of it despite past jokes about how easy it was to pick Jon up, but it worked, though Martin’s whole body was shaking by the end of it. (Jon wasn’t sure whether said shaking was even entirely physical in nature, truth be told.)

Jon half-walked, half-stumbled his way forward.

“No, no, no--don’t, don’t go outside. It’s--it’s real bad.”

Outside had never been Jon’s destination, however, though Martin seemed to believe otherwise. Jon didn’t want to go outside, to experience the horrors that had now been unleashed upon the world outside their cabin. He simply wanted to... Jon had to suppress a bout of hysterical laughter as it occurred to him that he simply wanted to see what had happened, to watch the chaos unfold, and wasn’t that all too fitting...

The view outside the nearest window was enough to confirm all of Jon’s worst suspicions. The world had been torn apart, all the fears unleashed upon it to wreak havoc, all because of what he’d just read out loud (all because of him).

“My god.” It felt wrong, somehow, using the words of the man who had orchestrated this apocalypse to describe it, but Jon didn’t have much in the way of alternatives at his disposal.

“I don’t know if it’s just here, or-”

“No. No...” Between trying to put the world’s destruction into words and trying to translate what words he could come up with into something said in the statements, Jon struggled to speak, though it didn’t show in his voice when he did manage to string a few more words together. “...the populated world... edged with a strange, creeping fear... far, far away...”

“Is that Peter’s voice? Jon, don’t... just, please don’t.” Martin laughed briefly, though Jon could see that his eyes were filling with tears. “I, I think I’ve heard enough from him already, thanks.”

Jon nodded enthusiastically, went to apologize, realized that even a simple “I’m sorry” was beyond his reach now, settled for “I was an idiot.” instead.

“Don’t say that. You’re not an idiot for not thinking of it, it’s just...” Martin let out a long sigh. “Jon, I’m scared.”

“...fear can just become as routine as hunger... I felt every feeling... They overwhelmed me... my impact on the world... my failure...” Jon switched between different statements, different voices, desperate to find the words to explain what had happened, what the world had become and how it was all his own fault. The end result felt like almost as great a failure as what it was purporting to describe, but it was an attempt, at least. It would have to do.

Martin wrapped one arm around Jon’s shoulder; Jon briefly considered pushing it off because he was about the last person who deserved to be comforted now, when he was the one who had caused so much pain and suffering, but decided against it because that would hurt Martin’s feelings more than it would appease his own, and he couldn’t exactly explain his own thought process to Martin at the moment.

“You’re not a failure, Jon. No matter what this is, no matter what else happens, you’re not a failure.”

Jon laughed and shook his head and laughed some more, a laugh that kept threatening to turn into a sob as he looked out at the ruins of the world he had wrecked entirely.

“And with each act of glorious, hateful destruction, I felt my god’s love embrace me, consume me... ”

Jon pointed to the sky, to the giant eye that now engulfed it.

“It’s still there, still watching me.”

The laugh that kept threatening to turn into a sob finally did so after a long minute, and as it did the tears that had been building in Martin’s eyes began to flow, and the two men threw their arms around each other, holding one another for comfort as they cried over the loss of their world.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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punoy · 4 years

Text

Blood of the dragons: A post-canon concept.

Lucina wanders the globe acting once again as a symbol of hope. Morgan desperately searches for a way to reunite their family. Marc is hiding they key to potential disaster.

This is just some musings I had thinking about what life could be like after the events of Awakening specifically for the children of Chrom and Robin. I don’t believe this is what likely what happens after canon, just concepts I found fun to play around with. This is a clean up of an exchange I had over discord, so it’s still a bit of a mess in terms of structure, but hopefully still comprehensible! It’s not really a fic, so I’m not too worried about the flow.

※ Chrom/m!Robin. This could really be for either, but it was written for the intent of m!Robin and as such will reflect in the pronouns. Marc is female!Morgan while Morgan is male!Morgan. They were both found at the same time and both have amnesia. In this timeline, Chrom and Robin only have Lucina. The first part is more Lucina-centric while the second part is more Marc/Morgan-centric.

Now that’s out of the way, let’s go.

Side: Lucina

Lucina doesn’t stay long after Robin disappears. She sticks around and tries to help stabilize Ylisse and to help the communities affected by the influence of Grima. To be by her father’s side helping the people she failed in her own timeline is one of the most treasured experiences she has. But that’s just it. She failed them in her timeline. And now that everything is returning to normal, she feels more out of place than ever. Walking the halls the perfectly maintained castle in Ylissitol feels absolutely foreign to her. Not to mention seeing a younger version of herself toted around and cared for. Chrom doesn’t beg her to stay, but he wishes she would. (He’s lost so many others, and he doesn’t want to lose her too, he doesn’t say.) Lucina wanders Ylisse acting as a mercenary and humanitarian, not being able to bring herself to leave the continent completely. She still loves her father and doesn’t wish to see him alone if he is once again in a time of need. Sure, he has her younger siblings, but they’re all but children. But, she needs to find her place in this world (and perhaps she is searching... searching for something she cannot yet admit to herself) and not let her be a shadow for her younger self. She fought for the her of this world to have the childhood she never got to. To live the life she could not. And so she keeps her distance.

Contrary to what Chrom, Marc, and Morgan believed, Lucina did return. It took her many months, but unannounced strolled their wandering princess. She’ll recount her tales across the lands and catch up with her family and friends. Some stayed in Ylisstol and joined the royal forces. Meanwhile, others set off on their own journey to distant lands. Lucina missed her cousin, but she couldn’t speak as she had nearly done the same. As quick as it she came, she left once again, back on her journey.

This was how things were for awhile. Lucina would come back, they would be a normal family again, then the feelings of being a byproduct of a cursed time would bubble up inside again. Lucina would leave until she was able to face them again. Marc and Morgan especially had her anxious. She didn’t tell a soul more than she needed to as to not resurface bad memories, but the two fell under the influence of Grima after he had invaded the castle. She tried to escape with them, but she was unable to help. If possible, she would rather meet her family outside the palace, away from the place he had lost them.

At the times Lucina was in Ylisstol, she tried her best to avoid her younger self. She isn’t quite ready for either her or this small child to face each other. How was she going to explain all of this? She didn’t want to pressure her younger self or act as some sort of aspiration. She wanted little Lucina to live the life she wanted, without some reminder of the failures she may become. So, for the time being, the few times Lucina was with her younger self, now old enough to talk and read and write, she was Aunt Marth. She looked quite passable as Chrom’s sister, no? Although, it was hard to hold her tongue and not address him as father.

Marc and Morgan had to get used to being the older siblings. They do recall Lucina from their time, and she was always the one taking care of them. Now, Lucina is ages younger, and they’re the responsible ones. They both grew into their own, Marc following in her fathers footsteps to becoming a tactician, while Morgan studied under Miriel to become a researcher of magic. But, they still made time to hang out with their little sister. It was hard not to project the Lucina of the future onto her, and they really tried. But, they couldn’t help but be a bit sad their sister was hardly ever around.

Robin returns five years later and Lucina rushes to Ylisstol as soon as word reaches her. She can’t help but feel frustration that she left partially in search of him, yet he was found the one place she could not look. She cannot contain her joy that her father is back, he returned to them, and she has the family she needed. Perhaps, she can stay longer this time.

Robin can’t believe the amount of time he’s missed. Lucina is a no longer an infant, but a young girl! He already feels regret missing out on the youth of the older Lucina, despite not having any control of that time. He doesn’t want to let another moment slip away from him. He is so proud of everyone. Ylisstol is stable for the most part, Chrom is loved by all, the tensions with Plegia have mostly subsided and they’re working towards a bond not built upon lies. Ylissians are sending aid to Valm to help their recovering nations. Not to mention his children, all blossoming in their own fields.

In the year that Lucina spends in Ylissitol, she doesn’t shy away from her younger self as often. They develop somewhat of an awkward sisterly bond. She tries not to say much about her past or compare herself to her. She truly is happy that child Luci gets to have this life, and now that she’s stopped running, she can have it too. Little Luci can hardly help but look up to her. This fantastic princess who roams the world to bring hope to others? What a dream.

Luci, now ten, has started to become wise to how dodgy her family is when it comes to their past. Marc and Morgan don’t seem to be able to tell her anything before she was born. Chrom always gets really nervous talking about his “sister.” Aunt Marth barely even seems to know her father. No one will answer why was Robin gone when she was really little. She vaguely recalled this loud man telling her stories and waving around his... his brand? She couldn’t be remembering that correctly. The only people that could be was Marc or Morgan but she swear it wasn’t them. Also... just how old was her parents when Morgan and Marc seemed so big now. Over the years she prodded for answers, not really suspecting much, just being a curious child. But, she slowly came to accept there was some truth to her family they were keeping from her. She knew enough it was probably better not to ask if they haven’t told her yet.

Luci gets to be a bit older and, ever the studious one, begins reading through some accounts of the war. As princess, she’s obligated to stay aware of current events to prepare her for the future where she may rule (which is becoming ever more a reality as her older siblings don’t seem that interested in the throne.) She begins with the war between Plegia and Ylisse. It seems so far away, the reality that her grandfather inflicted upon her parents and aunts. Then, she reads about the peace Emmeryn brought, wishing she could have met her one day. The resparking of the war with Plegia was next. She knew the toll it took on her father and the regret he felt causing all this loss, the trust of the citizens, lives of the innocent, his sister. She is about to call it a night before she gets to the war in Valm. She so happens to find a particular account that catches her eye though, a roster of soldiers enlisted.

Funny that. Someone with her own name appears on the list, fighting alongside her parents. Perhaps she was named after her? Marc and Morgan are here too. Strange, her parents couldn’t have been older than their twenties, so what were her siblings doing in the army? Now that she thinks of it, her fathers said Aunt Marth had served with them, but she’s nowhere to be seen in the reports or the rosters. She sets out to ask her parents about it soon after.

“Who’s Lucina?” “You, of course.” “No, I mean. She was a soldier in the army but she didn’t have any additional information on her in the log books. Did you know her?”

It was at that time, Chrom and Robin realized, perhaps their daughter was old enough to know. She generally knew of the Grimleals and their god, but never did she think her own father would be the key to this whole conflict, the vessel of a chaotic god. Not to mention her siblings were from a completely other time. And why everyone fell just short of saying “You remind me so much of your aunt.”

Hanging out with Aunt Marth, now herself from another time, she knows, has become strange. There used to be moments when she would catch Marth about to say something, but not follow through, laughing it off as some joke she just remembered. Marth would be standing and watching wistfully from afar. She was always accepting of whatever she wanted to do because she couldn’t do those things in her youth. It all made sense to her now, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Little Luci continued to look up to her older self, but instead of feeling inspired she was left with feelings of inadequacy. How could she live up to one of the heroes that saved Ylisse? What if she didn’t grow up to be as strong or skilled as her? This is exactly what Lucina wanted to avoid and told her as such.

“I made my sacrifices so you could make your mistakes. Please, live for yourself and not try to live my life. This is the world we fought to make for you. Give it all that you have.”

Side: Twins

※ Takes place starting simultaneous with side Lucina and then after.

Marc dutifully takes up the the mission of becoming Ylisstol’s next royal tactician. She learned from the man who won a handful of wars and saved the world! She knows she isn’t as experienced as her father, he could easily best her in any manner of tactical thinking games and practice, but in his absence, she would have to make do. Chrom was competent enough on his own to be able to handle the military and command by himself, but it endeared him that his youngest daughter felt that prideful connection to Robin. He gave her all the resources and tutors he could, but they were no replacement for her father.

Morgan dreamed to become a researcher, learning the causes of the universe’s phenomena. To understand just a fraction about the gods. With a focus in magical studies, he joined Ricken under Miriel’s tutelage. At first his intentions seemed to be very pure, to learn and understand what makes the world what it is, but he couldn’t help but wonder something very specific about his own past. The path he was taking might be the road to finding it.

He was always more curious about his and his sister’s amnesia. Robin’s was caused by Grima willfully wiping his memory, but what about theirs? From the accounts of him and his twin sister, he had begun to piece together something puzzling. Their memories contradicted Lucina’s own. Chrom and Robin died so young in her own history, just after Marc and Morgan were born. Lissa raised them until even their aunt and other closest allies fell. Then, Lucina was left to care for them on her own, all while leading a rebellion. She didn’t go too deep into what became of them, but given her grave expression, it was most likely not good. Meanwhile, the few memories Marc and Morgan could recount were rather happy. They were mostly of Robin, occasionally featuring Chrom or Lucina. They had memories growing up in the castle with their parents. Trips to Plegia and Ferox. Travelling with Robin and their sister. All the way up until they were in their early teens they could remember always being by Robin’s side. Morgan came to the conclusion that it was highly likely they came from another time, separate from Lucina’s and the other children.

Their past was a bit of a sore subject between the twins. Marc had accepted her amnesia for some time. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little curious about her memories, but she never went out of her way to look for them. She was perfectly happy enjoying the life she had now, especially now that Robin was back. Morgan on the other hand, loved his family, but now believing that they were from another time, wanted to know what that was. They’re the only remnants of that world held within this one.

An argument sparks between the two over this.

“If it’s true we’re from another time, what happened to father?” - Morgan “I suppose he would probably be looking for us on the mountain we were found on.” - Marc “And that doesn’t bother you? We just left him all alone?” - Morgan “That isn’t our time anymore. Of course I don’t want him to be alone, but we’re here now. There really isn’t much to be done about it. We can be with the family we have.” - Marc “But what if we could do something about it. Would you?” - Morgan.

While Morgan hasn’t found it yet, he poses Marc with a simple hypothetical, if they had the option to return to their time, would she take it? Marc denies any furthering of the thought. She’s not planning on wasting her life thinking of the hypothetical of abandoning her family when she could be making the most of her time with them. Lucina didn’t go back to her time when all of this was one either. Meanwhile, Morgan is offended at the thought he’d be the one abandoning his family and the implication that he doesn’t care for them. They left Robin to be forever searching on that mountain top, unsure of where their children are. Robin and Chrom have Lucina at least and possibly them if they ever decide to have kids again. Their father only has the one set of kids. And in the case of Lucina, she couldn’t go back because there was nothing left for her there. There is a family waiting for them in their own time.

Eventually, he drops the argument and they decide not to speak of it or to tel their family of it. As they grow older, Marc stays in the castle working alongside her fathers. Meanwhile, Morgan embarks on a quest to discover the true nature of their time. It takes him mostly to Plegia and the Ruins of Time. Occasionally, he even saw Lucina who was out on her own journey. It was in one such time that he asks Lucina about her own world, and how she came here. She’s hesitant to go into the details at first, warning it’s dangerous and irreversible magic. Once there’s a rip in the times, it’s hard to close completely. She had originally assumed that’s what happened to the twins, following after her, but that had now proven to be false. Morgan promises that it’s simply for research, and that he wants to be able to prevent an abuse of time magic. She trusts her brother, and explains what sacrifices and hardships it took to create the portal here.

Marc is so concerned for her brother’s well being. She knows he most likely didn’t stop thinking about it, and she worries for what he’s getting himself into in that world. He wasn’t truly going to leave them, was he? Without saying goodbye if he found his way back? Aside from worrying about her brother leaving, she had questioned why. Why was it they were here? Their childhood seemed so normal compared to Lucina’s. She left out of desperation. What could have possibly happened that suddenly they were with their father on a trip and then they were waking up clueless in the Ruins of Time? She cam to the conclusion there had to be a reason, and she put faith in her father doing this for her own good.

When Morgan returns to the castle with Lucina, everyone is filled with delight. Luci missed her brother. Marc was glad he was safe. Lucina was glad to be home with everyone. It’s been ages since they had all been together. They stay at the castle for awhile, Marc off studying with their father and Morgan seemingly always caught up in his next research project.

One day, Marc notices something strange on her hand opposite her brand. A scar perhaps? Perhaps she had nicked herself while sword fighting, or scratched herself in her sleep. It was insignificant at first. Then, as time went on, she began to notice it take a faint but very distinctive shape, the mark of Grima. She alerts Robin immediately. It’s a major cause of concern, of course. It’s been over a decade since Grima was vanquished. Robin’s own mark had faded as well. Marc begs for Robin to keep this between them, and maybe Chrom for now. She isn’t mentally prepared for the implications of this until they find out exactly what it means. She’s not stupid, and knows that the others need to know eventually, but hopes, just for now, she can keep things to herself.

In an attempt to keep a sense of normalcy, Marc has tea with Lucina and Luci. Apparently Morgan was too busy to join them. Lucina starts sharing stories of her adventures with Morgan as he has been a bit too avoidant for Marc’s liking. It seemed relatively tame, nothing much to do with any kind of timeline hopping. Until Lucina starts reminiscing about her siblings.

“You two always had your nose in your books, it was hard to get you to look five feet in front of you. You were such nice kids, in spite of everything. Morgan said this a lot, that he was planning on finding a way to save everyone, even though you guys were barely eight. Already looking out for your big sister. Look at him now, trying to set up precautions against other time travelers. I guess he’s finally fulfilling his goals.”

Marc stops her right there. She didn’t.... teach him how to time travel did she? And upon realizing that Morgan has been planning something this whole time, they go to find out what these experiments and projects of his really are.

They find him doing just as they had expected, trying to open a gate through time back to where he came. Before Marc could even get a word out about how betrayed she was, her hand stung with pain. She could feel a long dead god whispering to her, “You will not escape so easily.”

As Marc suspected, there was in fact a reason that they were in this time, but it wasn’t of their father’s volition, but Morgan’s. While she could barely recall more than a whisper of their past, something grave was about to begin, she knew.

