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cocoabubbelle · 1 year

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Watching “Scooby Doo, Where Are You?” (1969-1970 CBS) + Thoughts

Episode 23: A Tiki Scare is No Fair

Interesting typeface for this episode’s title card.

Already the episode impresses me with its scenery, the special effects with the volcano, and the instrumental music.

Vacation in Hawaii!

Shaggy puts on a winning smile for Mr. Simms photo, making me wonder why some people think he’s unattractive compared to Fred or why he would be unsuccessful with getting a girlfriend.

Animation goof: Shaggy’s hair turns a shade lighter despite no sunlight/firelight.

Scooby Gang had been invited by Mr. Simms (A teacher? Acquaintance from town? Connections with Daphne’s family?) to participate in his tour to Hawaii, but Shaggy is already expecting things to go south based on his experiences with the rest of the gang so far.

I shouldn’t quickly assume Mr. Simms to be sus, but his fashion choice, mustache-too-dark-compared-to-his-hair, and his expression when getting confirmation that Shaggy and Scoob will not go to a supposedly haunted village are too distracting.

An animator decided that Shaggy’s eyes needed to look more perpetually nervous/excited than usual.

Ghost Drums with a groovy beat herald the sky (and entire scenery) turning a dark muddy sienna before Tiki Ghost shows up.

Tiki Ghost standing in the area Mr. Simms was in but now isn’t is not helping me not suspect him. Will this be this show’s second culprit who paints parts of his skin to pass off as a different race?

All the buff Hawaiian guys and Scooby wind up ditching Shaggy by accident as everyone flees the Tiki Ghost in a panic.

This background dance song sounds like the default music the Scooby Gang are known to use. Debut episode, or has it played before in previous episodes and I haven’t paid attention??

Ultra Instinct Shaggy breaks down and surfs on a door to warn Fred, Daphne, and Velma about the “witch doctor” (imma still call him the Tiki Ghost.).

Lots of arm movement in this episode despite the rest of the bodies being stationary. (Daphne raising both arms over her head, Fred making the go-get-‘em arm movement, Velma moving her hands from behind her back to in front of her waist.)

“I think you’re full of poi.”

“Shaggy, it’s a scientific fact that people and Scooby don’t just vanish, poof.” “Yeah? Like, it’s also a scientific fact that drums don’t play without drummers.” “Hm.” In other news, animation goof: Shaggy was holding a map from the side view of the Mystery Van, but during the frontal close up as Velma was talking, there is suddenly no map.

Random old man just there to confuse Velma as he disappears as soon as she points him out. Also Shaphne chill me, they’re just standing right next to each other.

Dancing and floating ghost drum. Also how were they standing in front of the Mystery Van a moment ago only to have to enter the scene again running from offscreen to offscreen???

Wait a minute, is Scooby in that dancing drum? Please let that be Scooby in that dancing drum 😆

Everyone said “ZOINKS!” The world must be ending.

YAAAAAY it IS Scooby!!! 🤣

“Scooby-Doo, where were you?!”

“Now let’s find Mr. Simms.” “Let’s don’t.” Dude.

Shaggy and Scooby not interested in looking for Mr. Simms even though he took them to 47 luaus, but quickly change gears on the possibility he’ll take them to a 48th. Our heroes, everybody.

“You walked with me 🎶 Footprints in the sand 🎶 And helped me understand, Where I'm going…🎶” ~ Leona Lewis. Also, Velma’s clue (the footsteps and sand, not Leona Lewis.)

Mr. Simms is actually a journalist.

Animation Goof: lower outline of Daphne’s eyes are missing.

“Besides, those tracks stop at the JUNGLE.”“We can follow them in the JUNGLE.” Hawaii technically has Tropical Rainforests, but apparently jungles can also mean the lower part of rainforests, so what do I know? 🤷‍♀️

Fred weirds me out when he says the Scooby Snack [he’s holding to bribe Scooby] smells delicious and he actually looks like he’s enjoying it. Shaggy weirds me and everyone out when he sits, pants like a dog, eats the Scooby Snack right out Fred’s hand, and starts sniffing and crawling on the ground. 🤨

Old Hawaiian man sees a weirdo sniffing the ground with his dog and hides, as he should.

Piggy-back Stack escape in order from bottom to top: Velma > Freddy > Daphne > Shaggy > Scooby. Fun fact: the term “piggyback” might actually be from the term “pick-pack” (objects that were taken from storage and pitched onto a person's waiting shoulders for transport) that slowly evolved over time. Old Hawaiian man laughs at their antics, as he should.

Via the laws of shenanigary, the Scooby gang winds up split by accident (Fred + Daphne + Velma and Shaggy + Scooby.)

Oh never mind they all reunited. “Something will hit me.” Talking about figuring out how to find Shag and Scoob approximately three seconds before the iconic duo crashed into the three of them.

Shaggy finds a clue in the form of a towering idol/statue. Which means by sheer dumb luck, they found the haunted village.

Animation Goof: Why do Velma’s freckles keep reappearing and disappearing? Does she have any or not, show???

Animation Goof: Fred’s hair turned lemon blond before reverting back to banana blond.

??????? Is the Idol/Statue a machine??? How did it turn around like that??? More importantly, how do none of you notice it moving literally a second after you walked past it?????

Statue opens eyes. It tots is a machine.

Scooby Gang accidentally stumble upon the Tiki Ghost behind a hut, and run off. I assume he was about to go to the bathroom before they took him by surprise because all he does is angrily wave his stick at them without chasing them.

Shaggy hears a snorting/grunting/oinking sound and automatically assumes it’s Daphne Blake making them. Help this gives me so many questions about their friendship/relationship 😅🤣

Also, gang winds up split up by accident again, same groups as previously mentioned.

Shaggy confirmed to own a slingshot?

Since Shaggy has no slingshot at hand, he picks up Scooby by the tail and holds him like a club. This works because Ultra Instinct + Shenanigans.

Angry Momma Warthog and her not-as-angry-babies!

Good news: Fred taking a torch off a wall doesn’t make a secret trapdoor appear right under Danger-Prone-Daphne and close up when she falls through. Bad news: Fred taking a torch off a wall makes a secret trapdoor appear right under VELMA and close up when she falls through. Conclusion: Someone on the writing team is a Fraphne shipper and didn’t want Velma butting in?

Velma has landed in an underground cave or stone dwelling, which I assume used to hold animals or prisoners based on the chains we see.

Velma finds Mr. Simm’s tacky hat on a stone table. Only the end of the episode will tell if her assumption he’s been captured is spot on or missing the mark.

Bad news: Tiki Ghost enters his criminal headquarters and almost finds Velma. Good news: she’s smart as well as athletically inclined (not nearly as contradictory interests as mainstream media has and continues to lead you to believe despite all claims they are trying to subvert these tropes) and quickly escapes him.

“C’mon, Scoob. Like, you’re not really afraid of ghosts, are you?” Yes he is and so are you.

Lots of visual indicators of speedy movement this episode.

Giant Statue is the Iron Giant, but bad and on wheels.

Shaggy adding high knees to his usual running movement because fleeing for your life doesn’t meen you skip leg day.

Reunion with Velma, making Shaggy’s iconic duo with Scooby the iconic trio again.

Warning-about-potential-danger-but-another-character-finishes-your-sentence-correctly-name-dropping-the-bad-guy-you-were-going-to-mention-and-you-marvel-how-the-other-character-knows-only-for-them-to-point-behind-you-because-whoops-the-bad-guy-is-RIGHT-THERE gag.

Shaggy power jogs away then back again to retrieve Scooby. Don’t underestimate leg day.

Tiki Ghost pulls a Droopy Dog gag by inexplicably appearing in the very hut Shag+Velm+Scoob are hiding in as they barricade the door and even helps them.

Daphne, as she and Fred continue to look for Shag+Velm+Scoob in the same hut where they are trapped since she paid attention when they all accidentally split up from each other each time and there’s no visible way that the other three could get in: “Fred, there’s nobody here but us.” Fraphne shippers: 👀👀👀

Hey, it’s that old man again! Obviously he’s not the Tiki Ghost (I knew it!). Genuinely innocent, or the one manning the Statue?

Shelma: Shaggy dressed as Tarzan, Velma as Jane. Scooby’s there as Cheetah the Chimp. Vaguely remember this moment as a child and probably what helped me ship Shelma, without questioning when and how they nabbed Flintstone- like fur outfits. Also, why did people think Velma was fat? She’s not even remotely plus-sized in the series???

If Tiki Ghost really is Mr. Simms, he’s either dumber than a pile of rocks, he can’t see well out of that mask, or he’s uncomfortable with Shelma attire because the diversion to get Tiki Ghost away WORKS.

Fred and Daphne discover a room with super shiny oyster shells, indicating a motive for whoever the culprit may be (in case Mr. Simms really is innocent with a criminally bad fashion sense and is tied up somewhere.). There is also an OPEN WINDOW. Where they can ESCAPE. Please tell me they go out the window.

YES!!!! (They do)

“I’m too whacked to walk…”

An old abandoned airplane?

Nope. Not old, anyhow, as Velma quickly discovers the vegetation covering the aircraft is made of plastic. Meanwhile, poor Shaggy trips a wire that causes him to experience a jumpscare from the cackling skeleton sitting in the pilot’s seat, prompting this gem: “It’s a skinny spook! 😭”

Shaggy tries to get the last laugh on the fake skeleton after Velma snaps its cord attached to a recorder. “Hey, Skinny, d’you know why the skeleton went to the library? To bone up on a few things! 😜”

To everyone’s horror and my amusement, the skeleton thinks Shaggy’s joke is punny. “ehhahaHAhahaHAhehahaHA! 💀” Shaggy: 0; Skinny: 2

I just realized this episode might be the first time this show is using solid colored frames to indicate cutting from one scene to the next.

Everybody literally bumps into each other and reunite. “We were hoping we’d bump into you guys.” Shaphne and shared pun-related humor. “Yeah, but not so hard.”

And I'll carry you 🎶 When you need a friend 🎶 You'll find my footprints in 🎶 the sand 🎶” ~ Leona Lewis

There’s the old man again. Is he a masked menace after all?

Shaggy reminds us he’s the canonically stated to be athletically inclined one by taking the lead in swimming into the river/lake as they follow the old man.

Fred second-guessing his tendency to have himself and the gang immediately follow suspicious beings when they come up in a mysterious cavern with an ominous staircase.

Here is Tiki Ghost! And Statue!

In one scene, Daphne’s arms and body are clearly in front of Fred’s, but a split second later with a close up, an artist/writer thought that wasn’t Fraphne enough and now has Daphne holding on to Fred’s arm for dear life.

Is it just me or does this episode feel longer than the others?

Pretty clever of them to climb onto the rafters (?) inside of the hut so the Statue/Robot doesn’t find them even as he lifts the right hut.

I think this is the most accidental split ups the gang has undergone in this episode for this series.

This is a chase scene, but I guess the music supervisor couldn’t think of a catchy, unrelated love song to go with it.

We see how the gang accidentally split up at the hut where Shaggy confused a momma warthog’s snorting for Daphne (I still have questions); the hut seems like a more modern/mechanically-inclined building disguised as a traditional dwelling — similar to how the abandoned plan was made to look older than it actually is —, and the Tiki Ghost pressed a button from the outside to make the doors revolve similar to the revolving bookcases attached to walls you see in your average haunted mansion. I for one think having the button OUTSIDE for anyone to see and not well hidden is asking for trouble, but alas, I’m not a criminal of the week from an early 70s cartoon so what do I know?

Tiki Ghost freaks out upon seeing a Great Dane using his bathtub and back scrubber.

Shaggy dancing in a purple suit, a bamboo cane, and straw hat. Truly he is a man of many talents.

Look man; clearly pressing the button to revolve the door only to reveal Shaggy or Scooby doing shenanigans isn’t helping you actually nab them, so do yourself a favor and stop screeching in irritation and try whacking them with your Skull on a Stick.

Tiki Ghost tries so hard to be scary, but freaks out and runs for his life when seeing Shag and Scoob covered in foliage. Probably had nightmares when he watched “Invasion of the Bodysnatchers (1956)”.

Frelma (Velma standing next to a seated Freddy and giving him a cute look/pose as he hatches his plan) and Shaphne (Shaggy right beside a seated Daphne) and Scoob FINALLY reach the point to lay out a probably unsuccessful trap.

I’m sorry WHY do you happen to have a trick amusement park’s mirror in your Mystery Machine???

Animation Goof: Shaggy’s skin and the sleeves attached as he plays the ghost drums are several shades lighter than the rest of his body.

I suspected this trap was going to go south from the beginning, but seeing Shag and Scooby accidentally get a random witch doctor mask attached to them as they run from the Tiki Ghost (no I will not call him a witch doctor you can’t make me) seals its fate.

Or not?? While steps 2-3 were muddled after step 1 got bungled, the fourth step of Fred’s plan (get Tiki Ghost to fall into giant pit covered in palm leaves) seems to get everything back on track on nabbing the crook.

I KNEW IT WAS MR. SIMMS! He was waaaaay too suspicious from the start.

Also, he had a henchman operating the giant statue, which begs the question: why did he catch his own boss? *rewatches the scene* Actually Shaggy and Scooby were covering the statue’s eyes when they accidentally wound up on its face. Also he was actually the first Tiki Ghost we saw in the beginning of the episode, but Simms was already sus.

Animation Goof: Daphne’s lighter skin.

Well, what d’ya know? The old Hawaiian man is actually a young (and handsome) Hawaiian man named Lieutenant Tomoro who serves the Hawaiian Police Apartment.

Last vacation day for Scooby Gang is paid for by the Lieutenant bc obv Simms is otherwise occupied with being incarcerated.

Fraphne dancing, Shelma as Shaggy watched her do the hula, Shirtless Lieutenant playing the ukelele, and Scooby surfing on a surfboard on wheels (like a gurney.)

Day 23 of no “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”

#shenanigans #hanna barbera #scooby doo where are you #scooby doo #scooby dooby doo #shaggy rogers #shaggy norville rogers #daphne blake #velma dinkley #fred jones #shaphne #frelma #shelma #fraphne #footprints in the sand #leona lewis #fun facts

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grad504-michael · 2 years

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Rationale

For the second project we had to create an animation of our typeface, two gifs and vids all from the timeline tab on which you can find on windows. They had to be 1080x1080, the gif must be 15s or more and same goes for the video but change the frame rate to 24fps. We used the same typeface that we used for the first project. At first, I thought it was quite easy at first, the gif was not that difficult only problem was that some of the frames you would have kind of manually move them because tweening won’t do everything. There's only so much it can do. Not going to lie, I don’t remember doing any work throughout the holidays, so it was a struggle coming back it. Especially the video timeline, I spent time watching all the video tutorials that the lecture uploaded on canvas. It is a helpful tutorial. I Picked up many skills and techniques. For the first mp4 I learnt the technique of clip masking. This setting allows us to see the frame before and after. Mask the layer, holds the option key and click on the layer. So basically, I put letters in shapes, this transition helps to reveal the overall content. One thing that stood out to me for the first mp4 was the textured background that I added in. I messed around with the blending mode to see what fits; I didn’t want the color to change, I wanted it to blend in without any loss of tone and texture. I have used this technique for my second mp4. Command + E is to merge the layer, and to duplicate the layer is Command + J. All of this is saving me a lot of time. For the second mp4 I basically did the same thing, duplicate layers and rearrange them, for example the numbers, they appear on circle. Another technique that I have learned from canvas is 'wipes'. Having a slot of words can build tension and nice clean transition is to add wipes. I learnt a lot through these past few weeks and all I can say is that m grateful for the opportunity. I struggled a bit, but I was able to overcome it by watching the tutorials. I will keep exploring the animation technique and improve my skills for my future project.

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icharay · 2 years

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I judge books by their cover

Then get home ones I would probably never be able to read, and that’s okay. For books you don’t know much about, you look to the art surrounding it to give you a clue of whether it vibes with you. You know? Whether it takes itself seriously, whether it needs you to take a closer look, or if it’s inviting you to join in on an adventure.

There’s colour, and lines, and pictures, and art, and typefaces. They make you wonder why you don’t see those shapes and shades together more often.

Faces left half-illustrated, colours faded in, embossed words that you can only read at an angle. These let you fill in the gaps how you see fit at the time. What’s wonderful is you can do it differently every time you pick it up.

Monochrome sets, complementary hues, matte and glossy embossed motifs. They change colour with light. Look at them in the day, and then in the night. Mhmm!

Shiny, reflective foil printing. The cat within me is forever fascinated and entertained.

Covers that fold out into whole posters. Which of course I probably won’t ever put up on my walls because kharaab ho gaya toh?!

Ones that double up as space for word and picture games the author leaves readers to find when browsing through the shelves in a bookstore. Always a delight to go through when you can’t start on the chapter and you’re itching to pick up your phone again.

Covers with photography. I’ll be honest, these aren’t a favourite.

Covers with art from the movies it was adapted into.

Oh I reallly judge those. Especially if the cover art used to be a beautiful sketch or any of the other stuff mentioned above.

Soft pastel strokes and bold lettering. Soothing. Rousing. Calming. Determin…ing? Oh the possibilities!

Fabric covers that are cool to the touch but warm up pleasantly around your finger tips soon enough. Unless you have hyperhidrosis like I do. Then touching anything for too long is a b!tch if it’s over 23ºC.

Covers that turn it into a notebook for the titular character. I love seeing character names scribbled in the margins. I mean, I have my own library stamp.

It’s great. Think movie trailers you can hold and turn around and re-examine from a different perspective! And if you’re anything like me, you’re not reading nearly as much as you’d like anymore. I used to devour books when I was a child. Now I can barely read an entire article online – even ones about things I like! But hey, you’re trying. We all are. Hugs.

So here I am, struggling to get back into reading by writing about it. I have 5 books I’m in the middle of right now. By middle I mean 25 pages in. I genuinely like three of them, but a part of me is just too tired to put in any amount of effort into one more thing and another part just simply doesn’t want the story to end. So I’m looking at the covers and building endless worlds within. Ask me to hang in there, please?

...

Consider this as my submission to Compulsive Book Buyers’ Anonymous.

#todayithunk #books #book covers #writing #reading

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unsteadygalaxy · 3 years

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all is soft inside chapter 12

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3, my username is the same there!

previous | next

12. give me a piece of your heart

A quick note: I have the Pathfinder's Quest book and I finished it today (Feb 2nd 2021)! It was mind-blowing and amazing and SO, SO GOOD. Unfortunately, this fic can no longer fit into canon because of what we find out about Bloodhound. Don't worry, I won't be spoiling! I had a story set up for them before I read the lore book, and that's the story I'll be sticking to. Maybe one day I'll write some canon things, but for now, this story is no longer canon-compliant. Part of me is sad to have all the answers, but hey! That's what makes canon-divergent fics so fun :)

Elliott practically flies down the street towards the Legends’ apartment complex, bursting with nervousness and energy as he goes. The torrential downpour of rain doesn’t even manage to dampen his mood; he’s got a heavy-duty umbrella and an upbeat attitude that could make the skies clear up in moments. Bloodhound’s proposition hangs in his head, and he clings to it with an embarrassing neediness. ‘Would you like to visit me in my apartment later this evening?’ they had asked, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. He feels like a dumbass for the way he had reacted- god, he was so lame. Falling over his words, making the simplest mistakes… What fourteen year old in the area had reached out and possessed him? Whoever it was, he’d have to have a strong talk with them later.

After arriving back to his apartment above the bar, he’d scrubbed himself clean and very meticulously arranged his hair. He’d eventually chosen a deep purple sweater over a light blue button down, a pair of his nicer dark jeans, a black belt, and sneakers to wear for the evening. He’d hemmed and hawed in front of the mirror for at least twenty minutes, rolling and unrolling his sleeves, second guessing each outfit choice he made until he settled. He had decided to keep the sleeves rolled up, but the easy confidence he usually has in himself has chosen to take a pointed leave of absence.

Elliott really does feel like a teenager obsessing over their first date all over again, but he has to remind himself it’s not a date, it’s just a talk. A nice evening in. A nice evening alone with Bloodhound. His cheeks blaze, and the enormity of his crush on them plummets onto his head all at once.

Ahh, shit.

He finally lets his thoughts race and wander while thinking about them. For the first time in days, he lets himself linger on his memories of their face, though the quick glimpse he had gotten had not left him with much to remember. Their gorgeous red hair, their piercing green eyes, the striking contours of their face… They are so beautiful, and he would do anything to see their face again.

A giddy smile crosses his face when he thinks of all the times they’ve touched him on the arm or on the shoulder, or held his hands so softly. They had exuded kindness and compassion in those moments, the genuineness of which Elliott has not truly felt in a while. Bloodhound’s quiet vulnerability in the bar the other night had struck him as both odd and humbling; their increasing trust in him is something he definitely doesn’t want to take for granted.

The complex comes into view and Elliott’s heart starts to pound harder in his chest. It takes a great deal of effort to not run all the way to their door… until he realizes he doesn’t know which floor is theirs, much less which door.

Bzzt! His phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he jumps a little before retrieving it. A message from an unknown number is emblazoned across the lock screen:

Second floor, number 14.

-BH

Excitement and happiness surges through his veins, and he immediately saves their contact information. God, is he really that pumped about having their number? A big stupid smile stretches across his face, and he wants to smack himself. Chill, Elliott, chill. You’ve gotta get ahold of yourself before you get up there. He takes a deep breath and sends a quick reply to Bloodhound as he continues down the sidewalk, valiantly avoiding the puddles.

Nearly there! How’d you get my number?

A reply flashes through faster than he thought it would.

Renee owed me a favor. I hope it is all right that I asked her.

Oh, yeah, that’s fine! No problem :)

He has to physically restrain himself from adding a little heart; Renee or Octavio or Makoa were used to his nonsense, but he figures Bloodhound would only find it strange for him to be adding those things to his texts right off the bat. He’s busy smiling off into space when his phone vibrates again.

I am looking forward to seeing you.

Elliott’s heart practically explodes in his chest, and he steps right into a puddle.

------

Bloodhound can’t stay still.

Ever since those traitorous words had fallen from their mouth, they’d been on red alert, their brain and body a hopeless torrent of conflicting emotions that hadn’t quite settled. They think it’s fitting that it is raining; it seems the Allfather is showing his sympathies in the smallest of ways. The rain patters against the windows in a steady rhythm, and under any other circumstance it would have been very calming. They would have shed the mask and goggles and snuggled into the couch with a book and a cup of tea, but tonight, that isn’t an option. Instead, they’re wandering aimlessly around their apartment- cleaning corners that don’t really need to be cleaned, tending to Artur, and sipping at a glass of water every time they walk by the kitchen.

They’d hopped into the shower immediately after arriving home and cleaned every inch of their skin with an annoying attention to detail. Their anxiety had mounted in their chest until they had had to sit on the cold tiles of the shower with their head between their legs. Everything is going to be fine, they’d repeated to themself over and over again. Elliott would never hurt you.

The thought is ironic because of the stubborn headache at the base of their skull- Boone’s pain medicine had done little to abate the throbbing in their neck. As they think back on their day, they feel a surge of pride for Elliott. It seems that he is finally allowing himself to succeed, instead of limiting himself like he had before. He had truly surprised them today. Where they had once seen hesitation and worry, it had been replaced with deadly precision and focus, and Bloodhound would not change the outcome of the match even if they could. Elliott had been a wonderful sight to behold.

The frantic fear is nearly gone, but it lingers just enough to make them a little self-conscious. Opting not to wear their Games attire, they’ve picked a thick turtleneck, fitted cargo pants, woolen socks, and a slimmer pair of gloves that will hide their hands but not hinder any movement. The mask is laid on the table, ready to be put on at a moment’s notice. They’re already wearing the helmet, their goggles, and the leather cap. They’ve always hated having to pile wet hair under the hood, but their plans left them no choice. Bloodhound hasn’t cared much about their physical appearance in years, but for some reason, the idea of being alone with Elliott again makes them want to hide away in embarrassment.

An eager knock at the door startles Bloodhound, and they very nearly knock over their glass.

Their heart starts pumping in their chest, and their fingers fumble a little as they clip the respirator to the cap. Immediately, their breathing comes easier, and they scold themself for going so long without it this evening. Bloodhound makes their way to the door and opens it, revealing an absolutely drenched Elliott holding a broken umbrella in one hand and a pair of sopping wet sneakers in the other.

“Hey! I, uh, definitely stepped in a ton of puddles on the way here. I usually watch where I’m going but these ones were sac- ski- scattered everywhere, so I couldn’t see them at all, and then of course the wind picked up and shredded my umbrella, so I’m totally soaked.” He shrugs helplessly and shakes the bent umbrella off a little, showering Bloodhound’s feet with droplets of water. “Ah, shit. Sorry!”

They shake their head at him and sigh, and a shiver goes through their body as they think about being drenched in this weather. “It is of no consequence, Elliott, I can very easily change socks. Please, come in,” they say, and they lead him into their apartment.

They try not to look at him as he takes in their apartment, suddenly insecure about how simple and bare it looks. The apartment had come furnished, but it is not quite to their tastes. Bloodhound prefers a more homey and warm feel, not the modern, sleek look that is so popular these days. The windows in the living room are quite large. Bloodhound had had a tinted effect added to them immediately- for their anonymity and so the light coming in would not be quite so harsh on their sensitive eyes. The furnishings are a combination of aesthetically pleasing colors and fabrics, all tones of white or grey or brown. A couple of plush blankets are draped over the back of the couch, and minimalistic frames are hung on the walls, great white voids containing typeface quotes and old cliches. The fireplace is an inordinate monolith of dark stone, and if Bloodhound had thought of it, they would have started a fire to make it seem less dull and boring. The thought occurs to them that they should have made this place more welcoming, but they are not vain enough to care in the long run. After all, will Elliott even want to return after he receives the answers to his questions? Bloodhound thinks not.