Marc and Morgan come from a future where Robin managed to suppress Grima rather than outright killing him or putting him to sleep. Chrom and Robin try their best to keep the world at peace, but Risen are appearing at alarming rates, Grimleal are terrorizing the villages, eventually the chaos even reaching Ylisstol. Eventually, the capital falls and Chrom with it. Robin escapes with Lucina and the twins, desperate to keep the last of his family safe.

They travel Ylisse, fending off Risen, trying to figure out how to rid themselves of Grima’s curse. Eventually, Robin recalls words from Naga. Grima has to be defeated by their own hand in order to truly die. Robin had been able to suppress Grima’s influence to the extent their mark had vanished, but everyone in the family had the unspoken suspicion that it was not quite gone from their blood. Morgan or Marc must die by the others hand.

Robin is not very keen on the idea of letting his children kill the other. He vehemently is against it. They search for other methods for years, but they keep coming back to this. It seems almost like an inevitability to the twins though. Morgan can’t bare the thought of it, but Marc puts down her foot and demands they stop running from it before it gets worse. She volunteers. The mark has begun to manifest on her first anyway. She’s much more vulnerable to Grima, so it should be her to go. Morgan doesn’t see a way to escape this and accepts.

Marc and Morgan go to the ruins nearby to complete the deed. But, just before Morgan is able to go through with it, the Risen attack. Unfortunately, the came alone. They couldn’t let Robin and Lucina stop them. It would be no good if they died like this, and Morgan runs, dragging his sister behind him. And, instead of fighting back, he opens a portal to another time and falls through. And the rest of their days were spent with a father of a different fate.

Morgan and Marc are foreign entities to this world. They are viable vessels of Grima introduced to this world, and with the rips in time that Morgan has been creating, Grima has been slowly exerting his influence on them once again. Even to the extent the mark has rematerialized onto Marc. If he manages to manifest within one of them again, then what? What was all of this for?

Morgan closes the portal he made with the best of his ability. Little did he know, these rifts are not so easily sealed. His fallen father, wielder of the corrupted Falchion, and Risen King, finds his way through to their world.

The Risen King, barely a semblance of the man he once was left in him, still held fondness for his family. He would do anything to see Robin again, even if it means razing the world. Grima has told him, the only way for him to stay with them forever, is to convince Robin to take on his soul.

[This is where I start to lose the plot!]

Imagine the encounter between Risen King Chrom and the Robin of this time. He sees for the first time in years, a Robin that doesn’t fear him. A Robin that perhaps naively thinks Chrom is not a threat, if only they can get through to him. It’s heartbreaking for what’s left of Chrom, to see this young man he loved before his death, but there isn’t enough left of Chrom to pull back.

※ Finishing notes: I know that was a bit inconclusive, but this is all I have so far! As I said, this isn’t really meant to be a fic, just a concept in my head. Feel welcome to send ideas my way about any part of it. Alternatively, if you want to use any of these ideas in a fic, I would love to read whatever you came up with.

Side Lucina and Side Twins were two different conversations which is why they don’t really connect thematically, but in my head they were of the same universe and it felt strange to separate them.

#fe awakening #fire emblem #fe 13 #fire emblem awakening

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blakexmd · 5 years

Photo

Character: ― Nathaniel ‘Nate’ Blake Faceclaim: ― Casey Deidrick Age/Pronouns: ― 32 | he/him Occupation: ― backstreet doctor, car thief/mechanic (he uh... steals cars for you and customizes them? but also likes just tinkering tbh) Hometown/District: ― born in Chicago / lives in Red Line District, Houston

HEADCANONS

Drives an old-timer, and not just any old-timer but a raven black ‘69 Boss 428 Mustang. That thing was expensive as hell and really hard to find, but Nate wanted it in a good condition and takes care of that thing like his life depends on it. Sure he’ll push it to its limits, but otherwise he takes better care of that stupid car than himself. That car is his guilty pleasure, most of the time though he’s on his motorcycle - he’ll say it’s more practical, but really it’s all about the adrenaline and constantly putting himself in near death situations.

He loves street racing, the more illegal the better. Whatever project he’s currently working on for himself is probably being prepared and perfect for the next race. It’s probably going to send him to an early grave (if the myriad of other issues doesn’t do it sooner), but he can’t shake the addiction he has for the feeling of the steering wheel and the gearshift under his fingers.

Has a thing for collecting stray animals. It started when he was a kid, his mother had allowed it and taught him how to take care of them if they were wounded, and he just never grew out of it. There’s two dogs and a raven that have taken up permanent residency in his house, but there are other animals that sort of come and go as they please and come when they need food, shelter or help.

Has a tattoo that covers his back, an intricate drawing of thorns and roses and a raven mid-flight. It’s sort of a project that spanned almost a decade and he would get it done little by little, working on the drawing before taking it to the tattoo parlor. There are many, many details within it, each with its own meaning that only makes sense to Nate, an homage to people in his life and his past. Also there’s a snake tattooed on his chest that he got back in school, as well as a myriad of small tattoos scattered across his skin - his mother’s handwriting, dates of death for his fallen comrades etc.

His most noticeable scar is the burn mark on his stomach, vaguely shaped like whatever piece of metal he’d been burnt with during an interrogation, but he doesn’t mind it all that much. What he does mind are the million silvery scars from the IED that killed Liam - he hates thinking about those.

His knuckles are always beat up, to some degree. He loves fighting in various fight-clubs throughout the city, just for the sake of another hit of adrenaline, and because it makes him feel somewhat alive. So it’s not really a surprise to see him beaten and bruised, it’s more of a surprise when he’s in one piece... When he’s not doing that, he’s probably taking his frustrations out on an old, worn-out punching bag he’s had since forever, or jogging around the city at strange hours of the night.

He’s got a myriad of vices - alcohol, fighting, cigarettes, an occasional hit of drugs. It’s his attempt to fill some hole in himself that’s been left gaping open ever since his father died. It’s a temporary fix, but he’s the type of person to live his life day in and day out anyway.

He’s got an old silver zippo with engravings from the army such as “As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil for I am the evilest son of a bitch." and dates and initials of his fallen comrades. He loves that beat up piece of trash though, and you’ll never see him without it.

Prefers knives to guns, but he knows it’s stupid to bring a knife to a gunfight so he’s learned how to handle those too. Though he’s not actively involved with any side, he’s always got weapons on him - just in case. It comes with the territory of being involved with the murkier side of the population.

He loves music - it’s his outlet. You can sometimes see him jotting down notes on a napkin when he’s sitting in a diner at 4AM - it calms him to write these things down, helps get the music out of his head. When he can’t sleep, he’ll play his Stratocaster until he’s able to pass out, even if just for a few hours.

He’s all dark leather and worn military boots and silver rings and a smell of cigarettes and gasoline and trouble. That’s pretty much his MO. I feel like when someone sees him, you could show them his diploma and they wouldn’t believe you this guy’s a doc that’s worked as a corpsman for the army for years.

Probably the weirdest quirk of his, is his penchant for faith. His mother was religious, and she sort of instilled that in him at a young age. He must have lost his faith a thousand times over the years, but he always ends up coming back. No doubt in his mind God doesn’t want anything to do with his messed-up ass, but he likes this concept that there’s something out there, even if it’s not for him. Then at least for the good people in his live that he loves. It sort of brings him peace, and if he can’t be found at his usual joints around town - he��s no doubt sitting in a dark, empty church, head bowed down, seeking solace. He’s never going to admit it though, unless you catch him in the act.

His father is the only man he truly feared in his life, otherwise he’s just pretty much indifferent and is generally lacking in the self-preservation department...

Every Wednesday and Saturday, like clockwork - he goes to visit his mother. He brings her flowers, takes her out in the gardens for a walk, sits besides her and reads her a chapter or two of whatever book they’re going through that month. She’s pretty much an empty shell of a woman she used to be, but holding her hand is the only comfort he feels these days. It’s still as warm and soft as he remembers it, and though it breaks his heart to see her like this, he’ll probably never give up hope that she’ll come back one day. And even if she doesn’t she’s still his mom.

Also plants, his house is filled with those? Idk, he’s so bad at taking care of himself and is probably in a complete organ failure, but the plats and the animals - they’re thriving like he’s been studying vet medicine and botany all his life.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

The Brother - He’s one of the Reapers, and someone Nate cares about deeply, even if he’s rarely showing it. It’s a complicated relationship between these two, Nate envies him for leaving when he did, but he can never quite get rid of the feelings he has for his brother. It’s a sensation of bone-deep loyalty he can’t shake. I think it would be super interesting to explore this connection, and I’m intentionally leaving it vague so it can be discussed!

The Friend’s Wife - She’s the wife of his brother-in-arms and army best friend that died during an explosion. I think their relationship was shaky at first, considering Nate’s feelings for her husband - but Nate can see why Liam loved her so much. Nate once promised Liam that if anything ever happened to him, Nate would take care of her and the kid, and Nate’s never been one to break promises. That’s why he came back to Houston after he was honorably discharged, and why he took up odd jobs - to pay for the debts and to make sure those two had everything they needed. He’ll probably care for them until the day he dies, whether or not she likes it. He adores the kid though, revels at her innocence and the way she’s delighted at everything, she also represents the only memory he has of Liam.

The Ex-comrade - Someone Nate also considered a good friend, he’d trusted them enough to admit his darkest thoughts after Liam died. But though they promised to respect his decision not to be saved at the risk of others, they risked their life for him when it came down to that. Oddly enough, Nate resents them for it. He feels like it was a good way to go, and he should’ve been left behind when they had the chance. It’s a sick and twisted logic, but it’s hard reasoning with him. I would love to work on this dynamic, because this person has seen him at his worst, and they obviously care about him so I think it’s a good spot for growth for both of them.

The one he hates - This will sound ridiculous, but it’s someone he’s been involved with at some point in his life (leaving this flexible) They butted heads a lot, hated each other even, but I feel like they also got addicted to each other because at least it made Nate feel something, even if it was rage. They are far too similar for their own good, and they feed off each other’s troubles. It’s a bit selfish on both sides, and definitely unhealthy, but I’m super interested in exploring that because lbr Nate can’t make a good decision for the life of him. This could be either old or fresh I’m up for anything, and we can develop/discuss it further!!

The Friends - Someone please put up with him? He can be funny, sometimes. In a dark, tragic sort of way. Like someone has to be there to explain to him breakfast isn’t cereals in a bowl of vodka. I mean he’ll probably sarcasm his way out of it, but at least someone tried…

The Exes - And by exes I mean hookups, or real exes who got sick of him being a mess, or they were too much of a mess together, or someone ill-informed tried to save this jackass from himself. Anything works honestly, it can be angsty or a tragicomedy, I’m there for it all, I want to hurt him real bad.

Also everything else, if you’ve got an idea or want to discuss any of the above, feel free to shoot me a message! I’m super duper excited about plotting with him and I’m always here to explain if anything up there was unclear, don’t be afraid to reach out!

THE STORY

He was born in Chicago, the son of a nurse and a father who played an integral part in the city’s criminal scene. From a young age he was thrust into the life his father led, nudged further into it by an older brother he’d always looked up to.

He wasn’t all his father though, even if he’d inherited his temper - as a kid he used to adore his mother, she represented this beacon of light and kindness for him that’s still there today.

Since very young age he developed this duality when it comes to his identity - he would try to satisfy the wishes of both this mother and father, which would result in the man he is today. On one side, he wanted to follow his mother’s footsteps into med school and do some good in the world, and on the other side he was drawn to the seedy underbelly of the city that his father roamed. It was like an addiction he couldn’t quite shake no matter how hard he tried.

His father would be beaten to death in front of Nate when he was just 15, and though he was used to seeing blood and death by now - this shook him to his core. Though he was messed up, Nate loved his father, and seeing him die in his arms broke something in the boy.

It wasn’t made easier by his brother taking off to go to Houston, leaving Nate scrambling back in Chicago, trying to take care of his mother who was now withering away like a plucked flower, and trying to figure out how to survive.

It was a pretty miserable existence - work low-paying jobs for the gang, go to school, take care of mom, rinse and repeat. It’s no wonder this was part of Nate’s life during which he developed his bad habits and a bitter attitude. It’s the only thing that made sense.

He had a knack for survival though - earned better gigs eventually, got into med school, got better at whatever it was that the gang required of him (car theft, hits...), but he felt like he owed it to his mother to for once put what she had dreamed of for him in the first place, instead of what his father had wanted.

He tried to clean up his act then - figured military might do it and after he had enough money to put his mom in a really good place - he enlisted. Worst decision of his life, or so he thinks anyway.

Sure, it cleaned up his life, established order within it, but he’d never be the same after it. The things they had to live through, were much, even for him.

He made friends there though, fell in love - though it was unreciprocated. It was naive though, to think that he was done with heartbreak, in the midst of war of all places. An IED struck as both Liam and Nate were shuffling, trying to figure out how to stop whatever was happening without harming a child, and before Nate could think - Liam was already shielding him with his body. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the type of love Nate had hoped for, but Liam had loved him dearly nonetheless.

They’d have to drag him away from Liam’s body after he’d been doing CPR for good 40 minutes, and it was a point at which he spun out of control once again. He would purposefully put himself in harm’s way, and had made it a point to make it clear to everyone that in case of trouble, he did not want to be saved. Not that anyone would listen to him.

He’d come out of combat very much alive. Though pretty beat up after he ran into harm’s way in an attempt to save someone, and had been dragged from the bring of death by a comrade. At the end of the day he was left with wounds, empty medals and an honorable discharge that sent him to Houston to lick his wounds.

Why Houston? His brother was there, and Liam’s wife too. Home wasn’t a city - it was people, he knew that much about life. It was far from ideal, but if Nate had anything left, then it was his honour, and he had a promise to keep.

Some weeks before Liam’s death, as if somehow he knew - Liam had asked him to go to Houston if anything ever happened to him, make sure his wife and his kid were taken care of. And it wasn’t like Nate had anything of his own left, just this promise he’d made and whatever was left of his broken family.

He’d work as a contract killer for a while - bad things were what he was good at, after all. And it paid well, well enough to help Liam’s wife pay off her debts and take care of the kid, and whatever was left Nate put to side - for what, he had no idea. Outside of that, his life pretty much spun out of control - he couldn’t stop dreaming about Liam’s limp body in his arms, or the things they had to do to survive over there. He went numb, more numb than before - and he was still desperately trying to feel something. Rage, pleasure, pain, anything but this nothingness. So it was no wonder he slipped so easily back into his old habits.

Word got around though - of a doc that had a way of taking a bullet out of you so you didn’t die, and instantly forget you were his patient to begin with. And that money he left on the side? There was enough of it to get proper tools and drugs, make his work easier, but also enough to buy place from which he could do that one thing that still brought peace to his mind - cars. Tuning, fixing, creating - you name it, and he could do it.

So for the last two years he’s been working as a backstreet doctor - though his practice is rather professionally equipped and sterile (don’t worry, he’s a nerd about that stuff), and focusing on cars as his ‘day’ (?) job. Whatever it is you wish, he can acquire it, and then make it better. It doesn’t matter if it’s a 1967 Impala or something... wilder, and newer. He’s got it covered.

#gowtalk #here... have this mess hahah #if you'd like to plot with him feel free to give this post a <3 #but there's going to be a lot of sarcasm involved #i love him though pls someone give him a chance #tw suicide

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dillydedalus · 5 years

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october reading

books. i read ‘em.

the bird king, g. willow wilson ugh i’m disappointed with this - i expected it to be more about the fall of granada, rather than just taking that as a jumping-off point for a very slow story of how fatima (concubine to the last andalusian sultan) and her bff hassan (magical mapmaker) escape from lady inquisitor luz to a magical/legendary island. that’s more of an expectation mismatch, but i also found this just a bit boring and confused, didn’t like the characters or the emotional moments. 2.5/5

lanark: a life in four books, alasdair gray y’all... this is a weirdo pomo mess which gray himself describes as ‘a portrait of the artist as a frustrated young glaswegian’ (instant love), it’s about duncan thaw growing up in post-war glasgow (not a good place) and lanark, sans memories, finding himself in the city of unthank (probably The Bad Place), where the sun hardly ever shines and people grow dragonskin, but really it’s about art & cities & politics & scotland & hell. it’s completely nuts & has a chapter where the protagonist meets the author in the process of writing and there’s a chapter-long sidebar detailing all instances of plagiarism in the book (incl. the lack of influence from robert burns, more sinister than all plagiarism). it’s a bit flabby in places & could stand to be a 100-200 pages shorter, but damn. 4/5

the memory police, yoko ogawa (tr. from japanese by stephen snyder) very atmospheric, quietly disturbing magical realist(ish) book about an island on which sometimes certain things (birds, roses, ribbons, fruit) just disappear, with the inhabitants losing their memories and emotional connection to the thing. the disappearances seem to occur randomly and on their own, but the memory police makes sure that no disappeared items remain and that those who can still remember also... disappear. really liked the quiet slow dread building here, the mysterious workings of the disappearances, and the interplay between the main story and the novel the narrator is writing while worrying whether words too will soon disappear. 4/5

trick mirror: reflections on self-delusion, jia tolentino collection of nine essays about roughly, life & self-image & politics in the social media age (and its predecessor, the reality tv age), gender politics and uh scams and self-delusions. many of these essays felt vaguely like things i’d read before online (& i might have) & didn’t offer anything completely new but i liked the examinations of big wedding culture, and her take on the ‘difficult woman’ archetype of millenial feminism. tolentino in general is an engaging, sharp writer, and even when she’s writing about familiar topics, she often puts an interesting spin on things. 3.5/5

here in berlin, cristina garcía and the anglophone-berlin-books saga continues. a cuban-american woman with a mild personal crisis goes to berlin (as people w/ personal crises so often do) and there collects a variety of snapshot stories from berliners (by birth or choice or accident), mostly about world war 2 and the latin american diaspora in berlin. some of the snapshots are p interesting or bizarrely funny but mostly they retread the same ground (history, trauma, collective & personal responsibility, commemoration etc) without really saying anything new (except the connection garcía makes between the nazis and south american dictatorships). there’s also a pretty annoying attempt to create authenticity by peppering in german words and phrases which sometimes aren’t even appropriate or spelled correctly* (get a german proofreader you cowards i’ll do it for free... like wtf is ‘volkenbrot’). 2/5 *i ordered it used and got an ARC, so maybe some of these issues were fixed for the final version but lmao. volkenbrot.

wilder girls, rory power this is annihilation as YA, set on an island called raxter where a mysterious illness called the tox has taken over, transforming the wilderness, the animals (deers grow canines y’all), and most of all the girls at raxter boarding school. the narrator’s eye has fused shut & something is growing under it, her friend has grown an extra spine, other girls have gills or claws. less fortunate girls (and most of the teachers) just die. there was a lot i liked about this, especially the tox and the ambivalent relationships the girls have to their changed bodies, but the last third just... eh. also, like, i like tumblr monster-girl poetics as much as the next person, but this is really overdoing it. 2.5/5

nach mitternacht (after midnight), irmgard keun KEUN HYPE TRAIN!!! this one’s super interesting because it’s the first novel keun wrote in exile, published 1937 and set at around the same time. the protagonist, sanne, is a naive and politically uneducated 19-year-old who is repeatedly & very dramatically confronted with the political reality she lives in, first when her aunt denounces her to the gestapo and later when her boyfriend franz is arrested. for most of the (very short) novel, sanne is observing and not quite understanding the increasing legal discrimination against jews, culture of paranoia and denouncement, and glorification of fascist ideology, which makes for a very disturbing reading experience, especially with the reader’s retrospective knowledge, but the climax is truly nightmarish & devastating. 4/5

children of god, mary doria russell the sequel to the sparrow, which i read & loved earlier this year. in this one, emilio sandoz, still in recovery from the trauma of his first trip to the planet rakhat, is forced to return there (bc the pope thinks it’s god’s will lol) and finds the planet changed after decades (space travel makes time weird) of revolution and civil war. i liked this but it’s not as good as the sparrow, the characters (except my man emilio) aren’t as interesting & well-developed and the dual timeline structure isn’t as well-executed but hey. there’s some closure for emilio & that made me hella emosh. 3.5/5

the wilful princess & the piebald prince, robin hobb a novella telling the true (?) story of charger farseer, the piebald prince, a historical figure that has great influence on the six duchies of fitz’s time, especially regarding the treatment of the witted (people who can magically bond with aninmals) and how fitz is framed & reviled as the ‘witted bastard’. this was cool & i enjoyed how it twists the story, but it’s not worth reading if you haven’t read the main series. 3/5

the inheritance, robin hobb/megan lindholm collection of short stories by hobb under her two pseudonyms - i mostly skipped the lindholm ones (sorry), but the three hobb ones were really really good. the first is about the first expeditions into the rain wilds (i love the cursed shores so much & wish there was a full trilogy about the first settlers there), the second is about bingtown & wizardwood, the third is about how sometimes you gotta kill your abusive ex & if you’re lucky, your cat will help you do it. it’s great & the cat is called marmelade. 4/5 for the hobb stories only

unholy land, lavie tidhar alternate history + multiple realities + high-concept pulp - lior tirosh, a pulp author (it’s meta) returns to his homeland, the jewish state palestina, established in east africa in the early 20th century, and there becomes involved in... rival plots to destroy/stabilise the borders between the worlds, not only between this alternate one and our real one, which tirosh seems to occasionally slip into, but all the million others, including one where the moon broke. love the concept, but this is so vague & confusing on so many points and the ending so abrupt that i was left kinda frustrated & unsatisfied (also bc we never find out much more about the world where the moon broke). 3.5/5

tigermilch (tiger milk), stefanie de velasco german ya book about two teen girls growing up in a poor neighbourhood in berlin. nini’s father is absent, her mother depressed, while jameelah’s father died in iraq and her mother is worried that they might be deported, and their bosnian friend amir’s sister is dating a serb. it’s some pretty harrowing stuff & it’s good to see Issues (TM) addressed in german ya in a way that doesn’t feel super didactic & preachy, but ultimately i’m really not the target audience here. 3/5

sea monsters, chloe aridjis

weirdo brainy dreamy novella about a girl in 80s mexico running away from mexico city to the beach because she’s looking for ukrainian circus dwarfs (???). i liked a lot about this (atmosphere, poetic & mythical allusions, a lot of the writing, the depictions of mexico city and the weird beach culture are both really cool) but a lot of the time this was so dreamy that i just kinda zoned out. 3/5

i am currently reading emma by jane austen bc i forgot about my monthly austen project until the last few days of the month lol & one of the hugo long list anthologies. the one with the cool fox on it.

#the books i read #long post

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hollowedrpg · 5 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, ROMAN! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Xenophilius Lovegood, with a face claim change to Cody Fern. I was a little worried people would struggle with the vagueness of Xeno’s affliction and how he’s been affected since he was attacked during school, but you wrote it beautifully. I also really enjoyed reading your head canons about his relationship with Pandora, and everything else about Xeno. You really brought his character to life outside of the bio, which is exactly what I’m looking for in an application.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: Roman

age: 26

preferred pronouns: they/them

timezone: EST

activity: medium to high; I’m around to answer messages and plot every day, and am usually able to do at least some replies every other day or so depending on how work is going!

are you applying for more than one character?: not at this time!

how do you feel about your character dying?: I would be comfortable with it as long as it’s discussed and I’d have a chance to pick up another character! The possibility of the death is cool to think about; having a grand ending would be satisfying, especially if it was something that was a long time coming, and contributed to the plot in a big way, which I feel it actually could with Xeno. I’m a sucker for a good slow burn with some angst!

anything else?: (questions, concerns, etc.) I did some assuming on some bits about Pandora and Xeno’s relationship that I’m definitely open to changing or revising if accepted! Also, this has nothing to do with the app, but if missing characters make an appearance later on, I would love to express my enthusiastic interest in seeing Ted Tonks!! I wrote Ted in Port Montrose and I’d LOVE to see what he’s like in this other beautiful AU!!!

ic details.

(cw throughout for ableism, vague mental illness discussion)

full name: Xenophilius Prometheus Lovegood

Xenophilius: from the Greek xenos and philia, respectively meaning strange and love; together, the love of the strange. Klaus and Else Lovegood were never going to choose an average sort of name for their child. Believing in many old practices of the wixen world, upon learning they were pregnant, they sought out a Naming Seer to learn the future of their child, and, therefore, what sort of moniker they would fit. They used what little of their savings they had left from the move for the appointment, as it was an important tradition in Else’s family. The Naming Seer projected a strange life for the child, full of wonder and mysticism, a longing for knowledge and a mind open to the belief of the other that most would reject easily. The Naming Seer suggested Edmund, for the prosperity they saw the child could achieve if encouraged, through academic success. The two laughed, thanked them, and left to do their own research. They came across the word xenophile in one of their very old muggle books about cultures of the world and knew immediately that was the name for their child. If they were going to have an open mind, their name was going to let all who heard it know so.

Prometheus: Greek mythological figure, a titan known for creating man from clay, as well as stealing fire from the gods and gifting it to humanity, starting civilization. Xeno’s parents made this choice very soon after landing on his first name. Klaus had a certain fascination with mythology, and what better than to give her child a name to encourage intelligence and creation at any cost?

Lovegood: As it sounds, a combination of the two English words love and good. This was a surname of the Lovegoods’ own creation upon their immigration to the United Kingdom during the muggle’s World War II. They had no shame in their former surnames, but wanted a blank slate to start over with good fortune. They settled on something to show the simple and true quality of their affections, that their intentions, while some might find them strange, were always good.

date of birth: January 20, 1952

Capricorn-Aquarius cusp

The definition of this contrasting cusp, Xeno is a combination of both signs, hardworking and idealistic, with the ability to view the world in strange ways that few others can, and the intention of opening the minds of those around them. The mind is constantly working, creating brilliant, exciting thoughts and ideas, but the constant flow at times makes him come off as distant or uninterested in the ordinary people and things around him. Speaking with someone born on this cusp can be jarring and intimidating, although intriguing, always prepared to discuss the most outlandish of concepts, but rarely able to stop and process the more mundane, often times forgetting about thinking of what others are feeling.

former hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

There was a brief debate, as Xenophilius approached his eleventh birthday, of whether it would be best to send him to Durmstrang, as that was where both Else and Klaus went, and consequently met each other, but that thought was quickly silenced with a visit from Dumbledore himself, offering a place at Hogwarts for the young prodigy. Xeno researched the schools obsessively during the months this debate was going on, and insisted that he had to be at Hogwarts, because he was clearly a Ravenclaw student. Upon his entrance, the hat barely touched his little blonde head before shouting just that, a self-satisfied grin on the child’s face as he joined his new classmates.

sexuality: demisexual panromantic

For all of his youth, he was much too preoccupied with researching anything that was able to hold his attention for longer than a few minutes to worry about things such as dating and sex. People are not what he truly cares about, as harsh as that sounds, and it takes a great deal for him to feel that sort of attraction to someone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is fairly certain part of it has to do with what he saw his parents go through as a child. He can’t remember them ever truly seeming to love each other, despite the stories of their own youths they told him. All he remembers is the shouting and the pain they caused each other, all because of the most mundane problems, as if they had forgotten who they truly were once they had a family. That made him wary of that sort of very human connection, not wanting to lose himself more than he already had. Until things changed, of course…

gender/pronouns: agender + any pronouns (primarily he/him & they/them)

He has no great attachment to any gender at large, and therefore feels the label of something closer to nothing, defying any sort of binary or spectrum, fits him better than anything else could. His being feels unexplainable and it’s something he accepted from an early age. As such, though, he doesn’t truly care what anyone calls him. In fact, a lot of the time he’d rather people just wouldn’t refer to him at all, but that has very little to do with gender.

face claim change: Cody Fern, Jason Ralph, Boyd Holbrook (If for some reason, Cody Fern isn’t approved anymore and I get accepted, I’d love to brainstorm other alternatives with you before settling on one, as Cody is very much how I envision Xeno!)

more.

1. how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

+ determined, idealistic, brilliant

- aloof, selfish, erratic

Perhaps if life had treated him differently, Xenophilius would be considered one of the greatest minds of his time already. If life had not beaten him into the furthest recess of his mind from the moment he was old enough to understand and question what was going on around him, perhaps that person could have existed, already fully formed, by the ripe age of thirty. But life was not so kind, and even now he can say with certainty that it comes as no real surprise, having studied so much of the world obsessively, researching what he can get his hands on of every possibility that the human mind can dream up to understand the world at large.

At an early age, he retreated into his mind as a form of coping with the outside world, even as the thunderous voices, first of his parents, then of the bullies and naysayers at school, then of everyone, tried to infiltrate his thoughts. Single-minded to the core, focused and determined to solve any question proposed, any long lost mystery left unsolved, it is still so easy for him to fall into weeks at a time of researching furiously, even disappearing for days at a time on his quests for knowledge, once an idea comes to him. Because of this, he was never quite as adept as interpersonal relationships as he might’ve been otherwise, and this only worsened after his accident, when the sounds of the voices became nearly deafening in his mind.

He would much rather spend his time researching whatever concept has caught his interest than interact with his peers, causing him to come off as distant and aloof to many. When he does deign to talk to others for an extended period of time, though, his brilliance does become clear, although so does his erraticism. Enchanted with long lost mysteries, and ideas thought only to be legend and rumor, his speech rambles and raves through dozens of topics by the you’ve caught up with the first. If landing on something he truly does care about, he could speak for hours with supreme eloquence on the matter, although what he cares about and believes in rarely lines up with those around him, and thus is often dismissed as nonsense. He believes wholeheartedly, after all, that consciousness creates and therefore nothing the human mind is able to dream up should be ruled as wholly impossible.

People have always been cruel to him, and he has long ago accepted this as a fact of his life, even if he does do his best to spread good in the form of knowledge. When faced with the negativity, the cruelty, he used to do anything he could to defend himself, including the less refined solutions. He still possesses very little respect for traditional authority, but some of his light, some of the mischief has left him in the years since the fight that left him as he is. Now, it is often times easier to accept that others’ minds aren’t nearly as expanded as his, and they do not wish to be, than to try to argue his correctness. An unwilling audience will not learn, no matter how brilliant of a teacher he might be.

Do not mistake that for him thinking the worst of the world, though. Despite it all, he truly does believe in good, and hopes that one day he can bring the hope that he does feel to others as well by expanding their minds beyond the limitations of the mundane. But he’s convinced himself that he won’t be able to do so as he is now, broken and bent, a shadow of what he could be if not plagued with such a curse.

2. how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

Upon waking up in the hospital wing all of those years ago, his mind had become a much darker place. The war was never his, never will be, at least fully, thanks in part to his own blood status, but mostly because of how he feels. It took a long, long time until he realized, truly, what was going on, and then it was only thanks to Pandora that he began to grasp the reality, the gravity of the situation surrounding them.

In the beginning, with only whispers and quiet fights taking place as two sides divided over beliefs, he was unaware, too completely wrapped up in his own quests to set them aside and worry about another battle to fight. After all, in the beginning, he was utterly devoted to finding his own cure, whatever it might take. In a way, Xeno’s selfishness kept him blinded to what was happening, or how he might’ve helped for far longer than it should have.

But then he truly met Pandora, and he fell in love as quickly as he had fallen in love with the pursuit of knowledge to calm his mind. Even without a cure, being with her cleared some of the noise, and he could begin to understand the gravity of what was going on around him. He saw how much the carnage of the war hurt her, saw how deeply and thoroughly she cared for all of these people she didn’t even know, and that is what made him begin thinking more deeply on things.

That is when it began to hurt.

The voices seemed only to grow in volume, overlapping each other, begging for his attention at every turn as he watched his wife become more and more entrenched in a fight that should not have been happening in the first place, in his mind. As the war ragged on, and things grew worse, so did his affliction, as if whatever it was that had caused this was somehow tied to the war itself. That explanation made it feel easier, for him, anyway, even if it made everyone believe he was that much further gone, tying himself to something of such importance.

He retreated further and further into himself, his research falling by the wayside, only Pandora allowed into the true depths of his madness, witnesses the oftentimes nonsensical spurts of morbid inspiration burst from the voices of war in his mind. Among it all, there was, and still is, the underlying desire to do what his wife does, to be able to care so deeply about so many others, but his mind makes it so difficult. He cares about Pandora’s safety above all others’, and those she loves, too, now, but widely is still more concerned about the personal matters first. Still, he tries to help her when he can, would do anything in the world for her if it meant she was happy and at peace, just as she tries to do for him. And perhaps, once he finds his cure, he can do the same for others.

But how could he help now, after all, when he’s so far from whole himself?

3. Where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?

This, all of this, it was not a choice of his own.

He could feel Pandora’s desire to fight, even before the question of what came next was out in the world. And just as it came, so did offer of retreat, of refuge. It was never an offer they could have passed up, no matter how it was spun. Pandora wished to help, to do what she could for those suffering, and prevent any more death from blooming in their midst, and he has always wanted what she wants. His own involvement with the Order had been selfish from the start, anyway, and it was clear that retreating with the Order held the most potential for the expansion of knowledge, the potential of finding a cure, even after all of these years, or even just finding a moment of peace. Just as it was clear that the longer they spent out in the world, amongst the hatred and violence, the worse his condition became, descending further and further from reason.

And so it was not a choice in the first place, and now, here they are, without much choice again.

Stuck in a village full of the memory of death, without a say.

With no personal attachment to the war, and as only an affiliate of the Order, it is hard for him to form a true feeling on what is right for all of them. He has very little desire to stay here for an extended period of time, feels trapped and static without access to the world at large for his research, but the thought of rebuilding to fight is one he’s not certain of either, when the war was never his to start and he feels in no way ready to truly help yet.

When it comes down to it, he would do whatever it is that Pandora believes is for the best for both of them, trusting her more than anyone else in the world, especially as the voices become clearer and he feels himself slipping from sense, even if that meant staying until the war ends.

But he doesn’t feel good here.

It stinks of death, of vile hatred, of curses perhaps even worse than his own. And for the first time, he’s afraid.

It’s strange, in a way, that he hasn’t felt fear like this before, after the countless fights, after waking up and learning he was missing weeks of his life, after being changed beyond his own will because of some sinister magic. Not once before has he felt this fear, but it’s settled square between his shoulders now, twisting a terrible knot of tension, keeping him from finding any true peace here. He’s convinced there’s something here that he’s been searching for. But now that he’s closer, he’s terrified of what he might find, that the answer might be there will never be a cure. That maybe he is mad after all.

4. The voices in Xenophilius’ head have only gotten louder since the war began. How are they now that he’s in Godric’s Hollow? Has anything he heard made sense, or is it just a bunch of gibberish?

There were always voices in his mind, although he had never truly considered them anything to worry about until after the that fateful night when they changed. There were always whispers of unknown sources helping him along with his research, encouraging him to expand his thinking, search out new creatures and potions. Those voices helped create new spells, craft potions no one had dreamt up before, study beasts only thought of in fairy tales.