“Wow,” Elliott remarks, leaning his umbrella against the wall by the door. “It’s so clean.” He strips off his socks and rolls up his pants a little so the soggy ends aren’t rubbing around his ankles. The cuffs fit tightly around his very sculpted calves, and Bloodhound blushes before looking away pointedly.

“This space is not to my tastes,” they reply, watching him walk around. “My real home is much more notalegt- cozy- and warm. Not cold and unfeeling like this place is.”

“Your real home?” he asks, glancing at them. “You don’t live in the Legends complexes full time?”

“I stay in the buildings during the on season, but during the off season, I retreat to a modest cabin in the woods,” they explain, and they realize they’ve made their first confession of the night. That... wasn’t so bad. “There are bookshelves from floor to ceiling, a large fireplace, plenty of furs to keep warm, and a view that would take your breath away. I quite enjoy it.”

“That sounds amazing,” he grins. That smile… Bloodhound has to take a deep breath.

“Maybe I will show you one day,” they say, surprising themself with how easily they offer. “It is a beautiful place, and I think you would like it.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised. “You’d, uh… you’d let me go with you?”

“Perhaps,” they murmur, and their heart starts to beat hard in their chest again. They notice he’s still carrying his wet shoes and socks, and they move to take them from him. “Here. Let me start a fire. Your shoes and socks will be dry in no time.”

“Oh, thank you!” he replies cheerily, and the smile he gives them makes their heart skip a beat. They take the soggy items from him, cringing a bit at the questionable texture, and set them on the mantle for a moment. Overly aware of how closely he’s watching them, they kneel down, turn the gas knob, and light the fire quickly. In moments, a rosy glow emanates from the fireplace and Bloodhound pulls the screens over to eliminate any chance of Elliott’s things going up in flames. They reach up and place the shoes and socks on a small rack in front of the fire, and then they stand and retreat to their room for a moment.

Before long, they return to the living room wearing a fresh pair of socks and carrying a pair for Elliott. “Here,” they say, holding them out to him. “So your feet are not cold. It can be drafty in here when it rains.”

A pink tinge comes to his cheeks, and he accepts them hesitantly. “You’re way too nice,” he grumbles quietly as he sinks down onto the couch. He puts them on and then pushes his floppy wet hair out of his face. “Hey, can I borrow your hair dryer?” he asks, giving them a questioning glance.

“I… do not own one,” they reply, face burning. “Mine gave out a few weeks ago and I have not yet had time to buy another.”

To their surprise, he grins widely and looks away, suddenly very focused on the fire. “That’s all right,” he says, and his voice is curiously flustered. “I can just sit in front of the fireplace for a bit. You’re about to see the fluffiest hair the Outlands has to offer.” He laughs and rolls his eyes, raking his hands through his messy mop.

The thought of Elliott with an untamed mess of curly hair makes them smile like a lovesick teenager, and they’re so, so glad they’re still wearing the mask. “So your hair is not perfect all the time?” they tease, sitting down on the couch next to him. They leave a respectable distance between them, but the distance is smaller than it would have been two or three weeks ago. “Ah, so he does have a flaw. Artur, can you believe it?”

They look to Artur’s perch where the bird has been sleeping peacefully throughout all of this. The bird shakes his beak and gives a soft caw before shuffling along his branch, completely ignoring Bloodhound. They shake their head at him. Unhelpful creature, they think affectionately.

Elliott scoffs and says, “Psh, no! I’m absolutely fal- flo- fu- perfect. My hair just has a life of its own sometimes.” He flips his hair to the opposite side and gives Bloodhound a ridiculously goofy expression. It takes everything in them to not burst out laughing, and they would have given him a deadpan expression if they could.

“Like your aim with an R-99, then,” they reply, keeping their voice as even as possible.

His mouth drops open, but he’s smiling. “Wh-What? Was that a joke? Did you actually just tell a joke?” A huge, incredulous laugh escapes his throat and he grabs his chest, and Bloodhound almost loses it. “That’s a little unfair though, considering how I absolutely lasered you today.”

It’s Bloodhound’s turn to laugh, and their face hurts from how much they’ve smiled lately. “You are correct, Elliott,” they admit, holding their hands up in a placating gesture. “I was very impressed with your skill this morning. Your precision and focus made you a formidable opponent, and I was honored to fight with you.”

Instead of the cocky, arrogant response they have come to expect from him, Elliott actually blushes. It is a welcome change; his cheeks turn a lovely shade of red and he looks away, biting his lip. “Thanks,” he says simply, and his voice is… bashful?

Bloodhound does not quite know what to make of that.

------

His face burns fiercely and he can’t meet their eyes. He loves getting praise from his fans and from his friends, but getting praised by Bloodhound somehow means so much more. Maybe it’s because they’re so skilled, or maybe it’s because he respects them the most out of any other Legend, but such high compliments coming from them renders him a little speechless.

“Hey, I know this is dumb since we’re paid to kill each other, but, um… Sorry about today,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Taking an entire clip of ammo to the head always gives you a nasty headache.”

Bloodhound huffs quietly, and Elliott takes that to be a soft laugh. “Do not worry, vinur minn. I am perfectly fine. It was simply the Allfather’s will for me to lose today, and I am not offended.”

Elliott lets out a small chuckle, relieved. “Well, that’s good to know. I was worried I might have broken your mask.”

They tap their mask firmly, and it makes a solid thunk sound. “You see? Perfectly fine,” they reply, and Elliott can hear the smile in their voice. “It is quite solid and substantial. Unlike much of your humor.”

Elliott stares at them open mouthed. “I’m wounded, Bloodhound, truly!” he rebutts, scandalized. He flops back against the couch dramatically, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. Bloodhound, making multiple jokes in one night? The world must be ending, he thinks, and he doesn’t even care that the jokes are coming at his expense.

Bloodhound laughs, and God, he’s missed that sound. The gentle lilt, the soft breathiness of their voice… Elliott blushes even as he giggles, and he treasures the noise they’re making.

“I have been known to be humorous now and again,” they say, still chuckling.

Elliott can only smile and shake his head in wonder as the two of them laugh, and soon, he’s wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Wow. Okay, out of all the things I expected tonight it definitely wasn’t that.”

“And what have you expected for this evening, Elliott?” Bloodhound cocks their head and leans back into the couch, folding their arms.

A thrill of joy runs its course throughout his body when they say his name, and he finds it strange. Bloodhound has surely said his name hundreds of times, but this feels different. Elliott is sure he’s overthinking it, but the way they had said it feels like they were humming a song.

His entire body glows with warmth. “You promised me answers,” he says carefully as the giddiness starts to drain away. “You don’t have to go into specifics but… still, you promised answers.”

Bloodhound is silent for a moment, and their hands fidget lightly in their lap. Then they nod. “Yes. I do owe you answers, so please, ask whatever you would like.” Their voice is guarded and serious, and the shift in attitude is sobering.

Elliott notices how discomfort begins to creep into their posture, and so he resolves to not push them any further than they are willing to be pushed. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the air hissing between his teeth as he leans back and begins to think. “Okay, um… Well, I was worried about your mask breaking because I don’t know how it works or how it helps. Can I ask why you need it?”

The question only makes Bloodhound’s body language tighten up more. They are silent for several long moments, seeming to ponder and consider his question. Was that too much right out of the gate? he thinks frantically, and he’s about to redact his question when they let out a big breath and begin to speak.

“When I was a child, I was… in an accident,” they say, but something about their admission feels shallow, as if they have more to tell. “No. I made a grave mistake.”

Elliott takes a deep breath and readjusts himself on the couch. He can tell this story will be a long one, and he intends to listen to every word.

“In my culture, young warriors must endure a rite of passage that shows our strength and our transition into adulthood,” Bloodhound explains. “My test was to slátra a prowler beast. I was afraid, but... I knew the Allfather would guide me.” They pause for a moment, and Elliott hangs on to their every word. “I followed its tracks to an abandoned IMC facility deep in the woods, but what I found there was far more hryllilegur. Horrible,” they add when Elliott raises an eyebrow.

“A jötunn had made its home there. It is a terrifying beast, all horns and teeth and claws. It is as large as some of the buildings in Slum Lakes, if you can recall. I began to run away, but I found a prototype Charge Rifle and shot the beast. I thought it was dead. I collected its horn to present to my uncle, but he was... disappointed in me.” They sigh deeply as dread begins to pool in Elliott’s stomach. “I had rejected the sacred laws of the Hunt by using a gun in order to defeat this beast. Artur was steadfast, immovable in his convictions, and no matter how hard I tried to convince him of my victory, he would not validate it.

“I left in anger. I was a child, only fourteen years old, but if the other village elders knew what I had done, they would have exiled me. I was... so ashamed.” Bloodhound swallows, and it sounds like it takes a lot of effort. “I retreated to the forest to be alone, as I often did, and… the jötunn was there. It was not dead, as I had hoped. It sought revenge.

“I tried my best to fight it off. My uncle was alerted to my cries, and came to help, along with many other villagers. They fought, and…” Their voice tightens, and Elliott’s heart breaks. “Many died. Including my uncle.”

Their voice has become achingly vulnerable and soft the longer they’ve spoken, and Elliott wants nothing more than to reach out and take their hands again. He shifts closer to them on the couch, closing the gap ever so slightly. His eyes stay glued to their mask, and the lenses of their goggles reflect the flickering light of the fireplace. He’s always found the mask to be either intimidating or expressionless, but Bloodhound’s sadness speaks for them, and the mask seems to be considerably more morose than usual.

“I sought the beast out,” they continue, and Elliott is surprised by how quietly angry and low their voice is. “It had returned to the abandoned facility. The halls had been equipped with coolant lines in case of an explosion or other emergency, and I broke them in order to immobilize the beast. But I breathed too much of it in, and… it dehydrated and froze my skin and lungs, leaving me scarred. Fortunately, I was able to find an oxygen mask just before I succumbed to the cold. Once the beast was frozen, I killed it with my uncle’s axe, fulfilling my test.”

Bloodhound is quiet for some time, and it takes Elliott a moment to realize they’re done talking. He knows he’s staring, and he knows he looks like he’s pitying them, and he fights to find an adequate response. “I’m so sorry, Bloodhound,” he murmurs, and he reaches out to them hesitantly. He takes their hands ever so softly, giving them every opportunity to pull away. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with such horrible things when you were younger. That sounds really tra- tor- traumatizing.” He’s struck by an incredible urge to pull them into his arms and hold them close, and a wave of embarrassment runs through his body as he presses that urge down.

Bloodhound’s hands begin to tremble in his, and he’s alerted to their discomfort immediately. Their breathing comes quicker and shallower even through the mask, and he holds onto them tighter. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, worried.

“I-” Their voice breaks and Elliott’s heart clenches in his chest. “I- I am sorry, Elliott, you do not want to see me like this-” Bloodhound makes an attempt to pull away and stand, but Elliott holds on tight, keeping them right where they are.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “It’s okay! It’s all right. I’m not bothered by you being emotional. It’s actually pretty refreshing, honestly. Makes you feel more normal, like the rest of us.”

They laugh weakly, and Elliott sighs in relief. “T-Thank you, vinur minn. I just- I am prone to anxiety attacks, and…” They suck in a huge lungful of air, but they’re still shaking. “That is why I left the other night. When you asked me about Artur, I was overcome and needed to leave as quickly as possible. Please do not take any offense- it was not your fault.”

Elliott’s chest fills with a strange sense of compassion and guilt, and he squeezes their hands comfortingly. “It’s okay, Bloodhound,” he reassures them. “I’m not mad. Just… worried.” The admission makes him feel exposed and overbearing all at once, and he really hopes he’s not making them uncomfortable.

An idea comes to his mind. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Breathe with me.”

Bloodhound stiffens, and Elliott hopes to God he hasn’t somehow offended them. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and after a moment, he hears Bloodhound inhale greatly as well. He finds himself rubbing his thumbs back and forth across their rough gloves, just like they had done to him a few nights ago. He lets the air calm him and settle his racing heart. He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, or if he’s even doing this right, but to his delight, Bloodhound’s breathing begins to slow and even out. They gradually stop shaking, and he smiles.

Elliott opens his eyes. “Better?” he asks, and he gives their hands a quick squeeze.

They are quiet for a moment. “Nearly,” they murmur, and they pull their hands away. Elliott’s face falls, and rejection begins to rise in him, but they take off their gloves and reach for him once more. He eagerly closes the gap between his shaking fingers and theirs. The place where they make first contact with his skin- a small place near his thumb- tingles pleasantly, and the warmth of their hand settles in his. He inhales sharply, and beams as their fingers curl into his own.

“Better.” They are so quiet and soft as they speak, and Elliott almost misses what they say. “Your kindness is a blessing to me, kæri vinur. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, trying to find their eyes beyond the lenses of their goggles. Despite his happiness, he finds himself wishing that he could search their face for meaning, for emotion, for clarity. He knows why they need and wear the mask. He knows why he will likely never see their face again. But, damn, does he desperately want to gaze upon them just one more time. He doesn’t know what kæri vinur means, but he can’t help but notice the similarities between it and what they usually call him.

He doesn’t dare to hope it means anything.

...does he?

“Do you… do you want to talk about it, or…?” he trails, attempting to do what they had done a few nights ago.

“No, Elliott,” they reply, but their voice is not unkind. Their grip on his hands tightens for a moment, then they loosen, and it sends a thrill down Elliott’s spine. “Your help was more than enough to calm me.”

He adjusts himself on the couch, and his knee brushes against theirs. The only light in the room comes from the quietly crackling fire, and it highlights Bloodhound’s features with a silhouette of warmth. His heart starts to pound in his chest once more, and every sense heightens. Elliott suddenly becomes aware of how intimate and vulnerable this little bubble of space is, and his shoulders tense in anticipation of something he knows will never come. He wants to pull them close. He wants to lace his fingers in theirs. He wants to…

“Can I trust you, Elliott?”

They sound so… exposed. So afraid. His breath catches in his throat for a moment. “O-Of course, Bloodhound. You can trust me with anything,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs across their knuckles reassuringly. He’s surprised by how rough their hands are, and it’s only then that he remembers the silvery spider web scars stretching across their skin.

“Then… there is something I wish to share with you,” they reply, and their hands begin to tremble in his again. They let go of him, and to his utter shock, their hands go to their helmet, edging towards the many clasps that fasten it to their goggles and respirator.

“W-Wait, hold on,” he stutters, and he reaches for their hands again. “A-Are you- hey, you really don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, I mean- I mean, are you absolutely sure?” He stares at them in confusion and worry, and his stomach is an unintelligible knot of emotion. Elliott searches their mask and their body language, trying desperately to figure out what the hell they’re thinking.

“If I was not sure I would not be doing this,” they chide gently, and they remove their hands from his grip. “Please, just let me do this. Ég er svo- I am so tired of hiding.”

Elliott can’t argue with that.

“Okay,” he says, still very unsure. His hands fall back into his lap.

------

The child inside them shakes and trembles horribly as they raise their hands to their head. Part of them screams and begs for them to stop, and it’s only in this moment that they realize that part is the terrified twenty-five year old that had had their mask shattered in front of all those people so long ago. That crowd had been so cruel, but Elliott could never share their vitriol, their hatred. Bloodhound has seen into the man’s heart more than they ever thought they would, and no trace of cruelty exists inside him.

How long has it been since they willingly showed someone else their face? Five years? Ten? Ajay seeing them had been a complete and total accident- one that they had learned not to mind. Boone had grown up with them, of course, so he does not count. But Elliott… At the beginning of this night, they never would have dreamed of doing what they’re about to do. But Elliott is so kind, so thoughtful and accepting that their heart yearns for him greatly, and they can ignore that fact no longer.

Their fingers fumble with the straps of their helmet, but something drives them forward. It drives them to be vulnerable- to be open and take a risk. Elliott has seen their face already, so why are they so nervous? He has seen the scars they bear- why are they trembling like the young one they used to be? They do not know, but they hope that the price of them being so vulnerable is a price he’s willing to pay.

There is no turning back now, they think.

With trembling hands, they remove the helmet, cap, goggles, and finally, the mask.

#apex #apex legends #miragehound #mirage #bloodhound #mirage apex #mirage apex legends #bloodhound apex #bloodhound apex legends #miragehound fanfiction #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #my writing

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

The Headless Halloween Special || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Halloween

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Some good stories are real, and there he is.

CONTAINS: mild gore, death

Stuffing cartons of milk behind dusty boxes of organic tea was a thankless job, and not a job anyone should be doing at all, actually. But Deirdre grinned wide and lopsided, proud of herself and hungry for more in the same breath. In any other month, she might have spared one pitying thought to the poor underpaid, overworked employee that would undoubtedly come across it and the acrid scent of spoiled milk. “What should we do next?” She beamed at Morgan, brilliant under the harsh grocery store fluorescents. For the better part of an hour, going around their usual shopping trip to cause what little bits of mischief they could, she had been bouncing on her feet, excitedly taking Morgan’s hands in hers and awarding her girlfriend generously with kisses and whispered affections. While delight of mayhem was nothing new, the season sparked a certain propensity inside fae, and especially for Deirdre--who had never gone this far into October without indulging a ring or two. “Oh but we do need---” Deirdre reached into the shelf and plucked a particularly pungent tea off the shelf--pungency known by way of trial--and dropped it into their basket. She was sure if she steeped enough teas together she’d be able to concoct a mixture that Morgan could taste. So far she’d blocked her own sense of smell and created something that had just a whiff of taste for Morgan. It might have helped to use something with more inherent flavor, but she was nothing if not determined. “There,” she grinned again, leaning in to press her lips to Morgan in another flurry of kisses. “Ooh, we should switch prices around! We can stick some ‘out of order’ signs on things too, I brought a marker! And--and--” Her eyes darted around, seeing a kaleidoscope of possibilities. In the end, she turned to Morgan and her grin softened as it so often did for her love. She wanted to know what Morgan thought, more than anything. It didn’t matter to her how many soda bottles they hissed out of their carbonation, only that Morgan was there with her. And just as her grins softened, her words were coded: “....you know I think we were actually supposed to get milk. Last I remember we were out.” This was one for I love you and no one moment would ever be enough.

Following Deirdre down her impulse rabbit hole was like dancing blindfolded on Hanging Rock. Morgan could sense the edge just beyond her, in the side eye of the tired cashiers, in the double-take of a fellow customer as they took a can of what they thought was baked beans but what was definitely spaghetti-o’s thanks to Morgan’s deft re-packaging skills. But Deirdre, floating on the call of distant mushrooms and the buzz of All Hallow’s Eve, reeled her from exhilaration, to panic, and back to safety again with just a crook of her finger, a stretch in her smile, a whisper in her words. Nestled so close on their misfit misadventure, with Deirdre’s lips fluttering around her like so many butterflies, Morgan almost forgot her fear that this wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her, keep her. Morgan fished out her notebook and craft tape from her purse and handed them off to her girlfriend; she had come prepared.

“I think that’s an excellent idea, my love,” she said, stretching up to kiss her back. “I bet you could switch the bathroom signs with the storage closet signs too.” It was going to make a lot of work for a lot of underpaid and undervalued workers, a pain Morgan understood too well, but whatever havoc they wreaked was better than losing Deirdre for two weeks and risking just as many people getting maimed and murdered with her mushroom brainwashing. So, really the universe should thank her for the mischief or keep its trap shut. And even if Morgan was hesitant to admit it, the experience was a little thrilling, especially given the night. In trying to get nearer to Deirdre’s mindwave, Morgan was able to unglue herself from some of her concerns. Tomorrow, when the black and orange crepe went down and the skeletons folded into boxes, she would worry about the consequences. But here, under the dangling cardboard Frankensteins and Draculas, it was all hazy and not quite real.

Grinning, Morgan peeled off a sale sticker and moved it across the aisle before saying, “When we pick up that milk, we can take an extra carton to hide somewhere til it spoils in a few days?” She said. “Ooh! Or maybe by the heating vent, so it gets smelly faster and the smell circulates!” She steered their cart toward the refrigerated section. “Also, what are your thoughts on cream or eggnog? It’s so pungent, it might be good to try. But I want it to be something you like too, just in case.” She pulled open the frozen doors and took out some of the cartons they needed when the sound of shattered glass broke through the hum of the everyday. Morgan clutched Deirdre’s sleeve. “Babe…?” She said, voice shrill in a way that asked what’s going on?

Deirdre set about making her ‘Out of Order’ sign, the letters big and bold and straight, her best attempt at typeface. The idea to switch the bathroom and storage signs was genius, and she whispered as much to her girlfriend, aglow with affection for her. They hadn’t quite mastered pushing a cart around while stuck together the same way they had walking, but Deirdre tried it anyway, body flush against Morgan’s band and arms wrapped around her waist. She had her love sandwiched between her and the cart she commanded, delighted at the ease at which she could lean down and press her lips to Morgan’s neck. Eggnog by the heater was such a good idea, yes, she mumbled her praise there, equally as gleeful about the mischief they could commit as she was about simply being in the presence of her girlfriend. In fact, she could have left the mischief altogether, and basked in her love. The part of her that retained sense, questioned if Morgan thought this was as fun as she did. She hadn’t stopped to ask yet, and just as she parted her lips to do it, shattering glass cut across their conversation. Deirdre snapped up, trying to hear the residual ring of a scream---maybe Regan thought it was a good idea to shop. But there was no scream, just the murmur of confused humans around her. “Someone must’ve just dropped a jar…” She sighed, eager to get back to their fun. But as her grip snaked tightly back around Morgan, she considered that the crash was too loud to be a tiny jar. Was it a whole crate dropped? No, there wasn’t enough rattling for that. Deirdre knew her glass breaking well, and it sounded more like a window. Then, as she considered it again, did she really care about someone’s window? There was Morgan and the prospect of stinky eggnog and what did it matter to her if the window broke and---Deirdre blinked. She remembered Constance, and her rage and havoc, and frowned. “Let’s go see, okay?” Her voice turned soft, “it might just be nothing, but there’s never anything wrong with going to check.” She took the cart from Morgan’s grip and took the lead as she moved them along.

She stiffened suddenly, shot up like an animal on alert. The cart slipped from her grip, crashing into the shelves, letting a few cookie boxes topple down into their cart. Deirdre thrust her hand into her pocket and fished out her enchanted choker, snapping it around her neck. She was aglow with something else now and she turned to her girlfriend with a toothy grin. “Someone’s going to die!” Deirdre took Morgan’s hand and sprinted to the scene---she couldn’t be late for the show, after all.

Morgan froze alongside Deirdre, her anxiety firing off one catastrophe after another in her mind. Constance loved breaking windows. If her classroom invasion was anything to go by, she was sure to like a grand production too. Maybe she’d gotten tired of waiting and she’d plough through the whole store so there was no one left to help her. Maybe she was trying to turn into a poltergeist on purpose, and reach that last bit of power she didn’t have yet so she could have all the fun she wanted. Or maybe this was some new eldritch horror. Maybe this was how the literal apocalypse started. Neither Deirdre nor her were going to know if this was where Morgan died. It wouldn’t be as peaceful as before. She wouldn’t be held or loved, she would just be here one second and gone the next, like that moment when you realize you’ve tripped and you’re about to fall. It would end with a gasp, and she would be all alone, and maybe… Deirdre fumbled for her choker and Morgan pulled her down as if for a kiss. It gave her something to hold on to, and if anyone was watching anything but whatever had just happened, they wouldn’t see the veins on her face. “You’re beautiful all the time,” she muttered, eyes flickering around them. Was it going to come when she turned around? Was it coming right now?

Then Deirdre pulled back, smiling like a kid in a Christmas special.

Morgan’s face pulled with confusion. “Uhh…” Before she could find the words for a question, they were sprinting down the nearest aisle to a cluster of humans holding out their phones to capture the mayhem.

“Deirdre—!” She hissed. “Wait! What if it’s—!” Dangerous? Potentially lethal?

A twenty-something guy stood in the middle, doused head to foot in blood. It was clumped all over his face and glasses, and running brown, ugly stains on his tweet and t-shirt combo. “Not cool, this was my grandpa’s vest! And you know what, he makes better fake blood than this! From the grave!” He pointed angrily and took off his glasses, trying in vain to wipe them clean while stained all over. Morgan followed his finger, still clinging tight to Deirdre so they wouldn’t be separated.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Morgan whispered.

The horse was darker than dark. Morgan felt sure he wasn’t even black at all, just that her brain didn’t know how to process the void of death turned into hair and lean, restless muscle. Its eyes seemed to glow beneath its long, wild hair. Steam rose from this nostrils as it sniffed and reared, looking for something. The rider was dressed to match his steed. Everything from his cloak to his gloves were black and brought to a shine. He—and it must have been a he, Morgan had seen the cartoon specials and the horror movies and the legends too many times for him to be anything else—clasped the bridle with one hand, assured and patient. She had never been more awed or scared of such calm. How could such menace be so still?

He turned to survey the store. How he could manage that with no head, Morgan couldn’t guess, but she felt someone, something’s attention on her and felt it fade again. He lifted a saber, bright as the glinting spurs on his boots, and steered the horse into the crowd of shoppers, already taking aim.