They’re different now, though, darker, jumbled. It’s rarer that there’s anything clear, so many different voices speaking at once, constantly, but when there is, it’s not as it was, inspiring thoughts and breakthroughs. And they’re all familiar; sometimes he’ll hear his parents, sometimes he’ll hear old schoolmates, Order members.

When he became truly aware of the war, something changed. The voices seemed louder, more persistent, as if determined to hold his attention because of what was going on in the world.

Coming to here, Xeno believed that perhaps being in a place of peace would change that, that it may quiet some of the voices, take the constant dull roar down to a whisper once again, allow him to feel more like himself, allow him to focus on searching for a cure. He was wrong, though.

The voices changed upon his entrance into Godric’s Hollow.

There’s something new there, in the corner of his mind, hidden amongst all of the confusion, the hundreds of voices mixed floating around his mind. It used to be so rare to have a moment of clarity, the voices only working to a crescendo so often. It happens often now, one thought or another winning out, coming to the forefront of his mind in complete clarity and bursting forth into a shock of inspiration.

These bursts of inspiration feel almost close to violent since coming to Godric’s Hollow, taking him over completely, frenzied. He finds himself scribbling in notebook upon notebook madly, frantically flipping through pages of the books they’d brought to their tent from home, muttering to himself as if he may lose the thread of inspiration if he cannot get it out into the world fast enough. It’s exhausting, feeling so much, feeling so out of his own control at times, and he’s certain it has to do with this place.

When they calm again, when he stops from exhaustion, quill drooping in hand, and glances at the pages and pages, it scares him even more. Rarely, now, does what he writes seem to be related to his own research. It seems to be what these voices want, the thoughts made concrete.

He hears them saying names, names of those lost, those gone forever. Hears them telling him to go, then another telling him he must stay, that he is oh, so close to what he needs. He tries his hardest to keep going, but it gets so hard when in the din of voices something so clear rings out, something that seems to mean more.

The most terrifying thing was the first moment he heard Pandora’s voice in his mind, clear as day, the familiar wavering whisper as beautiful as a bird’s song to his ears, one of the first days they had come to Godric’s Hollow. She told him to stay. It shook him to his core, but he hasn’t heard her since, hopes he doesn’t. He hates the thought of his curse touching the most pure thing in his life.

So Xenophilius searches for what they’re trying to lead him to, hoping it is what he needs, that the cure might be at his fingertips, if only he opens his eyes.

extra.

pinterest board!

character tag!

if i were…

if i were a season, i’d be autumn.

if i were a time of day, i’d be dusk.

if i were a place, i’d be a hidden library of forgotten knowledge.

if i were a type of weather, i’d be a thunderstorm.

if i were a scent, i’d be patchouli.

if i were a plant, i’d be a Dirigible plum.

if i were an element, i’d be water.

if i were a color, i’d be bright, warm yellow.

if i were a song, i’d be River by Joni Mitchell

if i were an item of clothing, it’d be a worn, grey duster.

if i were an object, i’d be a moleskin notebook.

if i were one of the seven deadly sins, i’d be pride.

if i were one of the seven heavenly virtues, i’d be diligence.

if i were a god/goddess, i’d be Athena.

on pandora:

He knew. The moment she first treated him in Mungo’s, he knew that he would follow her to the ends of the earth, if she would allow him. It was a strange feeling, not entirely a pleasant one when considering that all his life he had expected never to feel that way about another human being. He wonders how he had missed her at Hogwarts, but then, he had been so entangled in himself, so focused on collecting all the knowledge that he could, that he had hardly made any friends in his own house and year, yet alone others. What mattered is that he had found her now, just in time to keep him from giving up.

After truly meeting Pandora, his single-minded obsession became learning to sign as quickly and proficiently as he could. He wasn’t as fast as he wished he would’ve been, but he learned as best he could, and kept going back to Mungo’s as he learned, an excuse to see her again and talk to her more, especially as he realized that the other healers believed him mad.

She was the first person who truly believed him when he insisted it was the boys’ attack with the dark objects that had caused this, and not a dormant mental illness whose symptoms only appeared after the event. As such, his trust and belief in her was enormous from the beginning, and has not once faltered in the years since.

One of the initial reasons he was so attracted to her was for her pure dedication to a singular cause and the pursuit of knowledge, something he believes in himself. He could see how passionate she was about healing, and how willing she was to do anything to help her patients, not limited to the confines of average healing. He admires her determination and creativity greatly.

The way she cares for people stands in stark contrast to his own ability to do so, which is another reason he loves her so much. He can hardly imagine being so open in caring about others, but he likes to think that she has helped him grow in that regard even slightly. He hopes that she’ll help him grow in that even more, once they’ve found a cure.

If it were not for Pandora, Xeno wholeheartedly believes he would have given up hope of finding a cure, or even peace, years ago. She was able to show him the light in the darkness, and she continues to be that beam of sunlight coming through the clouds of a storm with each passing moment, reminding him that there’s always reason for hope left.

The only times he finds even brief moments of something close to silence is with her. Lying in bed together as they both try to drift into troubled sleep, listening to the steady sound of her breathing, feeling her heat pressed against his, it’s nearly enough to calm the war constantly raging in his mind.

His proposal to her was neither truly romantic or at all dramatic, instead a sort of passing question in the midst of the ever rambling road of his words, his fingers moving just as fast as his lips could, by that time. A question phrased in a way that made it seem more for practicality than it truly was, because he does love her, more greatly than he thought he could ever love one person. A simple it would be easier if we were married, and then the nonchalant production of a ring from his pocket, set on the table in front of her. An amethyst and celestite woven together within a bronze band, charmed to emit a sense of pease and focus, as well as ward off Wrackspurts.

details:

His parents met at Durmstang, and then moved to Berlin, Germany after graduating, working as researchers, of sorts, for a company of like-minded wizards interested in what many would call nontraditional magic. When things began to fall apart in the non-magical world, they made the decision to move to start a family of their own in safety. They settled in London, using up most of their savings to make it there and rent a small flat in Camden.

Despite being a pureblood, Xeno holds none of the beliefs of British pureblood society, in part thanks to be raised by non-British purebloods, but mostly because he can hardly fathom how it is possible to see other humans so darkly. He appreciates what muggles have accomplished without magic, and has even studied much of muggle science and technology out of interest, as well as being interested in proving for them the existence of several of their so-called cryptids.

He has never been able to hold a full time job for long, and stopped trying to do so after years spent in his early twenties trying unsuccessfully in various fields that didn’t truly keep his interest anyway. He would miss days of work without mentioning it, was perpetually late, and rarely actually helped customers with what they actually wanted when in customer service fields. Instead, he earned his money by penning essays and articles sold to various magazines and newspapers on his strange beliefs, as well as selling his research to those who would benefit from it. He dreams of starting his own magazine, if things ever return to normal, if heever finds a cure for his affliction, but right now that task feels impossible given how full his mind is.

He’s started a small garden of strange flora for his and Pandora’s use in Godric’s Hollow. Not much of it is useful to the more ordinary needs of the residents, unless they believe in the oftentimes wild properties Xeno attributes to many of the plants, but he and his wife use many of them for potions and infusions of their own needs, and gladly share if anyone has a desire.

Xenophilius is unable to produce a corporeal Patronus at this time, and has not been able to since waking up in the hospital wing those years ago. Before that, though, his Patronus was an eagle owl.

He didn’t actually seek any healing for what the other students had done to him outside of his own attempts at healing until he was well out of school. As confident as ever, he believed that he could find a cure and do so by himself. When it started interfering not only with his life, but his work, though, he sought out help at Mungo’s. Although most of the healers believed he had gone insane, and most people still do, it was the best decision he made, as it lead him to Pandora.

He hasn’t had any contact with his parents since he graduated from Hogwarts and isn’t certain where they are now, or even if they’re still living. It isn’t that he doesn’t love them, but the childhood that they gave him took too much from him even as they fought to offer him opportunity. He still hears their voices amongst all the others, hears them arguing, only now the anger feels directed at him, not each other.

As well as now being fluent in sign language, Xeno also speaks fluent German, although most of what comes to mind easily now has to do with the cursing that his parents used to do at each other during his childhood.

Not concerned with outward appearances, Xeno very often looks like he rolled directly out of bed and walked into public. While that isn’t usually the case, he could not care less if anyone thinks it is. If he owns a brush for his hair, it has long ago been lost, and many of his clothes are either entirely inappropriate for the occasion at hand, or completely mismatched. There is a method to some of what he wears, of course; the necklaces he always wears, one with a butterbeer cork dangling from it, the other with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

#hp rp #rp #marauders rp #lsrpg #roleplay #accepted

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kiliosthestarmaker · 6 years

Note

Nyehehe 1-49 >.> all of dem 😏😉

I EXPECTED THIS BUT YOU’RE GOING TO K I L L M E

The Basics1. Do you listen to music when you write?

YES, Gods yes! The inspiration! The characterizations! The playlists I listen to when dealing with a particular character I love it I crave it!

2. Are you a pantser or a plotter?

Plotter, most things have already been decided on within my stories.

3. Computer or pen and paper?

Computer, I’ll use a pencil and paper only when I have no tech on me.

4. Have you ever been published, or do you want to be published?

I’d like to be published

5. How much writing do you get done on an average day?

Interesting question, I have no clue

6. Single or multiple POV?

Kind of multiple? It’s all in third POV but we follow around different characters

7. Standalone or series?

*cackles* SERIES

8. Oldest WIP

A whole series called Ratio Cor that I finally got back too

9. Current WIP

Worlds Rejoined

10. Do you set yourself deadlines?

No. Gods no, I’d stress myself out.

The Specifics11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most

Lord of The Rings

J.R.R. Tolkien

George Martin

Harry Potter

Rick Riordan

C.S. Lewis

My two writer friends Wolfe and Jacks

12. Describe your perfect writing space

My room, blasting with music in the morning when I have no school

13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished

Sure

A) Wake up at 2 AM with an idea

B) write it down

C) go back to sleep until you have to wake up properly

D) Write out a decent plot

E) Characters

F) World Building (My fav part)

G) Write and Feel your book

H) Make others suffer with you

14. How do you deal with self-doubts?

Music and talking to Wolfe

15. How do you deal with writer’s block?

Music, scrolling through Tumblr, talking to Wolfe and Jacks

16. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied with a project?

Who the heckity heck knows

17. What writing habits or rituals do you have?

Grab some food and a drink

18. If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about?

I WOULD COLLABORATE WITH @princess-east AND @stressedwolfe and it would probably either be about the gods or some action/adventure/fantasy thing and we’ve done it before AND ALSO @koalajake CAUSE THE IDEAS HE HAS

ADORE

19. How do you keep yourself motivated?

My dad expresses interest in my plots (the only family member that do), he tells me about showing it to other people at work or while he’s busy with something and the person just so happen to be there. My loves also encourage me.

there is also music

20. How many WIPs and story ideas do you have?

........ ehe well there is 1 collection, 4 series within that collection and about 3-4 books within each series sans one which will probably have more than that. Other than that...I have many, many ideas

The Favourites21. Who is/are your favorite character(s) to write?

I absolutely love writing Kilios, not only is he my favorite character, he’s just purely iconic.

22. Who is/are your favorite pairing(s) to write?

Most of my pairings are platonic as most characters are teens or children. There’s also those who have been married and are widowed now so-

OH THERE IS KOLFE I ABSOLUTELY LOVE WRITING THOSE TWO

23. Favorite author

Wait I have to choose??

24. Favorite genre to write and read

Fantasy

25. Favorite part of writing

WORLD BUILDING!!!! I SWEAR ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS BE LIKE “Hey Kilios you wanna help me build a world for this AU?” or “Hey Kilios can you help me build the world for my story?” AND I WILL BE ALL OVER THAT

26. Favorite writing program

Lmao does google docs count?

27. Favorite line/scene

From...from my book?

(Ratio Cor)

“Okay...” She hums softly as she screws on her arm. She flexes the mechanical fingers slowly before twisting her wrist. She grimaces slightly at the creaking of the joint. “Grandfather where’s the thing?”

“What thing?”

“The...the thing...uh...whot yz yt collud… THE OIL!” Kala exclaims after figuring it out. She hears her grandfather laugh. Kala huffs softly at the laughter. Her grandfather taught her the surface language at a young age. He told her it might come in handy one day, but she doesn’t understand why it would. The Markian language was harder to learn afterward.

(Working Title: Caelum Enterprise)

“That's a child.” Kai whispers. Kilios nods his head in agreement. “That’s a child.”

“Thirteen years old.” Kilios offers with a small grin. Kai’s face turns blank, and he stares at Kilios. A cold rage settles in his soul.

“So, I have to kill Zeus?” Shadow chokes on his laughter as he wraps his arms around Kai’s waist. Kilios snorts in amusement even though he knew his friend could kill the Lightning God if he wanted to.

“Now, now. Revenge is best served cold as you may know.” Kilios hums softly as they smirk at each other. Shadow and Oketh look at each other before shaking their heads in exasperation. “Zeus seems to want this kid somewhat broken down, so we’ll give the child the best childhood.”28. Favorite side character

Kai and Shadow, purely for their dynamic

29. Favorite villain

K,,,kilios

30. Favorite idea you haven’t started on yet?

Three siblings were reborn as siblings in the modern world. One problem, the ex-youngest sibling is the only that remembers their past and the evil that caused them to die before has followed them. So now, the sibling has to reawaken their siblings' past selves and strive off the evil force all alone. What will happen if the evil, instead of harming the ex-youngest sibling, takes them away to where they are treated as they should be and are loved. What happens when their siblings do reawaken and come after them? What happens if the ex-younger sibling doesn’t want to go? After all, they found love in the darkness. They found light within it as well insert King Keir who isn’t willing to let his consort be taken without a fight.

The Dark31. Least favorite part of writing

The,,, the writing part

32. Most difficult character to write

Alim??? I guess cause he’s like grandfatherly and most characters I’ve done in the past never met their grandparents??

33. Have you ever killed a main character?

Yes, even better! I’m going to kill one in one of my books!!

34. What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?

Kilios’,,,, death I’m-35. What scene/story are you least looking forward to writing?

KILIOS’ ORIGIN STORY

The Fun36. Last sentence you wrote

“Yeah, I’m alright.” She assures her grandfather after he gives her a look showing that he didn’t believe her. “So, what’s for breakfast?” She quickly changes the subject.

37. The first sentence or your current WIP

“Three creators, each lost in their own right. Their names were taken from books and erased from history. The first to come back will be the one who breathes the anger of volcanoes. Next will be the one who freezes the stars. Finally, the one with powers that are forbidden will come to light. Once together united as one. All will hail the Cold Sun.”

38. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had

All of them

39. Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had

A manipulative character that ends up saving the world due to having the ability to see at least ten steps of ahead and calculating an infinite amount of possibilities for options due to having who is literally the concept of the creation of stars and demihumans/hybrids as a bearer (Aka Kilios)

40. Share some backstory for one of your characters

AHAHAHAHA

Kyle Evren was born from a phoenix and the Primordial God Khaos. The toddler was neither male nor female. Ze was an outlier much like the being known as Udushunamir, who was a being created by the Egyptian Great God Ea. Kyle was born to die for the Gods.

Kavya Esther was created with the body of Saiph and life was breathed into her by Astraea. Her mother was a phoenix and the Star Goddess Astraea. Kavya was very radiant and creatures of all sizes tended to flock to her. The child was kind and lovely. Kavya was born to die for the Gods.

Kit Keir was born from a phoenix and the Hindu Celestial Deity known as Rahu. Kit was both male and female. Due to cer odd parentage, Kit gained both sexes from cer parents. Kit was a very elusive and dreamish teen. Ce would often be found drifting off into cer own little world without a care of anyone around cem. Kit was born to die for the Gods.

Kilios Caelum was born from the ashes of who he used to be. He was ruthless and tired. He was angry at what he’s been through. He swore to rise far above what he attempted to accomplish beforehand. He would build an empire, he would rise to the sky. Kilios refused to die for the Gods.

The Rest of It41. Any advice for new/beginning/young writers?

Jot down any idea you have, no matter how vague or bizarre it is, write it down.Research, for the love of the gods, research whatever you need for your book and please please use multiple sites.Talk to other writers and ask for input, it’s alright to be nervous so just message them privately. Hell, you can ask me I’m always up for learning about new writers.

42. How do you feel about love triangles?

As long as it makes sense and doesn’t cause the main plot to be pushed as a subplot I’m good with it fam

43. What do you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline?

Mutter dark threats under my breath and curse my characters for putting me in the backseat of my own damn writing.

44. How much research do you do?

Literally, a third of my whole writing process is contributed to pure research.

45. How much world building do you do?

By the time I’m done, if someone finds it they’d think I just found the world and wrote down what the people told me.

46. Do you reread your own stories?

Yes and it’s physically painful

47. Best way to procrastinate

Youtube and Drawing

48. What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

KILIOS IS LITERALLY ME THEN HE WENT OFF AND GOT HIS OWN STORY THE BASTARD

49. Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?

All of them because they are my children and I love them.

#kilios answers #my king 💜🐺🎃💜#has killed me #writer's asks

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fromthe-seoul · 7 years

Text

Seventeen Ways to Succeed in College: Do Your Reading

“neither of us bought the expensive textbook but there is only one copy in the library and it can’t leave the building”

genre: fluff

words: 1.9k

a/n: welcome to the first in a new series; seventeen ways to succeed in college! we begin with our beloved leader, s.coups, who is honestly a joy to write. i hope you all enjoy this new endeavor, and let me know what you think!

The first week of classes is always an unfortunate shitstorm of finding rooms, poring over syllabi, and deciding which textbooks are worth going broke over. In an executive decision, you had decided that your microeconomics textbook just did not make the cut, and as a result, you would be spending a solid hour in the library every other day to do your reading. Thankfully, your professor had anticipated that the majority of you were without books for at least the first week, and you were going to take advantage of every scanned-in page you could.

Whoever came up with the idea that college textbooks should single-handedly have the ability to make a student go broke can go die in a very long, very deep hole. Whoever decided that there could be only one copy of said expensive textbook on reserve in the library can also be subjected to a long, torturous existence.

Alas, the kindness of professors only lasts so long, and you tried to make as little noise as possible shuffling through the stacks of books, on a long hunt for the elusive economics textbook. After consulting both the librarian and the online catalogue, you knew you were in the right aisle, but after craning your neck sideways to read the titles, you came upon a solitary empty slot...right where your textbook should be. It took everything in you not to swear loudly in the middle of the deadly quiet study floor.

After taking a moment to compose yourself and not commit a minor crime, you resigned yourself to having to bullshit your way through discussion this week and headed for the stairs. However, out of vague curiosity and boredom, you decided to peek through the windows of the private study rooms as you walked by. Several project groups were already having disagreements, and you shuddered at the thought of having to deal with something so asinine this early in the semester. Yet amidst all the stressed out students, in the very last study room before the door, you spotted a vaguely familiar mop of messy black hair, accompanied by sleepy brown eyes and a jawline to die for. Your feet stopped in their path and you inched closer to the window.

Inside the tiny little room sat a boy from your discussion (...Seungcheol? Was that his name?) and on the table, open to the first chapter, was the textbook you were desperate to get your hands on. Without thinking, you gently rapped your knuckles against the wood before twisting the handle and slipping into the room.

“Hey...Seungcheol?” you exclaimed as said boy craned his neck to see who was invading his study room. A light of recognition flashed in his pupils and he granted you a gummy smile (which you tried to brush away with the flip flop of your heart).

“Hey, _____! Are you looking for the econ textbook?”

He gestured to the chair beside his own and you inwardly sighed in relief before flopping down. Seungcheol had been nothing but sweet for the few weeks you had known him within the realm of your discussion section. On the first day, he lent you a pen since you (like a true upperclassman) forgot a writing utensil. And it was a nice pen, and he didn’t even remind you to give it back. It was perhaps unnatural and slightly unbelievable how nice he was to you, but if anyone was going to have the textbook at this moment, you were glad it was him.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “this class just isn’t worth the hundred and fifty dollars for a book I’ll never use again.”

“Same here, I figured I’ll just come here every time we have reading, but I don’t mind sharing!” He chuckled, and you couldn’t help but join him, hoping that whatever good karma you had apparently racked up to reward you with two hours with a hot, nice boy every week wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass. Perhaps sharing one copy of a library textbook wouldn’t be so bad.

So began your weekly meetups with Seungcheol. Every Sunday and Wednesday you would snag the empty study room at the end of the hall and settle in with a nice long brain-melting chapter of economics. It felt natural, with Seungcheol’s easygoing nature it was less monotonous and you felt less like smacking your forehead with the book trying to read about GDP and supply and demand curves. If one of you struggled with a concept, it was an unspoken rule for the other to try and explain the best they could, and if not, the both of you would just accept defeat until next class.

Slowly but surely, these meetups turned into study sessions even beyond economics. You learned that Seungcheol was an elementary education major and loved working with kids.

(“Why are you even in this class then? It has nothing to do with teaching.”

“Listen, I just need a math and science credit.”)

It also turned into sneaking food into the library for the long hours ahead, and even cups of coffee with enough talent and luck.

(“How did you even get that cup in here without spilling? Your backpack doesn’t even have pockets!”

“What can I say, I have an exceptional sense of balance. Now hurry before I spill it all over my computer.”)

Sometimes you even bagged the idea of studying altogether and used the oversized computer monitor for purposes completely unrelated to education.

(“An hour-long vine compilation? Are you serious right now, Seungcheol?”

“I have had eight-year-olds yelling in my ears all day, I deserve this.”)

Somewhere between him buying you your favorite candy to snack on and you lending him your earbuds when his broke on the bus, the universe shifted slightly. Not drastically, but just enough where you noticed, like someone shifted all the furniture four inches to the left. Just enough to catch your knee on the sofa.

You suddenly became dreadfully aware of Seungcheol’s constant attention to you. Your heart began to flutter and nearly cave in whenever he would gaze at you with that beautiful smile. His thoughtfulness made you feel special, and even when in the worst mood Seungcheol could bring mirth to your lips. Sometimes, only when you were quick enough, you could catch him studying you with a curious expression amidst his features. You’d glance his way and his eyes would revert back to their signature sleepiness, and against your will, your cheeks would burn with inexplicable heat. Those traitors.

There was no “aha!” moment, no magical realization that you liked Seungcheol, that you like liked him. It would come and go in waves of your stomach dropping whenever his puppy eyes were trained on you, when you snuggled yourself into the cologne-tinged hoodie he wordlessly gave to you when he saw goosebumps on your arms, when he remembered minute little details you had spouted on a whim once. You weren’t quite sure what to do with this new information. Seungcheol never once mentioned a girlfriend; he was seemingly preoccupied in keeping track of his twelve closest friends, who, in your mind, hadn’t yet mastered the art of self-sufficiency yet. But the way he smiled when he recounted all their crazy antics made you curious to meet these boys. You wondered half-heartedly if he had told them about you, but brushed that pesky thought aside almost as quickly as it came. Why would he tell his brothers about little old you?

Soon the leaves began to fall from their branches, the sun hidden earlier and earlier, and exams were looming; the unspoken month of communal exhaustion and giving up taking its toll on everyone you see on the sidewalk was upon you. With the final economics exam taking up a large portion of the stress emanating from your body, you were holed up in the library more often than usual, Seungcheol usually joining you in fighting for a study room amidst the hundreds of people looking for a quiet place to break down. He fed your caffeine monster with enough coffee to power a marathon runner, and in exchange, you provided enough snacks to feed an entire soccer team after a championship game. Your system just worked, and the stability it brought you was enough to make you think there might be a light at the end of the tunnel called finals week.

Seventeen hours before your final economics exam, late in the night after most sane students had abandoned their studying to finally collapse facedown into bed, the two of you sat in your usual room. The well-worn textbook rested on the table, witness to the birth and growth of a beautiful friendship, and perhaps silent receiver of the mourning of unrequited feelings. You stared blankly, body exhausted and mind drained. It didn’t seem like this would be the last time you would “have to” meet up with Seungcheol, the vague guise of sharing a textbook long gone. You didn’t want to think about what would happen after you left the room, after the exam was over, after you finally got to rest.

Would Seungcheol still want to be your friend? Would he still give you his hoodies, bring you coffee, and tell you bad jokes?

“So.” The boy sitting opposite you broke the silence, shaking you out of the spiral of negativity and bringing your attention to his face. His face was sallow, dark circles framing his eyelids, and his grin twisted wistfully, wrenching your heart in a way you didn’t think would hurt that much, but it did.

“I’m kind of kicking myself for waiting so long to ask you this, but now I realize I’ve run out of time.”

You gave him a quizzical look; he was never one to hold back in asking you anything. You wanted to respond, but nerves and the burn of your parched throat stopped you. Nevertheless, he continued.

“This semester, I was fully prepared to absolutely hate my life, but you managed to brighten it to the point where even my friends were asking who you were, and they didn’t even know you existed.” He chuckled wryly, casting his gaze to his fidgeting hands. “I’ve never been very good at expressing my feelings, and I hope I’m not ruining our friendship by asking if you’d like to go out with me.”

All at once it seemed like the air whooshed out of you. Your eyes felt like they would pop out as you snapped your head up to look at him. Your mind reeled as it tried to process the idea of your huge crush actually reciprocating your feelings, but Seungcheol seemed to take your shock as rejection. He quickly began to backpedal, but you would sooner fail every single one of your exams than let this slip by.

“Nonononono, Seungcheol, no,” you interrupted, frantically shaking your hands to prove your point, “I would love to go out with you, I promise.”

You watched as his expression molded from horror to relief, his shoulders sagging, then shaking with self-deprecating laughter. His hands rubbed across his face, eyes peeking out at you with the smallest smile, which you tried to return amidst running a hand nervously through your hair.

“Well,” he began, tucking his notebooks and pencil into his backpack, “how about we start tomorrow? After we both pass this goddamn exam?” His radiant, gummy smile was one you could never refuse.

“Absolutely,” you agreed resolutely, following suit and shutting the textbook gently.

It was finally time to go home and get some rest, for the big day ahead was now one to look forward to.

#scoups #seventeen #seungcheol #scoups scenario #seventeen scenario #seventeen ways to succeed in college

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bridgetkat-blog · 5 years

Text

Imposter Syndrome

“You should be an English teacher,” my dad used to tell me.

And I would respond with something along the lines of, “English teachers get paid shit.”

I sat in a blue, plastic chair in the front of my Calc AB classroom—one of the only air-conditioned classrooms in my budget-conscious Catholic high school—as my teacher projected a piece of paper onto the front wall. Written on the paper was a distribution of scores earned on the most recent test.

“One person did get a hundred,” my teacher said as he gave us a run-down of the score distribution. “This is the first time someone has ever gotten a hundred percent on this test.”

After he had finished discussing the scores, he began passing the graded tests back to the students. After anxiously awaiting the news of my score, he finally handed me my graded test. Bright red ink was scribbled on the top of the paper:

100

Math was my niche, my safe haven, where I always knew I would succeed. Where I never feared failure.

I’ve never been good at reading. It was always my lowest-scoring section on standardized tests. I read slowly, and sometimes I realize that I haven’t been paying attention for the last two pages. My eyes scan through the words, but they kind of just go in one eye and out the other. Not only did this make reading difficult for me, but the frustration it caused made reading utterly unenjoyable.

I come from a family of health-care providers. My father is a physician, my mother is a PA, my uncle and his wife are both physicians, my grandfather is a surgeon, and my older sister is in medical school. My dad could always tell me if I had strep or not. He once used his stethoscope on me at home because I thought I was dying[1]. On another occasion, I had the stomach flu, and he called in a prescription anti-nausea tablet for me—it was that easy. When I had cramps, my mom would tell me, “the prescription dose for ibuprofen is 800 milligrams, so you can take four.” I couldn’t go to the grocery store with my dad without running into four different people that he either worked with or treated. When I got the stomach flu again in college, by parents were able to tell me everything from the best position to lie in to the best over-the-counter medicine to buy.

There was never any explicit pressure for me to follow in my family’s footsteps, and I never felt any implicit pressure either; health care was just all I ever knew.

Before I was an English major, I had some pre(mis)conceptions of “The English Major”: obsessed with books, wears big hipster glasses, spends free time reading The Great Gatsby while drinking tea in locally-owned cafés. Has read the entire Harry Potter series three times. Mildly, endearingly socially awkward, but otherwise unremarkable. At one point, I thought people chose to major in English because they weren’t good at anything else. That’s why I was hesitant to become one myself. Why would I be an English major when I’m good at other things – “more useful” things, “more impressive” things? Why would I give people a reason to think I was unremarkable?

As I approached high school graduation, I never felt confident about what I wanted to do in college. I never felt like thinking about it. I told myself that I knew what I wanted to do just so I could stop worrying about it. I knew I was confident in math, and I was above average in science, so I decided on biomedical engineering—the same major my older sister had already been studying. It just made sense—I could use my talents in math and science, I could be involved in healthcare, and best of all, I could make good money. It made sense, didn’t it?

I vaguely remember one day in 3rd grade when my class was having silent reading time. My teacher—who I did not particularly like—came over to my desk and told me that I shouldn’t mouth the words while I’m reading. I didn’t understand why doing that was bad, and I still don’t really understand now. I’m not sure if it was solely for that reason or if other evidence was involved, but my teacher ended up making me do one-on-one reading practice with a volunteer parent. This is the earliest memory I have of feeling stupid.

I went into the semester optimistic—lots of people on my floor were in engineering, my older sister was a tutor in the College of Engineering, and I expected to enjoy all of my classes. But within two weeks, I decided I hated engineering and Engineering Problem Solving I[2]. “Everyone hates EPS 1,” they all said. “It doesn’t mean you hate engineering.” How exactly does one not hate engineering? was my only thought. I stuck with my engineering math class because it was basically just Calc II, and I wasn’t against advancing my math expertise.[3]

At this point, I was back at square one. So what the fuck do I do now? I decided to jump right on something else I had considered in the past: physical therapy. I had been interested in it since my senior year of high school[4], so the next semester, I began my work as a major in human physiology on a Pre-Physical Therapy track. It made sense, didn’t it?

You know those fat literature books you get in middle school? I always read the dumb little stories but hardly could remember what they were about. In high school, I Sparknotes’d my way through Huckleberry Finn and Of Mice and Men. I think I actually read about 50% of To Kill A Mockingbird. And I still got an A in American Lit, presumably because I’m good at bullshitting[5]. I got a 2190[6] on the SAT because, unlike the ACT, there is no reading portion.

One day — after a year in Human Physiology, a week of shadowing, and semesters full of bullshit classes — I had an epiphany: I fucking hate this. Maybe it was the professors; maybe it was the three-hour labs in windowless rooms; maybe it was the fact that every class made me cry on at least one occasion. But I knew that I hated it. And besides that, how does a painfully shy five-foot-tall girl work as a health care provider, anyway?

So for the next couple of weeks, I panicked and obsessed over what I was going to do. There I was, a second-semester sophomore, looking to completely start from scratch as I went into my junior year, and the self-reprimanding thoughts began. Can you pick something you actually enjoy for once? This is the rest of your life we’re talking about. Stop letting other people’s expectations make decisions for you and get your shit together.

But I’ve loved writing since I took my first creative writing class in high school. As soon as I was formally introduced to it, creative writing became my coping mechanism for any and all things. It was my way of sorting out the jumbled thoughts in my head into something I could translate into words. And my composition teacher was constantly astounded by my flawless grammar. So, despite my less-than-ideal track record in reading, I chose to be an English major. Am I actually, diagnosably insane? Probably. But more than a year later, do I regret it? Not even a little bit.

I need to make one thing clear for those who have the mindset I used to have: English is not easy, or useless, or unimpressive, or unremarkable. STEM students see English as a cop-out major, but ironically, those are precisely the students who are most likely to fail miserably in an English class. STEM is numerical, logical. English is subjective, creative, and abstract. Throw a stereotypical Engineering student into a Chaucer class or a creative writing class, and they are bound to have difficulties. But they don’t think so. They think it’s easy. I’d like to see a STEM major write a three-page paper on four lines of The Canterbury Tales. I’d like to see a STEM major read one of Shakespeare’s Sonnets and even have a clue what it’s talking about. I’d like to see a STEM major write five pages on the symbolism of fire in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I’d like to see a STEM major read five novels in four weeks. I’d like to see a STEM major take a class entitled “Chaucer” and even make it out alive.

I don’t read for fun, but maybe I would if I had the time. I don’t read or study in cafés because I can’t concentrate if I can discern nearby conversations. I wear glasses, but only because I need them to see, and contacts make my eyes itch. I’m socially awkward, but neither mildly nor endearingly. I’ve never read The Great Gatsby, or Gone with The Wind, or Great Expectations, or any books of the Harry Potter series[7]. I do drink tea, but only to calm my clinical anxiety.

I always thought I had to go into math and science because I was especially good at those subjects. To me, there was never even a question of what I enjoyed; what mattered was what I was good at. People always asked me, “Why do you want to be an engineer?” or, “Why do you want to be a physical therapist?” And my answer was always based on the fact that I excelled in math and science, not that I enjoyed those areas. It only dawned on me that I should enjoy my career when I was halfway through college and it all suddenly became real.

Why had I never considered a career in English, you ask? Because in 21st Century America, a successful career in English[8] is “unrealistic,” a “fantasy.” Doesn’t pay well[9]. Most people don’t even consider pursuing a career in English because it’s generally accepted that it’s not even a valid option, unless you want to be “stuck” teaching or working as a full-time barista, sharing a four-bedroom apartment for the rest of your life. And so what if someone does want that?

Sometimes I worry about how I’ll be able to teach English if I’m not particularly gifted in reading – literally half of the subject. But then I realize that that is exactly the reason I will succeed as an English teacher. Some teachers are so gifted in their field of study that they don’t know how to help people who don’t understand it immediately. When you’re naturally talented in an area, it’s hard to explain it to someone else. It’s when you actually have to work to learn the material that you understand how to teach it to someone else. The best teachers are the ones who understand how it feels to struggle and know how to help. I’m going to be that teacher for someone.

But yeah, I’ll probably get paid shit.

[1] I was not, in fact, dying.

[2] Engineering Problem Solving I, or EPS I, is a core introductory course for all engineering students.

[3] I ended up getting an A.

[4] Throughout high school, I had a chronic muscle knot near my right shoulder blade—a result of cheerleading, show choir, and bad posture. Eventually, it got so bad that I started going to physical therapy. In my efforts to relieve this massive knot, I became infatuated with muscles and how they functioned. And that’s how I got interested in the field of physical therapy.

[5] A lifetime of mandatory religion classes in a Catholic school system gets you good at that kind of thing.

[6] Out of 2400. This is approximately equivalent to scoring a 33 out of 36 on the ACT.

[7] I have seen all of the Harry Potter movies, though; I don’t live under a rock.

[8] Besides teaching.

[9] Includes teaching.

#nonfiction #personal essay #english major

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big-stupid-jellyfish · 7 years

Text

i accidentally even more

for neavi and doc who both fuel my attempts at writing about shinsou hitoshi in class a.