Morgan watched, too transfixed to look at Deirdre as she hissed, “Is that what you saw?”

Deirdre didn’t know how, when or why it would happen, only that it would and that it would be here. The sting of holding in a scream would be worth it to watch the last moments of life for herself, in person---as if a vision would spoil the surprise. If only she’d known who she’d be seeing, she would have let her scream rip across the store. She could imagine no greater honor than announcing him with a wail. “The Dullahan…” Her delight grew in invaluable measures. She pulled Morgan close to her, arms strategically protective of her neck lest the Dullahan have slippery fingers. She smiled at the argumentative human now marked for death, she hadn’t screamed for him just yet, but she committed his face to memory so she might watch him later. “Where the banshee screams, the Dullahan claims…” She whispered, gaze fixed on him. He was better than any story described him; horse darker than any words could commit to description, cloaked in finer material than her grandmother cared to describe, and more commanding than their mythic retellings did justice to. “Don’t worry,” she held Morgan tighter, just as she would were they cuddling together at home, watching a movie. “The Dullahan won’t take what he hasn’t marked.” Which meant she didn’t need to keep her body wrapped around Morgan like a protective sheet, but even knowing the Dullahan’s truth, she wouldn’t be moved from concern. “You don’t have to look but…” Her warning died on her lips, sequestered between her grin. She watched his spine whip clack to the ground, dragging along as he trotted slowly, saber raised in his other hand. Would he let her come close enough to touch it? Would he let her wield it, just once? Surely, he must know of her too. The banshees and the dullahan were always linked in her stories, in the way her family spoke of his legend. Should she snap a picture to rub in her cousin’s faces later? Enamored, she nearly missed the main attraction.

It was the old man’s head who went first, a satisfying swish in the air and then a dun-dun as it bounced dully on the floor--one short hop and then nothing. Then it was his wife, who hadn’t gotten the chance to finish her screaming. The small crowd murmured around them, the bloody college student groaned his disapproval. It wasn’t realistic, he said. Too much blood, he complained. Such unnecessary gore, he could do better. Deirdre wanted to see him try. The Dullahan’s steed raised into the air, whinnying, small plumes of fire snorted out as it turned and started the trot back. Glass crunched beneath its feet as the humans conversed amongst themselves; was it fake, was it real, did they get a discount now that their fruits were blood-covered? Deirdre reached for Morgan’s hand and tugged her along. “Come on, let’s follow him! I want to talk to him. I want to--Fates, there’s so much I want to do.”

With Deirdre’s arms snuffing out the rest of the world around her, Morgan could almost imagine that she was watching some strange immersive play. The Dullahan’s whip was so finely articulated, she couldn’t catch how it held together except by magic. It glistened under the fluorescent lights in the supermarket, cracking louder than the rotation of 90’s pop hits wheezing through the speakers. The tune changed to “My Heart Will Go On” as the blade slashed through the air. Blood flew in one curling wave through the store to the tune of a romantic flute. Morgan covered her mouth, trying not to salivate as it bounced to the floor. Even with all she knew, all she understood about the world, finding out the headless horseman and all those Scottish legends were true sent her brain into some out-of-body experience limbo until the head rolled right to her feet as if it wanted to say hello. The brain inside was probably so juicy and firm, like a fucking burger fresh off the grill. Then came the second, the old woman’s scream cut off in favor of Celine Dion jumping into the next key. The bodies thunked to the floor, which ran slick and heavy with blood. They would be soft for an hour or two, the veins and sinew tender as spaghetti. Morgan’s stomach growled and begged for just one Halloween treat. Surely no one would notice, just one mouthful and--

Then they were running.“Deirdre!”

Morgan whined, missing her chance at just one cheat night from her diet, but she managed to call out a, “Totally just performance art, y’all! Sorry about your groceries!” Before they were too far away to be heard. They chased him through the parking lot, halting by the Subaru just in time to see the Dullahan’s horse launch itself onto a car and then into running traffic with preternatural ease. It was so bewildering she couldn’t help but start to laugh. What else was next? The Great Pumpkin? Morgan scraped a glob of blood from her cheek and sucked it off. “When were you going to tell me the Headless Horseman was real? And a what--ethereal banshee groupie? Banshee idol?” She asked. From Deirdre’s rapturous voice, she had a sense that she was at least close. “Come on, fangirl, you’re not gonna beat a horse on foot.”

“He’s not supposed to be real!” Deirdre beamed, committing the sight of his horse, whip, and headless body to memory. As a child, she only dreamed of him. There were paintings and pictures, of course, but none were like this. And though she often tried to bury the little girl that she was, she tried to awaken her now. She wanted to point and say there he is. Some good stories are real, and there he is. She met Morgan’s gaze, bright with glee. There was something else she could point to here, and she wished to stir her past awake again. There’s the Dullahan and a woman that loves you, both are real, both can be real. She would have been happier to know it. “Just a tale we enjoy,” she explained, giddily hopping around the parking lot. There was no horse of her own to give chase in, though she looked around as if one might pop up---the night was magical enough, it only seemed fair. She turned to Morgan and the Subaru, far from a noble steed but certainly...better than running. “Okay but drive really fast,” Deirdre bounced into the passenger seat, forging a seat belt and pushing down her window until she could stick her head out and watch the Dullahan. By luck, he seemed to be following the roads. “And of course I’m a fan,” she pulled her head back in, “have you seen him? His whip is made from spines! And fates I wish I could dump blood on the people I screamed for, or ride in to the sound of thunderous hooves. We’d dress like him with our robes and claim heads with our scythes but it really isn’t the same.” With a sigh, she fell back into her seat. “I don’t understand why he’s running away. I think by all accounts, he should really like me. Do you think I was too excited? I was too excited, wasn’t I?” When they caught up to him, she’d remember to tone it down.

Morgan’s dry incredulity melted at the sight of Deirdre’s childlike excitement. Four year olds in line to meet the ‘real’ Santa Claus couldn’t be any closer to joy than Deirdre watching the glint of that shiny whip in the evening. Morgan kissed her then, wrapping this moment in all its strangeness up and keeping it for later when needed to remember happy times. They had no trouble speeding out of the store. By now someone would have realized that the elderly couple had been killed, for real, and would need to stay put and give statements if they weren’t simply frozen with shock. Soccer moms and dads were most likely out inching along residential streets with their small armies of foam-clad superheroes, princesses, and monsters. College kids, already walled up in their parties. The winding freeway was quiet. The mist that rolled down was fine enough that the scant cars ahead were easy to spot and weave around, and down and down they drove, until Morgan could see the sparks flying up from under the horse’s hooves in the dark. “Oh, babe,” Morgan laughed. “No such thing as too excited. I want to remember you being this incredibly excited forever.” She gave Deirdre’s hand a squeeze, keeping her tethered down to the car. “Maybe he’s on a tight schedule. You should get your camera out, or throw him a gift to catch, or a scream, so he knows who you are.” Morgan’s hands tingled on the wheel as she spoke; she had that feeling of being on the edge again, whirling into somewhere unknown, like anything could happen next. It was enough to silence the worried questions at the back of her mind. “Also, when we get back, you absolutely have to tell me about the dress up games you played. And the stories. I know of human written stories about headless riders, including at least one female apparition, but I’ve only read Washington Irving and that silly Disney special that gave me nightmares.” She nodded at Deirdre encouragingly, there was no one around to endanger as far as she could see, and they were so close, she was almost on the Dullahan’s heels. “Go on. Let yourself have this.”

The Dullahan was a myth to her family no different from love, care, and humans of equal status. What did it say that she could see the Dullahan galloping away in front of her? That Morgan was holding her hand, speaking with laughter about her excitement. “Camera!” Deirdre exclaimed, wide-eyed. She searched herself frantically for her phone. Not that pocket, no that was a knife, that was also a knife, move knives---“Got it!” She unlocked her phone and found the camera app, a skill she had only recently learned. “Do you think he’ll want to take a picture with me?” She turned to Morgan, alight with possibility. Maybe he could come over? Would he come over? But as the car moved closer to him, Deirdre harnessed her chance and stuck her head out the window. “I LOVE YOU,” she screeched with inhuman power, too thrilled to contain herself enough to stop from cracking the Subaru’s glass. Web-like ripples shot across the windows, but Deirdre’s attention was on the Dullahan. He had no head to regard her with, but it seemed like he slowed, ethereal saber raised in one hand, whip cracked against the road in the other. Deirdre’s body lifted, she fell back into her seat a smile the widest her face could manage. “Did you see that!?” She laughed with bubbling energy. “I think he was waving at me!” She turned back to him, now at a loss for what to say. She held her phone up and snapped the best photo she could, a blurry piece of his whip, and savored it. “Are we going to follow him?” She asked. “I know we really didn’t get to look at the bodies back there, but I bet he’d let you have a snack from them, if he gets to another tonight.”

Deirdre’s excitement was so infectious, it almost took the edge off Morgan’s brain cravings. “Babe, you have to hold the phone still long enough so it can scan—babe, tap and hold the center of the screen for better exposure, the thing that looks like a sun—“ Morgan was laughing too much to be very helpful. She fished in the cup holder for her phone and tried to arrange it on the dashboard to take a video. She thought she mostly had a set up going that wouldn’t get them in a wreck, when Deirdre’s voice broke in shrill, wild waves over the night. Morgan hadn’t been thinking about the windshield when she encouraged this. The glass shattered, bowing outward as if it couldn’t get away fast enough. Morgan swerved, ears ringing, and almost launched them off the side of the road. The ringing faded in moments and she slammed on the brake so they screeched to a halt on the shoulder, just in time to see the Dullahan rear his horse ahead of them, sabre slicing the air under the full golden moon. Morgan couldn’t help but stare in a daze of disbelief of her own—was he showing off? Then he launched onto the other side of the turnpike, pounced onto a passing convertible to cut another red splatter before diving into the trees to take his next bounty. Morgan deflated, laughing deliriously. “What the fuck…!” She looked sidelong at Deirdre, panting as if she were alive again. “What the fuck…” It was all she could seem to say. Morgan varied the inflections, trying to squeeze the buzz of gobsmacked sensation electrifying her brain into them. When even those words felt like nonsense, she finally managed, “This is the officially the craziest Halloween I’ve ever had, and we’re not even in our costumes yet.”

It seemed like the Dullahan was here, and then he was gone. Deirdre watched him leave with her body pressed against the dashboard, trying to catch the last glimpses of him. “He left,” she pouted, but in the still of the night, another excitement rose to her. She looked over at Morgan, hair tousled by the wind, cracked windshield beyond her, and crawled across the console. She took her laughter against her lips, trapping them in a kiss. “I love you…” she mumbled, spilling her own delight. The Dullahan was gone someplace away from them, and she still had a dozen complaints about that, but for now she’d only wanted to bask in their glow of adventure together. “It’s the best Halloween,” she rasped, breaking into laughter. “Fates, I love you so much. I don’t know how we got so lucky to see the Dullahan, but I feel like it’s all you---your magic. It has to be. You make everything perfect.” She grinned and kissed her again, and another time for good measure. “I can’t believe he left.” Finally, coming down from her height of glee, she pouted, half-crawled into Morgan’s lap. “I didn’t even get to ask him if he liked that offering I made when I was twelve. And I took such a terrible photo...and his whip! I wanted to hold his whip.” Deirdre leaned against her girlfriend, sighing. “You’re amazing...you know that?” With a chuckle and a grin, mischief in her voice, she kissed her love again. “Let’s get you something to eat and then go home, okay?”

Morgan welcomed Deridre’s kiss, scooping her the rest of the way into her lap. Her hands tingled, clumsy, and she hit the car horn trying to cup her girlfriend’s ass. A passing car honked back, the shotgun passenger flashing a middle finger. “Sorry! Happy Halloween!” Morgan cackled. She hid her face in Deirdre’s shoulder, pressing kiss after kiss until her laughter petered out into soft giggles. “I love you, too,” she sighed. “So much, Deirdre. Stars above, this wouldn’t be fun at all if you weren’t here.” Without Deirdre she would have been terrified, and then scarfing down the elderly in the middle of the supermarket and ending up arrested or meme-ified on YouTube. But her head was light and tingling, maybe from repairing some minor damage, but mostly from the strange thrill of following Deirdre’s company wherever it led her. As they kicked back the chair and Deirdre finally settled herself against Morgan’s body, the zombie felt herself falling back into the warm safety that was them.

With the Dullahan gone, the only sound was the woosh of cars speeding past them, the night song of hungry bugs and owls and bats. Inside the Subaru, cracked and dented again, the quiet was perfect. “I don’t have any magic left in me to summon your childhood heroes for you, babe,” Morgan said. “If there’s any kind of magic going on, it’s the two of us, together. Everything’s better when it’s you and me.” Sometimes better was just hurting less; sometimes, more delight and strange, incomprehensible wonder than she knew how to process. “If you ask me, he wouldn’t have waved—twice—if he didn’t think you were pretty great, Deirdre.” Maybe he was a menacing show-off by nature, but with Deirdre on her shoulder, the kindest reading of the night felt like the right one. “You’re amazing,” Morgan murmured, growing soft and quiet as the rush continued to peel away from her like so much traffic.