1,9k words, shinsou, tokoyami, dark shadow, graphic descriptions of depression

Shinsou was getting used to the dormitory, but no amount of preparation made him ready for Tokoyami's room. He expected a certain kind of... atmosphere in a room belonging to a teenager who unironically wore a choker and painted his nails in black, but some elements of decor were plain too distracting. Shinsou stared.

"I have exhausted all embarrassment from how others react to my room back on the day when everyone decided to visit each other's rooms," Tokoyami noted with dry sarcasm, unfazed by his classmate gawking at the surroundings.

Tokoyami's sense of humour was scarce, often hidden in vague metaphors or mild self-deprecation. When Shinsou noticed that, he thought he rather liked it.

"What kind of a highschool student has a fake sword hanging on the wall of his room anyway?" Shinsou dared to take a jab, hoping it sounded friendly enough to be harmless.

"Aesthetic," Tokoyami nodded to himself solemnly. "And it's not fake." His tone was light, and feathers on his crest puffed a little. Smiling wasn't really an option for him, with that beak instead of mouth, but he was expressive enough.

Slightly encouraged by a somewhat successful attempt at small talk, Shinsou returned his attention to the textbooks piling on the table. The class was split into pairs for a small project due next week.

Shinsou didn't enjoy collaborations: his classmates always seemed to make more effort than him, or more easily achieved things Shinsou struggled with, or the matchups were plain unpleasant to deal with. He was cautious of his current assignment in the new class. His assigned partner was several tiers above Shinsou, he understood that. So Shinsou's primary goal was to not disgrace himself in his first serious academic project.

Dark Shadow flickered on the table, comically small, despite the fact that it was lit by a table lamp - the only source of light in the room in the moment. Shisnou wondered if the entity wanted attention, willingly exposing itself to the bright light that was supposedly withering it. Tokoyami made an expression - feathers puffing, unblinking eyes trained on Shadow squarely - that Shinsou guessed to be a frown, and the entity crawled down the table. For a moment it seemed as if it wanted to throw a textbook with itself, but it didn't, just hiding behind Tokoyami's chair and mimicking his pose perfectly. Or maybe shadowing him.

Not for the first time Shinsou wondered how Tokoyami's quirk worked. He saw a lot of unique quirks, got closer to understanding how others used their talents ever since watching students compete at Sports Festival, but almost all that information was merely tactical intel. He couldn't compete with someone who could blast his face off before he greeted his opponent.

But a quirk that created a sentient companion for life? That got Shinsou's attention in ways more than about just learning how to evade the attacks while trying to get his opponent talking.

It was almost shameful, but Shinsou was intensely curious if he could brainwash Dark Shadow.

Not really a thing one can ask the classmate casually about.

"Does it misbehave?" Shinsou asked, apparently unable to hold his mouth shut.

Tokoyami looked back at Dark Shadow, and Dark Shadow turned its head beack in perfect sync, but there was still impression that the entity behaved this way deliberately, and there was no need for it to act like a real shadow. Funnily, Tokoyami and Dark Shadow both cast their own shadows. Shinsou felt a little crowded with this many dark figures in one room with him.

"Yes, it does." Tokoyami's feathers flattened on his head, as if he was embarrassed. "It depends on the light level," he said and noticed Shinsou automatically casting a glance at the dark room, questioning him silently. "I prefer to keep it dark most of the time so I can get used to Dark Shadow being strong and resisting. So I can control it better," Tokoyami explained seriously.

It did make sense, Shinsou thought. The entity behind his classmate snipped something rude about Tokoyami, and Shinsou wondered for the first time what was it like, to live with something sentient and constantly battling for control.

"Was it hard earlier?" Shinsou dared his luck. Tokoyami seemed to not mind his questions. Maybe he was too polite to tell Shinsou to knock it off and not pry. Shinsou tried to push that thought away.

Tokoyami cocked his head, resembling a magpie more than ever.

"Almost all my childhood I had to sleep with lights on until I learned to suppress Dark Shadow in my sleep," he said. Suddenly, he turned to Shinsou sharply and asked: "Was it hard for you earlier?"

Taken aback, Shinsou blinked at him for several seconds. Memories of childhood, confusing and upsetting, rose from the depths of what he wished to forget.

He understood the concept of trading facts and information, though. He asked Tokoyami personal things, it was fair for him to ask Shinsou back.

Shinsou laughed awkwardly, putting his hand on the back of his neck in awkward habit.

"Let's just say that when you can brainwash people since age four, the hardest part is to learn that you are in fact brainwashing people." He didn't intend to sound that cynical, but he couldn't help it. The memories were biting too hard him right now, faces of his parents - blank, scared, resentful - too bright before his eyes.

He stared at textbooks, thinking that if he didn't open his mouth, they'd just do their assignment instead of sharing unpleasant details of their upbringing.

"Sounds terrific," Tokoyami said curtly, and didn't pry further. Shinsou envied his sense of tact.

A loaded pause filled the poorly lit room. Dark Shadow was curling behind boys, pretendingly disinterested in conversation.

"It is uncertain if Dark Shadow is me," Tokoyami said, unprompted. "My parents' quirks are nothing like it, and they couldn't afford quirk examination." He looked back again at Shadow looming over him, then cast a glance on Shinsou who sat in his chair still, unsure why Tokoyami was sharing these particular detail. "Sensei always insists on training quirks themselves. I can't help thinking that once I reach a certain level of control of it I'll hit the ceiling. Unless I know what Dark Shadow really is."

Shinsou mused on his words. Quirk examinations were expensive, as he heard, and not very reliable. He wondered why Tokoyami sounded expectant just now, but then he remembered Aizawa's speech when he insisted that Shinsou's quirk could help others with developing their powers. He wanted to laugh at that, at the implication that apparently one of his classmates took this speech seriously.

But Shinsou couldn't deny that this way his curiosity would be satisfied.

"Funny. I was just thinking if it's possible to brainwash Dark Shadow," he smiled crookedly, deliberate choice of words used in hopes to scare Tokoyami away. The idea was stupid. Dangerous, too - Shinsou supposed that if he was to mind control his classmates and order them around to use their quirks, that should be happening under teachers' supervision.

Dark Shadow appeared in their line of vision, holes of its eyes drilling Shinsou. It was entirely possible it was keeping quiet precisely because Shinsou was around.

Tokoyami noticed his companion intruding them silently.

"I'd try it," he said. "You can feel the person you're controlling, can't you?"

Shinsou nodded, still not quite believing his classmate was serious about this.

"I'm against it," Dark Shadow finally opened its beak to protest, turned to its owner.

Shinsou noted it was trying to avoid even accidentally answering him. But it talked. That was good enough.

"If you're against it, I can brainwash Tokoyami and order him to order you around, it's no big deal," he poked at Dark Shadow.

"Wha-" Dark Shadow snapped at him, indignant, and Shinsou felt the pull of his quirk webbing around the entity. He managed to notice Tokoyami's alarmed expression, clearly shocked at implication of him being brainwashed, but he focused on Dark Shadow instead, not wasting time in fear of missing the window when mind control could be activated.

It didn't struggle, surrendering to his quirk, deflating a little under Shinsou's control.

The feeling was weird, as if trying to contain nothingness in his hands. It didn't respond to his thought to move.

"Raise your right ha- uh. Wing," Shinsou tried verbal command, and Dark Shadow obeyed. He turned to his classmate to watch his reaction, but he saw that familiar blank expression on unusual bird face. Tokoyami was affected. His right hand was up in the air, pose identical to his shadow.

Sharp stab of fear pierced Shinsou. He released Dark Shadow - or rather, released Tokoyami - and hoped he didn't make a mess. Was he too quick to use his quirk at the slightest opportunity? Was he that stupid?

Dark Shadow arose in whirlwind of darkness around them, knocking things off the table. Shinsou's panic worsened: what was that reaction? Was Tokoyami still affected by brainwashing? But Shinsou didn't feel anything, no link to his classmate.

Loud clap startled both Shinsou and Dark Shadow. Bright light filled the room, subduing Dark Shadow, and it withered. Squinting, Shinsou thought distantly though thick veil of panic, that the lightswitch reacting to clapping was a brilliant design solution to Tokoyami's circumstances.

"I can clap hands, too," it complained in small whiny voice.

"Shut up," Tokoyami answered sharply. He was shaken, hands still together, fingers intertwining nervously. Shinsou felt as subdued as Dark Shadow, recognizing the discomfort some of his mind control victims manifested.

What a mess he did, didn't he?

Tokoyami cast a sideways look at Shinsou. It was impossible to tell if he was mad.

"So it is me," Tokoyami said after a long pause filled with fear. "That's good to know." He turned to Shinsou and said: "Thank you."

That was so ridiculous Shinsou couldn't help laughing.

"You're thanking me for accidentally brainwashing you?" He asked him sarcastically, fear still choking him. He didn't have a license to use his quirk out of school, he remembered only now. It was entirely just to expel him on spot right now.

Tokoyami watched him curiously.

"No. That was unpleasant," he admitted. "But I estimated that this was a risk, too. I thank you for providing me a piece of knowledge about me I needed."

Shinsou couldn't really comprehend Tokoyami right now. Words made sense, but they didn't compute.

"And you're not mad?" He asked his classmate skeptically.

Tokoyami made that magpie gesture again, his head titled slightly, as if he couldn't comprehend Shinsou in return.

"No, I'm not." He paused. "It could be useful if we did that again. In more controlled environment. There is a potential benefit of being forced to merge with Dark Shadow like that again."

Shinsou shook his head. It sounded insane.

Still, he got pangs of curiosity. Was that nothingness confined to physical form really Tokoyami?

"If that makes you happy," Shinsou shrugged, trying to downplay his own agitation. "We have an assignment to do, though," he reminded them both and stood up to pick up scattered textbooks.

Really, he should've known better than to get excited at offers to have any kind of business with him.

"After it, I think of asking sensei to help us arrange more of... this," Tokoyami said, helping him. "If you agree."

"If you really think it's gonna do any good," Shinsou replied flatly. He was dismayed at how easily he wanted to believe he could do any good to help others.

He thought he'd have time to persuade Tokoyami to revise his decision later.

#bnha #i write stuff #:y #shinsou replaced mineta in class a au #i made peace with the fact that it's gonna be series of short fics prompted by #*prompted by my friends

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

Text

Merciless

by Wardog

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

Wardog reviews Havemercy by Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett~

And here I am with the ex-Harry Potter fanfic writers yet again. Havemercy is a fantasy novel, written by Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett of Shoebox Project fame. It's basically Temeraire meets The Mirador and, well, it’s not entirely dreadful.

It’s set in the kingdom of Volstov, which is currently embroiled in a century-long war against the neighbouring Ke-Han Empire (who are the usual different-coloured, braid sporting fantasy ‘other’). Volstov’s greatest weapon is the mechanical, magic-infused dragons, which are powered from some kind of magical well and piloted by the Dragon Corp. The war, however, recedes into the background for most of the novel; instead we concentrate on the developing relationships between the four (yes, four) POV protagonists.

First up we have: Margrave Royston, a socialite-wizard, and a big gay, who has been exiled to the country for bumming the crown Prince. He is packed off to stay with his countrified brother and his brother’s horrid wife, and finds himself becoming friends with the quiet and scholarly tutor who has been charged with the education of the children. This is Hal, Protagonist II. Back in the capital, we have Rook, the worst of the Dragon Corp, who has recently involved them in a massive diplomatic scandal on account of treating an Ambassador’s wife like a whore. And finally Thom, an aspiring academic at the university, who is tasked with basically putting the Dragon Corp through sensitivity training as a consequence of Rook’s actions.

The focus is very much on character and relationships rather than, y’know, events. The war does kick it up a notch in the final third of the book and various things come together but it all feels a bit non-urgent to be honest, although the consequences of it are genuinely devastating (more on this later). I remember the first time I ever picked up a book by Sarah Monette and I was so impressed. “Wow,” I said (or words to this effect), “it’s wonderful to come across a fantasy writer capable of creating complex characters, and taking the time to develop them.” Unfortunately, I think it’s time for me to eat those words. I’d like some goddamn plotting please. To be fair, I think part of the problem is not that they’ve chosen to focus on character over action but that they’re basically not as good as Monette. I’m not saying Havemercy isn’t moderately competent and reasonably entertaining, it’s just also emotionally unconvincing and has a weird attitude to homosexuality.

The novel is told from the perspective of all four of its protagonists, which keeps things from dragging too much. There has been some attempt to differentiate their voices, Rook, for example, talks common (although, again, he comes off as a poor man’s Mildmay). And everybody else pretty much blends into sounding vaguely like Felix or, you know, possibly the authors. The effect of the four different points of view is generally positive and enlivening although I do think four was perhaps slightly too ambitious. And as much as it’s illuminating to have multiple perspectives on the same events occasionally it does lead to what feels like a tedious and self-indulgent dissection when you’d much rather be getting on with the … oh … what that’s word again … plot.

There are things to like about Havemercy. Steampunk dragons, for example, powered by the magic of eccentric magicians, you simply can’t go wrong with that. And I loved Havemercy herself:

“Just a spin,” I said. “Good,” said Havemercy. “I’m getting rusty.” “Shit,” I said, “you ain’t.” “Aren’t,” Havemercy said. “You common little fucker.”

She’s a nice antidote to swotty little Temeraire. And actually I quite liked Rook, who is the only character in the whole novel with any bollocks to speak of. And to give Jones and Bennett their due, they do a good job with the world building, weaving the history and the culture into the narrative without making it too oppressive.

However, there are a bunch of problems with Havemercy which reveal both the novel’s status as a debut and, perhaps, the youth of its authors. Spoilers ho.

Havemercy

She ain’t in it anywhere near enough. I know part of the deal with having a cool concept is that you don’t overplay it but, seriously, for a novel called Havemercy I could have done with a touch more dragon. Besides, as we can see above, when she is there she’s fabulous. As the war finally becomes marginally more important than the characters’ personal lives, the first major indication that something bad is in the offing is that the dragons start to act a little strangely and feel a trifle ‘off’ to their pilots. Now, I know the Dragon Corp are supposed to be an insular and closed off unit to which the reader has only mediated access but because the dragons aren’t really given enough page-time it’s next to impossible to engage, emotionally or intellectually, with the fact that they’re starting to go wrong. The dragons are off, are they? Well, uh, what were they like when they on? This also interferes with the climax – mad clockwork dragons charging towards their destruction or their salvation, it’s such a fantastic image but it has no depth to it because the dragons are basically scenery by this point anyway.

Sausage Party

There are no women in Havemercy, unless you count Havemercy herself. Oh, and a bunch of whores and a homophobic wife, of course. It must be the fandom-gene at work, because it’s obvious that Jones and Bennett are way more interested in pretty, angsty boys than they are in, well, anything else. Maybe I shouldn’t penalise them for this (at least they’re honest) but if a male writer wrote a book in which his only female characters were prostitutes, flirts or bigots I would hit the roof. Again, maybe it wouldn’t be such a problem if the fantasy genre didn’t have such an appalling history with female characters. History? What am I saying. Present. Also it genuinely does unbalance the book, what are women doing (apart from whoring and being homophobic) in the kingdom of Volstov? I think it might have helped the authors differentiate their voices and perspectives if one of them had perhaps been female.

Puerile Emotions

The characters are all of them saturated in angst, except, having read Monette, I can safely say it’s a kind of angst-lite, in which the characters moop and weep and put their wrist to their foreheads but ultimately it all feels a bit pointless. Take Hal and Royston. They fall for each other hard. They get caught in a rainstorm. They take shelter in a small hut. They are forced to remove all their clothes. To keep from, like, catching a mild chill or something. They have tension. They nearly kiss… but Royston decides he would be taking advantage of Hal if he did institute snoggage so they don’t. Basically their relationship goes something like this:

Royston: I am blatantly in love with you (sorry I have a silly name, by the way, I know it’s horrendously unattractive but we can work round it)

Hal: I am blatantly in love with you too.

Royston: Shall we shag like bunnies … wait … no! We cannot shag like bunnies because … because … look over there, a plot development.

Hal: But I want to shag like bunnies!

Royston: We cannot. Woe!

Hal: But why?

Royston. Because we cannot. Woe!

Hal: Woe! (I’m still a bit confused on this point)

Royston: Because I will be taking advantage of your innocence, dammit. Woe.

Hal: But I’m blatantly in love with you and I want to shag like bunnies.

Royston: But we cannot. Woe! Come away to the city with me.

Hal: But then I would have to abandon these people who are horrible to me and be happy. Woe!

Royston: You’re right, it’s a terrible and selfish thing to ask of you. Woe.

Hal: Oh, all right.

Royston Woe…err…what? Oh. Okay. Yay. Let us shag like bunnies … oh wait … we cannot shag like bunnies.

Hal: Why not this time?

Royston: Because … because … I only want to do it when you’re absolutely ready. Woe.

Hal: I’m fucking ready, I’ve been ready since page fucking 30.

Royston: Well, tough, I’m going to war. Woe!

Hal: Woe!

Royston: I am back from War.

Hal: Can we…

Royston: Well, now I am really ill and might die of a magical disease. Woe. Gosh, I wish we’d shagged like bunnies.

Hal: Me too.

Rosyton: Woe.

Hal: Woe.

Following a similar pattern, is the relationship between Rook and Thom. Rook hates Thom because … because … he does? And is generally bitter and heartless because his younger brother was tragically killed in a fire when he was but a Rookling. Thom, too, is carrying deep psychological wounds from the fact his older brother was tragically killed in a fire when he was…. Yeah. Zomg. I could cope with this Home and Away style plotting if hadn’t been so appallingly handled. Essentially Thom works it out first from something Rook says in a moment of vulnerability (Havemercy, of course, spotted it straight away because she is fabulous) and then … wait for it … decides not to tell him. Because … because … ?

There is no excuse for this kind of nonsense. Nobody in the novel seems remotely capable of behaving in a sensible, non-histrionic fashion or accepting other characters as adult human beings capable of making their own decisions. You can argue this is all part and parcel of their flaws but it seems more like authorial incompetence than human failing to me. And it makes Havemercy extremely irritating to read at times because I simply couldn’t respect the characters.

Teh Gay

So we’re getting more homosexual and bisexual characters in fantasy these days. I guess that’s a good thing. But with an increase in quantity, as ever, comes a decrease in quality. I think I’ve playfully remarked that it’s impossible for anybody even vaguely connected to the fandom to not have a gay in their books (I’ll forgive Erastes because she’s writing m/m romance), but there’s something horribly tokenistic about this parade of brand new, card carrying poofters. I’d better refine that slightly. It’s not that they are there to be token gays, but there is something about their homosexuality that feels tokenistic.

Take Royston and Hal. I seriously have no idea why these two are together. I mean, I know the principle – Royston is cynical and depressed after the unfortunate crown-prince-bumming-incident and is attracted to Hal’s gentleness and innocence, and Hal is desperate for knowledge of the world and somebody to be interested in him. It’s a typical innocent youth / man of the world pairing but it’s utterly utterly hollow. It’s all fluff, cuddles and celibacy. I’m not saying I want hot man-on-man action every other page, or even at all, but I felt no genuine sense of individual connection between them. It was more sort “hey, you have a cock, I like cocks, maybe we should think about having a relationship.” Also I don’t mean to be vulgar but the constant deferral of sexual gratification struck me as a bizarre way to endorse the merit of their relationship. It was like the authors were elevating one form of homosexuality (the pretty, celibate kind) above another (one that actually involves two men fucking each other).

Take this description of Hal, from Royston’s point of view:

I didn’t know who’d moved first to make it so, but quite suddenly he was tucked in close against my chest, warm and impossibly soft. Everything important about Hal was softness, I decided, his hair and his mouth, the sweet curve of his jaw, and the way it fit neatly into my palm.

What the hell?! Now, I’m no expert on what gay men think about the men they find attractive, but, seriously, soft? Soft?! To describe another man? I’m kind of assuming here that gay men fancy other men for pretty much the same reasons women fancy men … and, let me tell you, when I’m cuddling a man, or a kissing a man, I’m not thinking “gosh, isn’t he lovely and soft.” I’m not demanding chiselled and rippling masculinity here but there’s no way around the fact that ‘soft’ is a terrible word to use in conjunction with a man, especially if you are one. And, again, there’s something so flaccid and de-eroticised about the whole scene. For heaven’s sake ladies. Homosexuality is not an aesthetic.

It’s possible that I’m just too used to romances, heterosexual and homosexual, and therefore emotionally limp, sexually uninspiring and generally badly done romance arcs irritate me more than they should. But it doesn’t help that Hal is as wet as Fort William. He does occasionally make things happen, but mainly by crying at them. Weirdly, I do think I’d have found Hal less offensive if he’d been a woman. Not, I hasten to add, because I believe crying at things is more acceptable if you’re female, but because the “quiet governess / cynical lord” is a romance trope with hundreds of years of associations behind it, hopefully lending it some resonance even if the depiction of it is rather lacking. Pathetic guy and slightly less pathetic guy, not so much.

Furthermore, Havemercy suffers from an equally unsuccessful depiction of homophobia. The prevailing view of homosexuality is not really established – it seems to lie, rather like the present day in the real world, somewhere between widely accepted and generally reviled. Royston is exiled for his shenanigans with the Crown Prince, indicating a certain degree of political discomfort and there’s an amount of social sneering directed at him for his predilections. However, the only people who are openly homophobic are those we are supposed to view as ignorant (Rook) and/or repugnant (Royston’s brother’s wife). This leads to a peculiar implied social structure in which homosexuality is not completely approved but only evil people are homophobic. This is turn elevates homophobia to being basically morally equivalent to murder. Thank you self-consciously liberal, queer-positive fandom. Thank you. Ultimately, there is no denying that homophobia, sexism and racism are bad but there are plenty of perfectly nice, perfectly moral people out there who just happen to be, ‘a little bit racist’. As I think we’ve argued here at Fb on many an occasion, you do not get ‘isms’ by people waking up the morning and deciding to be prejudiced today. Again, I’m not saying the novel should have had more homophobia in it, I just think it should have more bollocks. And, regardless, it’s pretty irresponsible of Royston to “out” poor Hal (who, as we have already established is a basically homo-convenient) in a society that may judge him harshly for his sexuality.

Whedonesque

And I mean that as an insult. Again, massive, honking spoilers incoming. So, at the end of the novel they realise they can probably deal with the magic illness that is affecting Royston and the other magicians, and driving the dragons made, by taking out the magicians who cast the spell. Conveniently these magicians are standing around like NPCs in a big blue tower in the middle of the Ke-Han capital. So the dragon corp get on their now batshit dragons in a desperate attempt to tkill the magicians, save themselves and save the world. All the dragons and nearly all the dragon corp are killed. Except Rook, the one who might be gay, and the non-homophobic one, of course. In some respects, the fact I was genuinely shocked and upset by this says positive things about Jones’ and Bennett’s writing. On the other hand, it’s also a shot so fucking cheap it’s worthy of Mr Whedon himself. Kill Tara why don’t you. Kill Wash. But keep your main characters miraculously isolated from the slightest ill fortune as if the Almighty Plot Angel itself was watching over them.

Conclusion

I guess I’d better stop bitching and wrap this up. For all my criticisms, and let’s face it, there were many, I did kind of enjoy Havemercy, in spite of myself. It has some good ideas, even if they are somewhat buried beneath the layers of adolescent characterisation and gay-fetishisation.Themes:

Books

Sci-fi / Fantasy

Minority Warrior

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http://ruderetum.blogspot.com/

at 13:02 on 2009-09-17There seems to be an infestation of dragon riding books right about now, with all of these Eragon's and Temeraire's and what not. Personally, I've never really cared for that idea, especially if the dragons are supposed to be intelligent. In Harry Turtledove's Darkness series and George R. R. Martin's The Ice Dragon(at least in the short story) the dragons are not terribly intelligent or are quite alien (respectively). But in these other books the dragons are supposed to have personalities and to be intelligent.

So we have a large awesome magical beast which is awesome in its own right and then we have some whiny humans who control them. What! I mean, dragons can be good and all but the idea of an intelligent awesome creature being controlled consensually by some puny and usually whiny humans is not acceptable to me. Dragons might give the occasional lift to a human, but they are not horses people!

In other words some jerk using a dragon as a weapon and that dragon just getting along with the idea reduces their awesomeness into mere attributes to make the human characters cooler.

My other point concerns the high amounts af angst which seems to infest the genre as well. It connects to the point about this books' take on homophobia and in general coming out stories and such like. Now, it is clearly meant to make some aesop about how homophobia or such like things are bad, but if we have characters who are only defined by their narcissistic whining and their utterly frustrating behaviour because of this, we have a problem. The problem being that they are uninterestin characters.

I mean if the character being portrayed isn't a teenager(and an angst ridden teenager is a horrible cliche in itself) or clinically depressed then it just doesn't make any sense. It is strange that reading the Maus comic book for example contains very small amounts of angst from the main characters, even when they're put in Auschwitch for god's sake and on the other hand we have fictional "heroes" who can't do anything because things are so frigging bleak. I'm looking at you Mr. Potter.

End rant.

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Arthur B

at 13:51 on 2009-09-17

So we have a large awesome magical beast which is awesome in its own right and then we have some whiny humans who control them. What!

I do find this a bit jarring myself, and it only gets more jarring the more independently intelligent the dragons get. I seem to recall in the

Pern

books it kind of makes sense because the dragons aren't smart enough to just be told "go and destroy those space threads", they need telepathically linked human riders to steer them right. But if you've got dragons who are massive, powerful, and smart enough to follow a mission briefing and understand what they need to go do, one does begin to wonder what the point of having someone riding them is in the first place. Why stick a squishy vulnerable person atop a powerful war machine when the war machine is perfectly capable of doing the job itself? What on earth does the rider bring to the fight which the dragon doesn't bring in spades?

Which isn't to say that

Havemercy

doesn't have an answer to that - Kyra doesn't mention either way - but it is something people should probably think about when they're writing this sort of thing.

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http://ruderetum.blogspot.com/

at 14:26 on 2009-09-17The use of dragons as war machines and comparing them to bombers and fighters should really be examined and justified more completely if it appears that these 'machines' have real intelligence. I believe Michael Swanwicks' The Iron Dragons Daughter is one of the greatest successes when it comes to making this kind of thing work. The dragons are gigantic warmachines whose intelligence is like a magical artificial intelligence filled with hate, because they're war machines. So they need to be controlled by pilots or they would try to destroy everything. So there's actually a reason for the control. It's so sad that some pure badass creature would take orders from some squishy apes without being fordced to.

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Dan H

at 18:47 on 2009-09-17I'm with Arthur on this one. It's not that I find it degrading for dragons to have riders (I find it a little hard to get het up about the dignity of fictional beings, and I don't actually have a problem with the whole "bond between dragon and rider" thing) it's just that in a military context it makes no sense at all. It's like insisting that all of your soldiers go into battle with a small child on their back.

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Rami

at 19:00 on 2009-09-17Wow. Magical steampunk dragons. I really can't see how you could go wrong with that. Maybe you could have them run out of coal mid-flight and have the riders necessary as stokers, or something.

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http://ruderetum.blogspot.com/

at 20:15 on 2009-09-17Well, truth be told, I'm not much of a torch bearer for fictional beings' rights myself. I just get bugged about stuff and too often the cool image of dragons is just a cheap way of giving the central character(s) a cool accessory.

In this case, the dragons being mechanical, I suppose it's not really important. The cover blurp is incorrect though, steampunk magic dragons can be found in The Iron Dragons Daughter, which I mentioned before. It's a great idea though anyways.

Actually Dan, judging from your own writings that book by Swanwicks' could suit you. It's been described as an anti-fantasy and is its authors reaction to run-of-the mill trilogies and such. Plus it's a changeling story, with a magical society run by amoral elves, which is pure cutthroat capitalism and rule of the strong.

An example is that when a citys' and its universitys' costs and population gets too high, they(it's emblematic of the story that who they are is left intentionally unclear) initiate a Tenism, which means that in carnivalistic time of chaos one tenth of the population is handily destroyed. The strong and the rich are supposed to survive. Well, it's at least different I suppose.

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http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/

at 15:55 on 2009-09-18

Everything important about Hal was softness, I decided, his hair and his mouth, the sweet curve of his jaw, and the way it fit neatly into my palm.

Blergh. This is the sort of weirdness you'll find in a lot of slash fanfic, and which contributes to giving the genre as a whole a bad reputation. I'm so glad I've never bothered to read The Shoebox Project...

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Wardog

at 16:26 on 2009-09-18

Blergh

Thank you. I read that description and I felt exactly the same way. But I thought perhaps too much hypermasculinity had warped my sense of romance. I feel vindicated in my blergh now.

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Arthur B

at 18:45 on 2009-09-18The jaw bit seems particularly weird. Jawbones are not, by and large, especially soft, and jaws by extension tend not to be soft unless they have a fair amount of padding. Heck, I'm a fat bastard and I still don't have enough fat in my face that you could really describe my jaw as soft to the touch.

The mental images conjured are bizarre. Either Hal has some sort of horrible bone-melting disease and has to eat through a straw, or he's an extremely chubby guy whose jowly jaws and double chin fit neatly into Royston's hand.

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http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/

at 19:20 on 2009-09-18

he's an extremely chubby guy whose jowly jaws and double chin fit neatly into Royston's hand.

Lol! What a romantic image. :-D

But really -- I don't mean to sound condescending or anything, but I do wonder a little how much these authors actually know about the male physique, because realistically I'd expect there to be some stubble, at least. Not all this 'softness'. But perhaps gay men don't have facial hair? *eyeroll*

In fact, I get the impression they think gay men are completely different from straight men, both mentally and physically, which I find offensive -- it's not so much that I have a problem with male characters crying; it's rather that I have a problem with male

gay

characters crying, because I'm 100 % certain the author wouldn't portray a straight male character that way.

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http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/

at 19:46 on 2009-09-18Oh, and I should add that I haven't read

Havemercy

, I'm just speaking about bad slashfic in general.

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Dan H

at 21:27 on 2009-09-18The "gay man = woman" (or possibly "alien") thing is particularly disquieting, if only for its popularity amongst people who would never in a million years think of themselves as homophobes.

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Arthur B

at 22:45 on 2009-09-18We have people riding dragons, we have weird attitudes towards homosexuality... I don't think there's ever going to be a better time to cough and note that

Anne McCaffrey

has some interesting ideas about tent pegs.

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http://descrime.livejournal.com/

at 03:05 on 2009-09-19My impression of slash fanfiction is that there are two kinds of slash writers: writers whose characters like they like to write about just happen to be guys, and writers whose characters they like to write about happen to be guys because they hate writing women. I once took part in an online discussion where women seriously complained that it wasn't their fault they just wrote women completely out of their stories, it was simply too hard to write female characters. And they saw nothing wrong with this. From this review (I haven't read the book), it seems these authors fall in the latter category.

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Viorica

at 05:16 on 2009-09-19I think it's also a form of emotional porn/Mary Sue syndrome. There's a reason fangirls swoon over angst.

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Dan H

at 20:36 on 2009-09-20It's one of those difficult situations where you *almost* have to stand up and say "well fair play to them then". I mean it seems that what you've got here are a couple of girls who are mostly interested in pretty men angsting about stuff and who write exactly that. You've almost got to admire the honesty.

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Wardog

at 23:12 on 2009-09-20@Dan - Yeah, I know what you mean about the honesty. But ultimately I think I'd be kicking up a fuss if a male writer did it so I feel morally obliged to kick up a fuss if female writers do :)

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Arthur B

at 01:58 on 2009-09-21I think the difficulty is the inclusion of the homophobia angle; by introducing what is essentially a RL issue into their story about pretty unthreatening men having pretty unthreatening relationships, they are kind of inviting people to compare said pretty unthreatening homosexuals to actual flesh and blood homosexuals. And asking the reader to compare your fantasies to reality is not a game that ever ends well.

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http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

at 02:07 on 2009-09-28I actually find it odd that they did such a silly job with the romance in this, because they wrote much more believable boys in the Shoebox project:

Sirius makes a noise that's kind of a laugh and kind of a groan and then presses his lips against Remus' without any warning. Or with ample warning that Remus is only just now beginning to decode. He hasn't shaved and his hands are sweaty and there are teeth in there, and it is not much at all like kissing Lily except that kisses, Remus has learned, are wet, nervous, compelling, terrifying things. He makes a sound. Sirius jerks away. "Let's never mention this again," Sirius decides out loud, leaping to his feet, as if he's been electrocuted. "Shall we?" "Uh," Remus says.

I'm wondering now how much of the quality in the Project has to do with the pre-existing characters.

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Dan H

at 10:36 on 2009-09-28I'd imagine pre-existing characters are a big part of it. It takes pretty much no effort at all to make a relationship between two characters convincing if everybody is *already* convinced those two characters are at it doggy-style.

There's very little, for example, in the passage you quote that tells us why these two people are attracted to each other beyond the fact that they're Remus Lupin and Sirius Black.

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Arthur B

at 16:39 on 2009-09-28This would, in fact, seem to one of the dangers inherent in using fanfiction to develop your writing talents: because someone else has done all the heavy lifting of establishing the characters for you, there's far less need to actually develop your skills on that front.

It's slightly less true of setting, because you get weird alternate universe fanfics which play merry hell with the setting - or indeed ditch it entirely and populate an entirely new world with the same characters - but the fanfic scene does seem to be all about the familiar characters. Even when the occasional original character creeps in, it's considered bad form (and indeed textbook Mary Sueism) to let them upstage the established characters, and you don't see many people writing alternate universe fanfic where the setting is the same but all the characters are different.

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Dan H

at 18:48 on 2009-09-28To be fair to fandom, there's a sense in which working with pre-existing characters can actually help sharpen your mad characterization skillz. You can talk about "voice" all you like, but in the end one of the best ways to really understand how the whole thing works is to look at something and say "yes, but would Severus Snape really *say* that?"

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Arthur B

at 19:17 on 2009-09-28It can help there, sure, but that sort of exercise does nothing to help you establish "Who is this Snape person?" in the first place, which is the aspect I think people can neglect. As you point out, you can get away with not explaining who Snape is in fanfic, you can't get away with not explaining who Royston is if you're introducing him to people for the very first time.

Essentially, it can help you understand voice, and how to write in particular voices, but those skills are at best ancillary to the skill of coming up with distinctive voices for your characters in the first place. Hence Cassie Cla(i)re and the mysteriously Malfoylike qualities of certain of her characters.

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http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

at 01:53 on 2009-09-29They do make them believably attracted to each other throughout the Project, I just chose that segment to contrast with the "Hal is so soft and delicate" bits from Havemercy. I think they would have done better to write about teenage boys in a "semirealistic" setting (I can't believe I just called the Potterverse semirealistic- I guess I mean contemporary with or without magic tacked on).

They do a good job with characters we don't really see in the books -Pettigrew, for instance- you almost get why he'd fall in with the DE crowd and his motivations there- and also they manage to write James as a

likable

jerk, which is not the easiest thing to pull off.