She snorted dryly at Deirdre’s suggestion and kissed her again. “You just want to get out of Linda’s costume party,” she teased. “I’ll just have the leftovers at home. And we’ll have our own fun and treats before we arrive fashionably late for the party. How’s that for a good time?”

“By Death, Fate, and everything there is to be in this world, I love you Morgan. With Fate’s command, I love you. I love you.” Deirdre’s prayers became a nonsensical jumble of ancient phrases and what she could remember of her family’s religious teaching. Her mother would have called it blasphemy to take Fate’s name and press it to the skin of a once-human, still wholly human. But Deirdre thought it was right, it was true. Worship of Morgan was one she would gladly take part in, even squished together in the same car seat at the side of the road. Magic was a good way of putting it; something so beyond natural order that it defied law and rule. Something freer than the wind, more nebulous than the stars. Something that was just the two of them, together and at peace and in love. “And if you ask me,” she started with a smile, lifted her teeth from where she had begun nipping at Morgan’s neck, “he wouldn’t have showed up at all if the world wasn’t kind and good, just like how you make it.” With a huff, she pulled her arm out from where it had gotten crammed between Morgan and the armrest and reached it up to cup her love’s cheek. “I wish someone would have told me years ago that good things are real; the Dullahan, nights like these...you. Ignorance might have helped convince me that there was nothing better, but I think the truth would have made life so much easier to get through. If I knew I’d be here, one day, my days would have been colored with happiness.” Just as they were now. She leaned down and kissed Morgan again, content to stay there, content to—Deirdre groaned, and then dissolved into laughter. “I was hoping you’d forgotten,” she breathed, “I don’t want this night to end, sue me.” And, well, as far as she was concerned, Linda’s costume party was a doomed event by concept alone.

But she knew, with resounding truth, that everything was better when they were together. Even parties hosted by their annoying neighbours. And so, she smiled and said simply: “that sounds perfect to me.”

#wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #the headless halloween special #//it's short AND soft #wickedswriting

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falseroar · 4 years

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Is This Your Card? Part 18: Voices in the Halls

((The District Attorney, overwhelmed by the apparent loss of yet another friend, just wants a minute to finally grieve alone. Instead, they hear an unexpected voice that leads them and in turn the Colonel to Abe’s study and another confrontation.

Warning: multiple characters shot.

Link to Part 17: The Groundskeeper and to the masterlist.))

“I know he’s in pain, and I know you might be too…”

You looked up and the butler paused before continuing.

“But we need to leave this place. I don’t know what is happening here,” he said, eyes drifting toward the locked and bound door before returning to your face. “But I believe George was right. There’s only death here now.”

“I can’t,” you whispered. “Not without—I can’t.”

“You can wait for the hunter outside,” Benjamin said. “He can take care of himself, but you…I must be honest, you don’t look well.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to correct him, so you just shook your head and said, “I…I just need a second. Please.”

The butler hesitated until he saw the look in your eyes, heard the hitch in your voice. “Very well, but you really must not stay here.”

You nodded, mumbling something about being right behind him, and the butler reluctantly walked away with one last look back at you with something that might have been pity, not that you cared anymore.

Damien.

You had seen him right here just minutes ago, although now it felt more like seconds or maybe hours since you saw him and his sister disappear through the now sealed door. And then…

You couldn’t breathe.

Damien was gone.

He wasn’t there, no gentle voice to call you back to yourself, no one around to see as you curled in on yourself and turned into the wolf, a low whine escaping your chest as you tried to shut your eyes to it all.

He couldn’t just be gone, could he? There had to be something, anything you could do, but you were painfully aware that there was no magician appearing at the last second to set almost everything right, not this time. There was no sign that there had even been anything left of Celine to save. They were already…

“Hey.”

Your claws caught and tore into the carpet as you shot up, hackles raised as you stared at the door.

Celine?

You tentatively moved closer, ears cocked forward in search of any sound, any hope, but there wasn’t even a breath to break the silence. When you sniffed at the bottom of the door, the scent of rot and decay filled your nostrils, sending you skittering backward to get away.

But the smell wouldn’t leave you. In fact it seemed to be coming from the very walls of the house itself, which seemed to have not just aged but suffered from some kind of infestation while you weren’t looking. The wood and plaster on the walls were covered with stains from something dark trying to leak its way through, while dust and rot drifted down from the ceiling above in a way that suggested the roof would soon follow.

“Help!”

You heard the voice again, you were sure of it, but it wasn’t coming from the sealed room. Cautiously, you began to walk down the hall, body shuddering with every step as you felt the not quite damp and yet not quite dry carpet give beneath the pads of your paws.

But you kept moving forward, following the direction you thought the voice came from until you heard another, and another, and another, all distant and distorted like echoes, like the things you saw in Celine’s crystal ball. You weren’t concerned about anyone seeing you like this, not when everyone who didn’t know was already gone, and more than any fear of being seen was the fear that you might miss something without the wolf’s hearing.

You found yourself in the dining room despite not going down any stairs and heard Abe’s voice in the distance, angry but so low and slurred that you almost didn’t recognize it.

“I know exactly what you are, you…”

You turned, following the last traces of his voice while keeping your slow, even pace, eyes roaming for a sign of anyone, anything, until another voice took you off guard in the living room.

“Be careful,” Damien’s voice whispered. The last words he said to you.

You sped up in an unfamiliar hallway, less cautious now as you tried to keep up only to find yourself in Mark’s bedroom. Only to hear his voice.

“…surrounded by close and trusted friends.”

Bedrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, you found yourself walking through one room after the other with no rhyme or reason to connect them or the twisting, turning hallways except for the voices fading in and out, always just out of reach, always leading you on. The butler, the chef, the groundskeeper, you heard them all, but every room was as dark and empty and cold as the last.

Until you spotted the open door up ahead, one you had never noticed before, the light inside beckoning you as the darkness and rot faded away behind you.

By the time you reached the door, you had already changed back, stumbling a little at the readjustment to two feet and catching yourself on the door frame as you looked inside—

And found nothing but an empty study.

The breath left your chest quickly, even though you couldn’t say what you had hoped to find. Not a mess of papers and books covering a desk or notes and photos and news clippings pinned to the wall with random bits of string connecting them in some strange web, that was for sure.

Photos and news clippings of everyone in the house.

You moved closer, but the jumble of images and half-formed ideas hastily scribbled down on the notes made no more sense the longer you looked at them. There were photos of the chef alongside a news article about his failed restaurant, something about Benjamin and a business you had never heard of, a cluster of articles about Damien and some pages that looked as though they had been taken straight from his desk, even some stuff about you and the hunter, but most of the strings started and branched out from two faces in particular: Celine and the Colonel, connected by torn pieces of a letter.

You turned back to the desk and spotted a typewriter among the mess, your heart momentarily leaping into your throat at the familiar typeface on the piece of paper still in the typewriter, identical to the notes on the cards.

Someone, and you were fairly sure you knew who, had sat here and typed out the same words, over and over until they bled together:

The Colonel did it.

Next to the typewriter was the broken picture frame from Mark’s bedroom, out of which the Colonel stared back at you as he posed in his military uniform.

But that didn’t—

“There you are!” the Colonel said from the open doorway behind you. “I’ve been meaning to ask you some…questions…”

His eyes went down to the scattered pages and photos on the desk. “What is this? The hunter, he’s been keeping tabs on us?”

And then he spotted the wall, and the web of strings connecting him and Celine. “The hunter’s been keeping tabs on me, and Celine!”

“Colonel,” you started, but he didn’t wait for you to try and speak up for Abe.

“Don’t you see?! If he knew all of this, what’s to say he’s not the one who sent us those cards? He orchestrated all of this! He did this!”

“You can’t know that—”

“Hunter!” the Colonel bellowed, already walking out of the room with his gun out. “Hunter!”

You followed after him as he took to the stairs, speaking out loud to you or to himself you weren’t sure as his voice went from angry to a pained rasp, as though he were close to tears. “Where is he? He took them from me…He took my friends from me. He took…Celine, he took Damien! Where is he?”

It was all you could do to keep up on the stairs or as he began to check one door after the other, your head spinning and your breath catching in your chest, not helped by the pain in your side that throbbed with every heartbeat, but when you opened your mouth and tried to speak, he just turned on you with the same manic anger that was growing with every second.

“WHERE IS HE?! Hunter! Are you hiding him from me?!”

“No,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you strained to speak. “Colonel, please—”

“He can’t hide forever. Get out of my way!”

The Colonel pushed past you, unaware of or not caring about the pained gasp as you caught yourself on the railing before spinning around when he shouted again.

“Hunter!”

Abe was standing at the other end of the hall, near the locked and bound door as though looking for something, but at the sound of the Colonel’s voice he turned, gun up and pointed directly at the other man.

“You’d better choose your next words carefully, Colonel,” Abe said, his eyes darting toward you before returning to the Colonel.

“Only my friends get to call me by that name, and you, sir, are no friend of mine!”

“Well, you’re one to talk about friends, you murderer!”

Neither man even flinched at the thunder overhead or stopped pointing their guns at the other, although the Colonel turned his head slightly to say to you, “I didn’t start this!”

“Colonel, Abe, you need to calm down,” you said, moving as close as you dared. You could feel it again, that same overwhelming presence that was there in the room with Celine, that overwhelming sense of dread and paranoia that seemed to take everyone in the area’s fight-or-flight response and kick it up to 11. It made you want to turn into the wolf in self-defense, to run, to hide, but for Celine it drove out any and all self-control she had, leaving her ready to fight the second your words seemed to threaten her.

And now it was affecting two men holdings loaded guns pointed at each other.

“Calm down?!” the Colonel said in disbelief. “This is madness!”

“Stay out of this, partner,” Abe muttered, eyes still locked on the Colonel. “And you wanna talk about madness? Madness is stealing your best friend’s wife. Madness is you and her concocting this sick plot to blackmail everyone—”

“Shut up!” roared the Colonel. “You’re the one dragging up everyone’s past, you’re the only one who could have known about—about—”

“Me?! Celine was the one with the fascination for the occult and all that Tarot card nonsense! So she uses her ‘special skills’ to drag up dirt on everybody, while you do her dirty work and steal my silver bullets so you can plant one in your—”

“Stop!” You tried to step in, but the Colonel brushed you off, his gun never wavering from the hunter. “Colonel, Abe doesn’t know about your—about Dave!”

“Who?” Abe asked.

“See?! And Abe, how could the Colonel have switched the bullets in your gun? It was locked away, and no one took the master key from the kitchen!”

“There are two keys!”

“I know. One from the kitchen,” you said, pulling out the key from your own pocket before gesturing toward the key bound in the lock to the sealed room. “And Mark’s key. Abe, where did you get that key from?”

The Colonel narrowed his eyes, but Abe just tightened his grip on his gun and said, “From Mark’s bedroom, where the Colonel probably tossed it and locked the door behind him, to throw off suspicion. He’s been here before, he knew about the second key!”

“But I didn’t know about any silver bullets,” the Colonel protested. “Mark didn’t tell me—Y/N, you can’t trust him, you know what he is!”

“Don’t you dare talk to my partner!” Abe shouted. “I know exactly what you are, you—”

“Shut up!”

“—plotted the death of your childhood friend because you couldn’t handle the—”

Another, this time unprompted crack of thunder came from overhead. Maybe the Colonel mistook it for the fire of the hunter’s gun, or it was a reflex as the lights in the house flickered, or maybe he finally reached his tipping point at the accusation of deliberately killing his friend.

Either way, Abe never got a chance to finish his sentence as a second blast of thunder marked the flash of the Colonel’s gun.

You saw Abe stagger backward before collapsing, heard the scream rip its way out of your chest as you lunged forward, the brief struggle with the Colonel before his gun fired again.

This time sending a silver bullet straight into your chest.

Everything slowed, your vision blurring as you stared at the blood on your hands before staggering backward, the Colonel’s outstretched hand too late to stop you from going over the railing behind you, his words lost behind the roar filling your ears as you plummeted to the floor below, your last sight that of the Colonel desperately reaching for you.

“It was an accident!”

Followed by the crash of darkness.

“I swear…”

((End of Part 18. As always, thank you for reading.

Link to Part 19.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm au #werewolf au #monster hunter au #wkm district attorney #wkm detective #wkm colonel #angst #gunshot #tw death #we all know the story doesn't end there

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tfw-no-tennis · 3 years

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mtmte liveblog issue 22

oooh man, its time to feel some EMOTIONS!