Mostly, I mean that they can write boys who are goofy and dorky and shy and pull pranks on each other, and who like each other, without getting taken over by teh gay like poor Hal (and, to be honest, a hell of a lot of slash fanfic)

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Wardog

at 12:22 on 2009-10-05I just wanted to say, I like the bit you quoted and I see why you quoted it. I think the fandom/not-fandom thing is, for this, largely irrelevant - the point is it shows them having something like a clue. I can only presume they threw said clue out of the window when they came to write Havemercy. I don't know how could they could from this quite harsh, quite 'realistic' depication of a clumsy boykiss to soft melting girly Hal.

Seriously, ladies, what the hell happened to you?

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valse de la lune

at 12:26 on 2011-12-08Necroing this to note: the things you've said about slash and fandom here would have gotten you absolutely

eviscerated

in some circles and, probably, called a raging misogynist or something. Slash fandom has become this weird sacred cow thing to some social-justice types. It's bizarre and also reminds me that, in my flailing desperation to seek out more lesbian representation, all the attention is always given to the hot gay boys--consider the Rachel Manija Brown thing and the "say yes to gay in YA." All of which always made me comfortable too because, uhm, we're still raising a big giant fuss about a couple of straight white ladies who wrote this gay Asian--Japanese?--boy. Wow gosh, they are so brave! Deepa D.

expressed her misgivings

better than I could. tl;dr even if I don't think much of her writing on a technical level, Malinda Lo's Asian lesbian girls > this crap by an order of magnitude of fifty thousand.

but there’s something horribly tokenistic about this parade of brand new, card carrying poofters. I’d better refine that slightly. It’s not that they are there to be token gays, but there is something about their homosexuality that feels tokenistic.

That seems to be a thing which plagues pretty much all former HP fanfic authors who "graduated" to writing YA. And, well, there's probably a reason the YA reader/writer subset is so strangely insular and so very, very like fandom.

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Wardog

at 14:39 on 2011-12-10Yes, I'm slightly more aware of the discussions / context of the role of homosexuality in fandom these days so I might express myself a little better ... but I do kind of stand by my comments. And although I'd rather people didn't come and bite my face off and make me sad ... well ... yeah. It's just everything about the portrayal of a gay relationship in Havemercy brings me out in HIVES.

As I'm sure we've discussed before I have no problems with people getting off on hot (potentially not very dudely) guys sexing each other up - but when you claim that's *representation* then it's *appropriative*.

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valse de la lune

at 18:09 on 2011-12-12No, I agree with you and don't mean to bite your face off by any means!

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Wardog

at 18:45 on 2011-12-12Hehe, not you! I meant an angry fandom complaining about me impugning them :)

#Ferretbrain #Havemercy #Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett #Joss Whedon #Harry Potter #Fanfiction #Wardog #Minority Warrior

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linkspooky · 8 years

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What’s Love Got to Do With it?

Your opinions are so interesting... So I ask you, what you think about Furuta's love for Rize? What was revealed recently with Mutsuki makes me think they are same in a some way, I mean a twisted love and unhealthy obsession in a one-sided. Asked by Anonymous

An interesting question posed to me in an ask that I’ve decided to turn into a full meta because I think the asker is missing that Furuta and Mutsuki are not the only ones with unrequited love this arc. Luckily I’ve drawn up a chart.

Why all of this unrequited love all of a sudden? Is it because Ishida wishes to write a Shoujo manga with corpses, and has decided to convert the last arc into one? It goes deeper than that, so let’s analyze it under the cut.

Furuta though might be a difficult example to start out with, he’s not the best at keeping a straight face, or his story straight either. He’s the kind of person who will cheerfully explain how he was born into child slavery with a smile on his face.

Furuta is a rarity among Tokyo Ghoul villains though, because even though we’ve already elaborated on his tragic backstory™, he has yet to show any true angst over it. Arima was always ice cold and empty on the inside, Eto was consumed with despair and wanted to destroy everything, Tatara was only barely managing to suppress the flames of his anger, to name a few. All of these characters who wear their trauma and reasoning for fighting on their sleeves, and then here’s Furuta. He seems content with just getting in a good laugh.

Furuta even on his own motivations is vague at best. Besides the “Super peace” quote, the best insight we get to direct questioning is:

“I will do what I want. I mean, I’ve got this precious life and everything might as well make the best of it, right?”

Which actually sounds a bit familiar:

Now, what Furuta did to Rize was horrible, but I think the fandom forgets she wasn’t exactly a saint before that point. There are actually more similarities than differences in Rize and Furuta, and it definitely comes from the place they were raised. Two garden children, one a meaningless throwaway meant to serve the family, and another a womb only meant to give her body to the family, or more specifically the men who had created the horrible structure she was born into and continued to perpetuate it. One escaped, and one stayed behind.

Though the garden might have been manageable if these two opposites stayed together, when separated their experiences warped them. Once Rize escaped, she could not stop escaping. Every single restriction, even those placed on her by well meaning authority figures reminded her of home.

Even escaping into freedom she realized, she was still in a cage. She probably could not handle the idea, and that was why she lashed out at the things around her. In her own mind though, it was not due to what had happened in the past, but rather an expression of her own strength. Rize was violent towards others because she was strong, because she got bored easily. Though, that kind of interpretation falls apart when you look at Rize’s victims.

Men who placed any expectation on her. Whether it was Banjou who idealized her as a strong ghoul, Kaneki who saw her as a fellow lover of books, Rize is reminded again and again by the way men look at her of what she was born to be, of her home. A reminder she wants to escape from so bad, she’ll fight against everything around her, even the stable home she had in the sixth ward.

Rize was constantly trying to escape from herself, because the garden had taught her not to see herself as a human being. This goes beyond the human vs ghoul divide, Rize likely did not even regard herself as a person if she was born to just be breeding fodder. Even after escaping from the garden though, in her unwillingness to admit those vulnerabilities, in an attempt to cover them up she continued to deny herself personhood Because of that Rize is empty on the inside, that is her boredom, the thing she can never fill up no matter how much she binges. It’s almost like Kamishiro Rize never existed in the first place.

Perhaps that is why everybody seems to project whatever they want onto Rize, because she never had that much of a personality to begin with. Just try to describe Rize for a moment, she’s.... vicious, bloodthirsty, but those are just her actions. She likes books? She gets bored easily? Those are just hobbies or patterns of behavior.

Here’s where we finally return to Furuta. As I said, the two are more similiar than they are different, to the point of being foils. Furuta is also another person without a strong sense of self, it’s how he can in one moment flip from this:

To this:

That was just from one scene though, you can pick a few more scenes: Furuta and Eto round two, Kaneki and Furuta talking for the first time after Kaneki became one eyed king, and the result is the same when Furuta takes a step back from his disguise personality as a meek assistant, he acts so erratically he may as well be throwing personality traits against a wall to see what sticks. One might think this lack of self would be a disadvantage for Furuta, but he’s weaponized it, because as long as the moment calls for it he can become anybody.

His acts tend to go so deep though, that on two occasions we’ve seen his inner monologue, which usually presents a characters true thoughts on the manner go along with what are his obvious lies to the readers.

Furuta does not want to be a person, just like Rize. The way he foils Rize though is that he goes in the complete opposite direction. Rize wants to escape from the society that created her, so much so she’s always trying to escape. She becomes the concept of freedom to others. Furuta however, stayed behind in V. Apparently, all that time plotting to take it over fro the inside out. To Furuta, the path forward is to stay inside the system and master it perfectly, Furuta wants to become the system. Thus Furuta’s art in the Calendar being him literally reveling while still inside the cage. In a series all about breaking the cage, Furuta wants to keep it in place, because he’s been climbing to the top of it all his life.

I hope this brief character moment has also done away with two common misinterpretation’s of Furuta’s character. One, that he has no consistent personality or motivation (That’s the point Ishida is trying to get at).

Two, that Furuta seems to exist without consequence in a narrative that otherwise is very consistent at keeping karmic consequence on every character within it. Tokyo Ghoul is a tragedy after all, they are not known for their leniency. Furuta however has murdered, Matsumae who was only trying to protect Shuu by laying down her life, killed Shiono and innocent, offed Eto before her revolution could even hit full steam and then stole even that forward motion to kill the Washuu and place himself in power, and also played double agent several times without getting caught once. Despite doing clearly bad things, Furuta is unaffected by them himself, and every consequence possibly dealt his way he shakes off.

Furuta can be such a hypocrite at times, it’s basically a major facet of his personality.

Remember though, that the system Furuta is trying to embody is hypocritical in itself. A system of rank and achievement that claims to be for the protection of humanity from ghouls, but is run by ghoul’s themselves who have sold out their own kind. For Furuta, indulging in his own hypocrisy is part of the joke. He’s the man determined to get the last laugh after all.

Even if I celebrate it, I can’t help it. I’m just a human being who doesn’t think of anything about the day they were born.

PS: (Laugh, it’s fun!)

[x] I Have Become 6 Years Old

As referenced in his birthday poem, Furuta thinks absolutely nothing of himself at all as being born a human being, but encourages others to laugh anyway. It’s almost like a coping mechanism.

Then returning to why Furuta seems to escape karma despite quite clearly being a hypocrite who does bad things. It’s for more reasons than just ‘he’s the villain’ in true tragic narrative both the villain and the hero still face consequences. In a perfectly structured tragedy though, the failing that allows tragic consequence to finally catch up to them should come from a fatal flaw.

However, the modern understanding of fatal flaw is different from the greek one. The greeks believed in “Hamartia”, which was a flaw:

The tragic hero's powerful wish to achieve some goal inevitably encounters limits, usually those of human frailty (flaws in reason, hubris, society), the gods (through oracles, prophets, fate), or nature. Aristotle says that the tragic hero should have a flaw and/or make some mistake (hamartia).

This flaw was often how the hero differed from society as a whole. It was why Aristotle’s definition of tragedy ends with,

“purification" (catharsis): tragedy first raises (it does not create) the emotions of pity and fear, then purifies or purges them.

Therefore, having purified themselves from the flaw through watching it in theatre, the audience could return to life participating as good greek citizens.

The Furuta shown throughout most of Tokyo Ghoul though is the perfect representation of the society set up by the CCG. He is perfectly respsectful to superiors, cuts down ghouls without mercy, and climbs the rank due to his gaining strength. Most of all though, in a society that suppresses individual will and personhood, Furuta makes no attempts at being a person. By allowing society to perfectly overtake him, by being such a perfect actor, Furuta shows no defects from the society he was raised in. He has no hamartia, and therefore no consequences.In a cast full of characters who are trying to suppress their emotions to reach external goals, promotion, gain strength and power, destroy what’s around them, Furuta is simply the best actor almost to the point of being aware of the scenario he’s in. That’s why he succeeds.

However, nobody can keep up an act perfectly. For Furuta, the consequences of his actions, and the pathway he’ll get there has already been set.

This is called foreshadowing, it’s pretty obvious too. Here’s where we have Furuta’s source of Hamartia. In a society where men are called to use women like breeding tubes, especially Washuu men, Furuta truly loved one woman once. So much so he risked his own freedom so she could have hers.

Rize could have left it at that, but he’s clearly still planning to use Rize. Even though if he really wanted to live without affection, and become the perfect embodiment of the system he is acting as, he should just dispose of her and sever all ties. Furuta is not acting logical here though. He’s bringing Rize back under his control so she can’t roam free anymore, but he refuses to kill her either.

He claims his reason is so he can marry her again, and produce many offspring. This is obviously another farce on his part. It’s doubtful Furuta lacks so much self awareness that he thinks Rize would really love him after this point, or that he thinks he’s somehow doing better by Rize by harvesting her to create more of Kanou’s quinx out of what seem to be garden children, rather than forcing her to conceive Washuu heirs.

Let’s assume for a moment that Furuta is not a cartoon character, but rather a person that is cognizant of all of these things. What exactly is he trying to accomplish with his treatment of Rize then? On a basic level he’s objectifying her, removing her personhood. He’s turning her into a tool to further advance his efforts, but why?

When Furuta was caught off guard by Takatsuki, the first thing he flashes back to is Rize Kamishiro, in what possibly was one of their first meetings.

Rize is probably the only thing Furuta has ever really wanted for himself. Furuta is strong right now, but he associates the time he was weak and powerless with his memories of Rize. That was also the only time Furuta was ever genuine, before he started putting on masks and laughing through life. His love for Rize is his last vestige of humanity in himself. That’s why Furuta makes a conscious effort to control her, to objectify her, because he doesn’t want to be a person. The same way that Rize lashed out violently at everything around her.

The two of them both didn’t want to be reminded of how weak they really were. For Furuta though, rather than a societal construct, that reminder lies wound up in a person, a person he spent childhood days laughing and playing with.

Love reminds Furuta of what makes him human. Furuta is nimudashing away from his humanity though, he has to in order to fit into his society. Thus, there’s no room for love either.

Furuta probably did, and still does really love Rize too. No matter how twisted he shows it. One might recall the sky falling poem.

It’s always like this.

Only people dull to pain hurt me.

She truly loved me,

Only she didn’t know how to love.

What a stupid God.

[X]

What else can you expect though, from a boy growing up in a breeding garden where he was shown no love.

Haise’s Birthday Poem begins with the lines [x]:

“Someone said this: “Even if you have no memories of being loved, for as long as you have memories of loving someone, you can continue to live.” …But how is someone who has never been loved be capable of loving someone else? A child who wasn’t able to receive the minimal love they required at the time they needed it the most will continue to gaze at the illusion of affection and never know how to love until the day they die. Well, how about me? Can I continue to live?”

One might point to this as Furuta’s moral failing, that he now is stuck chasing after the illusion of love in Rize.

Remember though, that Furuta is not the only character to project onto Rize.

He’s not the only one who wanted to take her strength for his own, whether symbolically or literally.

Looking at the chart posted at the very beginning of this post, this entire arc is filled with characters chasing after the illusion of love. Taking the example from Haise’s birthday poem, we’re finally given why Unrequited Love is so prominent in this moon arc. ‘How is someone who has never been loved capable of loving someone else?’

How are these characters who exist in a society that has never shown them love, capable of finding love anyway? To some extent, every single character is acting like Furuta. They are repressing some part of themselves to achieve a goal they think they want, while at the same time fantasizing about some unattainable intimacy with another person that they believe is love.

Be it Matsuri, who only wants to have the freedom to choose for himself, but chooses to support the oppressive regime of the Washuu instead. He forefeits his freedom for power.

Be it Urie, who violently lashes out at a ghoul while thinking that all he wants is to take Mutsuki home. At this point he’s forefeited most of his humanity and gotten nothing in return.

Be it Mutsuki, who finally gained a stable home environment and something strong to control him when Haise Sasaki was around, but only ever developed his personal strength and eventually gave up that peaceful setting for violence.

Haise, who was so afraid of his past, but looked at Touka and cried because for once he was reminded that there were beautiful things about his past as well. Who however, chose not to pursue that past because of his current security at the CCG.

Be it Touka who tried to blunt, brash, violent, unlikeable, to blindly push away all attachments, only to cry while she was alone when they left. Who wound up the opposite of all of that and waiting quietly for a person who had been erased, pining effectively.

Be it Tatara, who claimed he was happy with everything, including the death of Aogiri tree if it meant that his hatred could end with Houji’s death. The man who gave up everything for his own hatred and revenge, only to die claiming he didn’t get what he wanted.

Be it Eto, who sought somebody to provide her with hope, and for that sake gave up her identity as Takatsuki, her editor, her foster parent, the lives of many CCG investigators, her freedom in the end, for the sake of that revolution, only to end up in this state just as her revolution was beginning to turn.

Be it Ui, a delicate person who thought he wanted to become strong so he could stand as a hero of justice. Who gave up his tender side to the CCG to gain that strength.Only to realize after he had lost them all what he wanted was the human connections he had formed through the ranks of the CCG.

Be it Hairu, who claimed she wanted to be strong so that Arima would acknowledge that strength. Only in the end to flash back to the garden in her dying moment, as it was the only time in her life she was shown kindness or treated like a person.

Be it Takizawa, who thought he wanted to get stronger so he could surpass those he saw as extraordinary. He thought he wanted to escape the role of second best, thus he violently fought against Sasaki and decided to play ghoul and give up his personhood. Only what he really wanted in the end was the security of being acknowledged, and to be acknowledged by one person.

Be it Akira, who claimed she wanted to get strong in order to avenge her mother, and father, and suppressed herself to act as the perfect CCG agent in each of her dead parent’s place, but in the end only wanted to have somebody see her as herself, and by that extension be able to act on her own wants.

The pattern of characters denying some fundamental part of themselves, some part of their personhood in order to achieve some goal they think they want and to eliminate their weakness, only to secretly project onto another person the emotional intimacy, the personhood, and the vulnerability they think is impossible to have is a pattern that repeats again, and again, and again, and in this arc especially as the world is starting to come apart and change.

The reason this pattern repeats is because for these characters, love cannot exist in their worlds. It cannot exist in the rigid patriarchical system of the CCG that stamps out humanity and weakness, because to love is be human and weak. Therefore you get these characters who want with all of their beings, but cannot take a single step to move towards that love. What is the result of that? Eto summarized it quite nicely.

These characters unable to find fulfillment in their love, are pushed forward towards violence and destruction. Thus the cycle seems to continue, on and on forever.

A manga with that much unrequited love is therefore, not a shoujo with corpses, but a straight up tragedy.

#tg meta #furuta nimura #rize kamishiro #kaneki ken #meta #tokyo ghoul theory #tokyo ghoul meta #don't look mak

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