I'm BACK after a hiatus, which was due in part to me getting my 1st dose of the covid vaccine! woohoo!

anyways, starting here w/issue 22....we have a great cover w/thunderclash, the legend himself

oof. the covers made me forget how much I don't like the art this issue...I hate to be mean to the artists but this art style just isn't doin it for me chief

god I love this issue though. the framing device of rewind’s movie is so so fantastic

tailgate listing off all his fake awards/accomplishments....ily

rodimus my boy, you're a prime in my heart

the ‘not a decepticon’ label for cyclonus is so much hvbhkjfbskjf

I literally wanna comment on every single panel bc I love all the characters so much but then id be here forever...that being said whirl ily sm

hvbjdfbhsfjhdfshja BRAINSTORM ‘according to perceptor - ships genius’ hvhdkjhbfhjs ily dumb gay idiot

and then the cut to perceptor after brainstorm like, blew up his lab vjbkdsfnbksjf dude

GODDDDDD drift ‘your name...defines you. it’s your soul expressed in syllables. hm? oh, yes, sorry. it’s drift.’ GOD he’s so fucking funny. I love early story hippy drift

god I cant stop thinking about how good this whole issue would be as an animated show...like, specifically rewinds film, it would be SO FUCKING GOOOOOOD mtmte show WHEN

rewiiiiind ;_; I fuckgin love rewind god. fellow video editing enthusiast....

ohhhh rodimus being embarrassed about his big speech at the beginning of mtmte....my boy I love u so much

gjhnbgehjsrkfbjksf magnus being suspicious of rewind oh my god. magnus ily but please, look at the lil guy, he’s a good boy, most of the time

the fuckgin footage that magnus removed hbvhakjbfhskf god. wasn't that intended to be footage of magnus dancing? I love him

minibot squad.....

and here it begins, the mystery stick rung question...

poor rung oh my god he’s just trying to polish his lil spaceship and people r throwing shit at him. taking Ls as per usual it seems

hand grenade tag hvbfjksdnfbkjdf love that callback

noooo rungs ship :(

magnus’s censorship vhbhadkjfhdbhjsakjhfn

oh man I forgot about how they met that race of Transformers But More

the one-upsmanship hbvkajsbehfjks

whirrrrrl lmao I love whirl sm

goddddd whirl just killing that other alien and ending the 16 million yr long civil war bvkjsdbfhjjkafs so fucking much

oh god oh god the ‘are you happy’ page, I'm not emotionally equipped to handle this like, ever

but I will say I feel like it would be EVEN MORE oof if it were milne or someone drawing it bc I feel like this art style takes away from some of the impact bc the expressions aren't really that...expressive? idk how to put it

anyways. every single answer destroys me!!! like even the happy ones, like chromedome and rewind and tailgate - well, in present time, none of those three are doing so hot, so that makes this just hurt

and rung....that is so fucking depressing. jesus. this guy is so fuckng sad, somebody get him a friend stat

and swerve...ouch. this readthru I've really noticed how much early-mtmte swerve is not-so-subtly like, crying out for help bc he’s so alone and shit. jesus

also brainstorms response is just plain ole sad w/context, but at this point in the story without context, it just seems very foreboding lmao. I'm realizing this readthru that brainstorm is very sketchy and ominous in a particular ‘is he evil?’ mad scientist sorta way in early mtmte

and then everyone else is also just so OOF in their own unique sad ways, but I think the worst out of everyone is drift....GODDDDDD. especially considering that at this point in the story, drift is this kinda goofy hippy guy, so seeing him just sit there with his face in his hand, not even answering the question...AND knowing that shortly after this he’ll end up banished...IT FUCKING HURTS M8!

meanwhile, the more upbeat ‘quest to see rungs alt mode’ continues...with an ‘alt mode party’ vhbadkjsdfnabskjf it looks so silly with a bunch of cars just sitting around a table lmao

I cant even tell who everyone is bc they so rarely turn into cars n shit lmaoooooo

rodimus with the bucket on his head hbvhakjbfskjf I CANT

everyone’s reactions to thunderclash...i fucking love it

the fact that TAILGATE doesn't hate him, even though we’ve seen that tailgate tends to dislike people who are universally liked/who have achieved a lot of impressive things

rodimus you petty thot vbdkjbfdjhsakjdf ily

RODIMUS IS SO FUNNYYYYYY ‘I'm not making all these sacrifices and leading these guys into battle and being inspirational - I'm not doing that because it makes me look good’ RODIMUS VBHSKJDFNBKSJF

thunderclash talking about magnus’s article on typefaces....hdbksjfsdbkjgfb bro

AND THEN MAGNUS HUGS HIM....HGBSKJFDSHFKD I CANT

POOR DRIFT bvhajkdfbhjkjsfd rodimus saying he ‘rehabilitated him’ oh my god

the whole spectralism thing...im sorry I cant get over how funny all this is vbakdjfbksjf thunderclash rlly b out here charming rodimus’s entire crew

and then ratchet comes in, calling tc ‘thunders,’ and tc immediately notices ratchets new hands (somehow) hvbkjfhbskjf truly amazing

it cracks me up that rodimus is all 😒😒 at thunderclash, even though as we come to find out, tc really IS That Perfect, and him complimenting rodimus isn't sarcasm at all lmao

AND THEYRE LOOKING FOR THE KNIGHTS OF CYBERTRON TOO HVSDHFJBSHKHDFJS OF COURSE

the vis vitalis being a life support machine spaceship is a really cool concept tho

‘rescuing some orphans from an exploding sun’ I fucking cant

evil guy: [holds a gun to thunderclash’s head]

rodimus: :D finally something doesn't go his way!

he’s so petty I’m..........dkdjhfdabhduifadijgl

and its the aliens from earlier! oooh

GODDD I forgot that swerve used rung in mystery stick mode to SCHWACK the guy

rung casually dropping the fact that the functionists like, experimented on him...there's a lot of implications there, and that'll certainly be explored more later...

the fact that his ID card says ‘rong’ hvbhjakhdsbfakhsjfn

oughufadkfujbsfk the circle of light throwing wrenches n shit at skids...guys cmon vbhsdjkfnslfd

the circle of light is like ‘wtf you all have trauma and a bunch of weird unhealthy coping mechanisms this is wack byeeeee’ lmao

skids calling the lost light his home is rlly sweet tho

cant believe the religious space hippy cult is being so rude about a film made by a guy who died like a week ago. unreal

cd finally figured out how to make the pffft sound, good for him

AUGHHHHH the fact that rewind used ‘little victories’ as the title of the film and that's something that chromedome said in the video ;_; I'm fucking inconsolable

rodimus, despite his obvious posturing for the camera during the whole issue, comes off as surprisingly genuine when he says that he hasn't thought about his own future much, but wants the crew to have a happy ending....im gonna cry

‘who knows what's around the corner?’ tailgate, PLEASE don't say that, oh my god,

OUGHHHH GROUP SHOT

OHHH mannnnNNNNN i love this issue SO MUCH. what a good fun emotional rollercoaster wrap-up to mtmte s1. god.

like, this issue has it all - humor, drama, crippling sadness, intrigue, worldbuilding...it’s so excellent

and getting to see rewind again hurts so bad but also I love him

ok quick mtmte s1 retrospective...god s1 is so fucking good. I'm gonna have to read more to say which chunk of mtmte I liked best but s1 is so fucking excellent that it might be my favorite. though its hard to pick bc there's so much good stuff later on too...whatever, the point is s1 is so so good

the plotlines and characters are fucking stellar. like I cant even believe how well Everything works, its very impressive. I cant really think of anything major that made me go ‘yeah could've done without that plotline/character’

I love how dedicated jro is to connecting everything. I've mentioned it before but basically every single moment in the series has payoff - what you initially think is just a funny moment, or a fluffy character establishment bit, ends up ALSO being an important plot point later, in some way

an example would be here w/rung and his alt mode - it just seems like a fun little B-plot for this issue, and seems to pretty neatly conclude with the reveal that rung was eventually classified as an ‘ornament’ (lmao)...but we later on get to see a lot more about this, both here and in the functionist universe

and like, stuff like tailgate’s autobot lessons w/magnus - at first that can be seen as purely character establishment stuff, showing that magnus is a strict rule-lover and tg is a loveable try-hard good boy - but that becomes plot relevant in remain in light, with tailgate saving the day due to his knowledge of the autobot code (and its also character relevant, with magnus’s arc in remain in light).

and I know this is like. a normal regular thing in writing, but I'm just very impressed about how cleanly jro pulls it off, and how many things he’s juggling at once, especially in early mtmte - it’s very ambitious!

and we gotta remember, this is a comic book. I've read a lot of comic books, and the quality is all over the place. a lot of writers bite off more than they can chew, and the story ends up kinda scattered as a result.

another thing I see a lot in franchise writing like this is a lack of strong early character establishing due to the author assuming the readers are at least somewhat familiar with the characters already - which can be totally fair depending on where it is in the continuity, but other times it can come off as lazy

in mtmte, the cast is extremely well fleshed out, and not only that, the cast itself is unique in that there are a lot of relative unknowns (franchise-wise) - which I think was an absolutely brilliant move, because then jro was able to essentially create The Definitive Version of these characters - characters like swerve, brainstorm, chromedome, rewind, tailgate...mtmte is their baseline characterization, because they haven't really appeared in much else

this also allows for deviation from the franchise norms - again, a comic book classic is good writing being stifled by a need to stick to a certain status quo regard the characters, the world, the powers, relationships, etc

(I've mostly read DC comics, and some marvel, so I'm thinking superheroes w/all these comic comparisons)

so mtmte had a good recipe for genuine creativity in that the characters were relative unknowns, the plot was basically ‘space road trip,’ the status quo of ‘autobot vs decepticon war’ had been demolished throughout the entire franchise...so jro was able to take all that and run, and it turned out so fantastic

and luckily it isn't over yet! so many comics suffer from premature cancellation...and sadly mtmte/ll isn't exempt from this, as we’ll see later, but I've seen some awful ones, where comics are forced to wrap up in like 2 issues while in the middle of an arc. yikes.

but another comic staple...one of my least favorite things about comics books in general...something that was basically responsible for driving me away from comics after reading a bunch...the dreaded crossover event

yep, even mtmte isn't immune to this unfortunate plague on the comic industry. crossover events are the absolute worst, and I'm saying this as somebody who adores crossovers (in concept more than execution usually). they SHOULD be my favorite, but unfortunately they p much always completely suck

they're essentially a ploy to get you to read the other ongoing titles, but they usually only serve to bog down whatever story you're reading to the point where you don't even wanna read that one anymore, let alone read all the other ongoings. at least, that’s been my experience

it doesn't help that reading orders tend to be hard to find/keep track of, and that you need to go read the other series to know what's going on. I just hate it, like, I came here to read THIS series, I don't want a bunch of other series showing up too - even if I was reading two series, I wouldn't want them crossed over, because they're separate stories! augh!

I'm totally losing my focus here but my point is...crossover events suck, and mtmte unfortunately is involved in one. I have not read dark cybertron, and I'm not about to. I've heard nothing but bad things so I have no desire to inflict that upon myself

soooo ill be reading through the tfwiki articles for those issues to give myself a better understanding of what went on - which is more than I've ever done in the past - and maybe ill even make a single post summarizing my thoughts on what I read in the wiki, lmao

but yea ill be skipping to the mtmte s2 stuff next

phew ok I'm super tired, my vision keeps blurring out and stuff lmao. its time for bed, I probably have more thoughts but ill save them for later. for now...peace out!

#lj rereads mtmte

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ty-talks-comics · 4 years

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Best of DC: Week of February 19th, 2020

Best of this Week: DCeased: Unkillables #1 - Tom Taylor, Karl Mostert, Trevor Scott, Neil Edwards, John Livesay, Rex Lokus and Saida Temofonte

Ahhh shit, here we go again. DCeased was awesome.

In much the same way that the original Marvel Zombies filled my heart with dread, DCeased absolutely blew my mind with the short six issues that it took place in. It was equal parts violent and heartbreaking as the heroes of Earth had to figure out a way to either stop the Anti-Life virus or die trying. We had a good spin off with the single issue, A Good Day to Die and now we have Unkillables, another spin off focusing on some of the more violent heroes and villains while the events of the main series unfold elsewhere.

The book begins on the first day of the Anti-Life virus being released as Deathstroke finds himself on a job in Kentucky. Throughout the original story, I did kinda wonder what people like him or the other assassins were up to, given that we saw a select number of other dead supervillains throughout like Giganta and Clayface. As Tom Taylor and Karl Mostert unfold the story we see that Slade Wilson was killing some infected Neo-Nazis before an attempt to renegotiate his price ends with him infected too.

Mostert and Taylor set this opening up in a very comedic way with the white supremacits running from something in the local church as Deathstroke looks on, puzzled as to why they’re running before taking a few out before heading inside. Mostert, Rex Lokus and I think Trevor Scott then give us an awesome single page of Slade facing down a horde of zombies with only his gun and a bloody sword. He looks like a badass and, in the following panels, proves it by killing them with ease.

Mostert doesn’t shy away from Slade’s brutal violence and shows how fluidly he can kill with dynamic poses as he shoots and slices multiple enemies at once. This accentuated by the excellently colored spurts of blood from the zombies and the gory detail of blood on the walls. There’s even a really good panel of one of the zombies being cut in half with Scott inking the silhouette as their blood and insides drip down. Even better is when Slade gets infected and violently rips his mask off before coming back to his senses while choking a guy.

Tom Taylor introduces a unique aspect here as Deathstroke returns to normal on the second day of the virus being introduced. As we learn later, it’s due to Slade’s unique super soldier DNA that allows him to fight off the infection, effectively being immune to a point. I can definitely see this being a double edged sword for him as the infection seems to last for a day before being purged from his system. This makes him unique amongst both the heroes and villains of Earth as maybe a potential savior.

I’d also like to praise Saida Temofonte for her amazing lettering as well. She does an amazing job, not only with word balloons, but with captions that have a bloody background and the typefaces she uses for sound effects. For the most part, they fit the gruesomeness of the story with intense and bloody BANGs to eerie RRRRRRs, signaling the incoming zombies. Deathstroke’s scream as he claws his own face is intense, scratchy and blood curling until we get an AMAZING title page with names filling the empty space.

As things progress, we cut to Jason Todd in the Batcave. The silence is eerie as we get one small “spsh” sound as Jason steps through the blood trail of Bruce, Tim and Dick. Unfortunately, this seems to take place shortly after the events of DCeased #2 when an infected Dick and Tim attack and infect Batman, leaving Alfred to kill them all. Jason, like most readers, is shocked because he thought Bruce would have found a way to survive and then he’s met by Ace the Bathound. After letting Ace see that he’s not infected, Jason proceeds to make graves for his brothers and father before speeding off in the Batmobile to find the rest of his family with Ace.

These scenes are powerful as Jason, normally the black sheep of the family, has to deal with the fact that he’s one of few left. Why wasn’t Bruce prepared? Why was he the one left and not Dick or Tim? Damian’s still alive in Metropolis, but effectively, Jason is all alone. Mostert and I believe Neil Edwards show Jason’s love for his family as he carves out wooden headstones and buries them in the cave. Without a word of dialogue, this speaks volumes about Jason’s love for his family.

Elsewhere in Gotham, Ravager, Rose Wilson with a missing eye, unlike her main continuity counterpart, is curled up in her apartment in fear. The zombies are pounding on her door when Slade radios in and tells her it’s time to escape. Rose has the ability to see into the future in short bursts and sees that everytime she goes for the door, Zombies come through and kill her. Deathstroke, however, has a plan. As a side note, it’s great to see Rose in gear similar to what she wore in Geoff Johns’ “Teen Titans” while also complementing Deathstroke’s current armor.

Unfortunately for Deathstroke, as he keeps his eyes to the sky, he sees the terror that is an infected Man-Bat flying at him with a terrifying SCReeeee as he crashes through the window and smashes the plane on the roof Rose runs to her dad and, believing him to be infected, plunges her sword through his chest and he screams “Ow.” This scene is pure comedy made even better by the dramatic rain and fire in the background. Soon after, Mirror Master, Evan McCulloch, shows up offering them help.

I don’t know what the reason is for using the Scottish version of the character, but it doesn’t really matter as the representation of the Mirror Dimension is still cool as hell. While wearing special glasses that block signals, they walk through the dimension and Mostert draws an epic depiction of it with all of the violence, gore and death through the many mirrors while the characters look miniscule compared to the vastness of it all. The Mirror Dimension has always been terrifying and McCulloch could do a lot to solve the problem, but it makes sense that he doesn’t. Cause it’s terrifying.

After many pages, we arrive at the rest of the stars (fodder) of the series in Vandal Savage, Solomon Grundy, The Creeper, Cheetah, Lady Shiva, Bane, Deadshot and Captain Cold. I do have a bit of a continuity issue as Cold was shown to have been one of the Infected during the events of “A Good Place to Die,” but alternatively this series could explain how he got there or, much like that story, it’s off base with what’s happening in the main pages. But some of these additions are pretty interesting to say the very least.

Savage is near immortal, but has been shown to have been killed before. There’s a high chance that using Deathstroke, he’ll find a way to cure and rule over the people of the Earth after the heroes leave. Grundy is already dead, so can he get infected? The Creeper is much like Deathstroke in that he can heal from anything, so it makes sense that he’s managed to survive. Cheetah is strong and fast, but I don’t rate her chances high and the rest, while immensely skilled, are still just human. This is a ragtag group, but they’re not averse to getting the job done by any means.

The rest of the issue focuses on Jason Todd and his fight to rescue the remaining members of the Batfamily. Mostert, Lokus and John Livesay give readers an awesome assault on the Gotham PD with Cassandra Cain as Black Bat, James Gordon and Harvey Bullock fighting back against the zombies. Cass awesomely kicks and knees zombies in the background while Harvey and Jim shoot them. I LOVED Cass as Batgirl/Black Bat and it was awesome to see the return of the iconic costume and a character that I like so much.

Of course, Temofonte thrills with the lettering here again. She sells the panic in both Jim and Bullock as they fight off the horde as well as the frankness of Bullock as he has to break it to Jim that Blck Bat is the only one coming. The static-y bubbles that she uses on Bullock when he gets infected is also amazing and saddening, but gets even worse when Cass has to “CRCK” his neck to kill him. Soon after, Jason plows through the GCPD in the Batmobile with a “CRNNNCH” that shrinks around the vehicle.

Jason rescues Cass and Jim after shooting the remaining zombies in the head and plans to get the hell out of dodge. Jim, still holding out on the idea of hope, tells Jason that Barbara is still out there somewhere, but Jason, knowing that it’s no longer the time to keep secrets, reveals his and Cass’ identities and shows Jim that Barb is dead. He then takes the haggard detective to her last known location and Mostert and Lokus sell the utter despair of the scene.

Infected versions of Barb, Stephanie Brown, Batwoman and Catwoman were killed by Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn in Issue #3 of DCeased (if I remember right). This scene of James finding his daughter is depressingly grey and his facial expressions show us just how painful this is for him. He’s lost just about everything and cries in his grief. Jason, however, finds the dead body of the Joker and ties him to the front of the Batmobile before they all make their escape to Bludhaven.

This first issue of a three part miniseries already has me as excited as the original story did. I love each of the characters being used, the callbacks to past history and the way that everyone is being written. Each of these violent characters sees that there’s no need to hold back anymore as the regular rules are tossed out of the window. Everyone now has different amounts of pain and grief to deal with while others have different hopes of power or a cure. Ultimately, I don’t think things will end ultra well given the events of the main series, but I have no doubts that this will stand on its own.

Tom Taylor continues to be excellent when writing the despair and tragedies of DCeased and lifting up lesser characters, like The Creeper. His scripting and dialogue are a joy to read and I really feel like he’s got a grasp on everyone. Karl Mostert brings their all to this book with awesome panels and scenes that make readers want to wince, but look again to see the utter brutality of what they’re witnessing. His art is stellar. The various inkers definitely bring it to life alongside Lokus’ vibrant colors and Temofonte’s amazing letters.

I’m already gleefully anticipating the next issue and it more than justifies the $5.99 price, high recommend!

Also, y'know, support me on Patreon: patreon.com/TyTalksComics

#dceased #dceased unkillables #jason todd #cassandra cain #james gordon #deathstroke #rose wilson #tom taylor #karl mostert #rex lokus #saida temofonte #dc comics #comic books #comics #zombies

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kamiahjg · 4 years

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Hey guys I am back with another project. For this project I had to choose one of the articles from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) then create a Graphic and use text to effectively communicate what the message is in the article. These rights have a Universal audience which means my imagery has to speak for those who don’t speak English. The article I decided to stick with is Article 27 part 1 which states that “Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.” With that being said to convey this message I wanted to show the practice of expression by though art and science. For my sketches I tried to find ways of visually combining art and science. During my brainstorming process I decided to get out all of my raw ideas and sketches before I did research. It turns out that when we did sketch critiques everyone like my initial ideas the better than the ones that I came up with after research. After sketch critique I decided to continue with the sketch that had a science test tube underneath fire, creating whatever was inside the tube to heat up and create an artistic colorful smoke. On this specific sketch I got a lot of positive feedback and I was told that my graphic does a good job communicating my articles message and they also really liked the fact that I combined art and science. I believe sketches critiques were very helpful because it gave me a sense of which idea was more effective on doing its job. When I started my graphic in illustrator, I changed something around like the shape of the glass, the tool that was holding the glass and I added a lab table. Once I got my graphics down, I played with color. I felt like this was a little challenging for me because I wanted to make the colorful smoke the focus point of the poster. I used a black background to make the smoke pop out, then worked on the color of the fire and lastly worked with everything else by playing with grays and whites to balance the picture out. The last thing I worked with is text. I found a computer science looking typeface which only looked right when under a high font size. Therefore, I used it for the article number and the word Universal Declaration of Human Rights. For writing what the actual article was I used a simpler typeface to read. Overall, I believe my poster successfully advocates for Article 27 because it demonstrated how people can freely participate in art and science. I believe my graphic successfully did a great job visually representing Article 27. I also believe the typeface that I used and the way I structured it on the page was successful because it is readable, the specific type I used has a relation to the article and where I placed the text balance off the negative space. For non-English speakers I think my poster does a job visually helping them to understand what the main point of the article is.

*****The first photo is my final. The the photos after that were sketches. BTW I am not good at drawing*****

File:Logo of the United Nations (B&W).svg. (2018, December 2). Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository. Retrieved 20:40, April 9, 2020 from https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?title=File:Logo_of_the_United_Nations_(B%26W).svg&oldid=330037792.

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16ruedelaverrerie · 6 years

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[Today, Courtesy of This Diagram Generated by @sebdoesstuff, a Performative Reading of the Natal Chart of Detective Gavin Reed, Born October 7, 2002, in What We Take to Be Detroit, Michigan, at an Unknown Time of Day. All Standard Disclaimers from This Post Apply, Including the One about This Being a Generalization, Because Even with the Natal Chart We’re Not Going to Get into Aspects or Full Houses vs Empty Houses or Anything Like That, I’m Not an Astrologer Nor Was I Meant to Be, Also I Need to Go Eat Dinner Now]

1. Rising Sign: presentation Sagittarius (blunt, outgoing, independent)

[The rising sign is dependent on the time of birth; it’s Sagittarius here because 12PM is the default time this website uses. My original choice for Gavin’s rising sign was Aries, because an Aries is just a Leo with an inferiority complex THAT’S RIGHT FIGHT ME ARIES but I rather like Sagittarius, actually! Did you know that every man I have ever been into but also simultaneously hated myself for being into had a Sagittarius sun sign? It’s a personal note you didn’t ask for but also it’s a broadly applicable truth.]

“I’ll make my own scrambled eggs,” says Gavin. “You cook like someone who made a deal with the devil to trade in their taste buds for pointlessly overdeveloped fine motor skills, which is exactly what you are. Your food tastes like a fucking instruction manual.”

“Is that any way to talk to your lawfully wedded husband?” asks RK900.

“THE LAW IS NOT JUSTICE,” proclaims Gavin.

Capitulating to the oppressive institution of marriage had provided them with certain tax benefits, muses RK900, but it had not done a thing to socialize Gavin. It's just as well, he thinks.

2. Sun: personality 14 degrees Libra (diplomatic, superficial, indulgent)

[Again, this post is probably more than enough contemplation of Gavin Reed, Actual Libra. This sun sign continues to be completely absurd and I am on board for this bogus journey.]

“No wait, not-- not from the back,” pants Gavin, struggling to turn himself over under RK900′s insistent hands. “I want-- I want to see your face.”

“Okay,” breathes RK900, startled by the tenderness of the request.

“I mean, otherwise there’s no point,” continues Gavin. “What? You think I’m with you for your personality?”

“...Thanks, you ruined it,” says RK900.

3. Moon: emotion 01 degree Scorpio (passionate, secretive, committed)

“You... I...” falters Gavin, fidgeting viciously with the zipper of his jacket. “...What I mean is-- that is to say, I... here’s the thing, you’re... I’m in-- I might be in-- ...I-- you--”

“Would you find this ordeal easier if we were both undressed and I was banging you like a screen door in a hurricane?” asks RK900, because it isn’t like he doesn’t know what Gavin is trying to say, anyway.

“Yes please right now,” says Gavin.

4. Mercury: intellect 28 degrees Virgo (analytical, detail-oriented, perfectionist)

“Reed, this is ridiculous,” barks Fowler. “Your report was due two weeks ago, I can’t have you sit on your ass forever. Just get it done.”

“But have you seen the body text typeface for the new electronic filing system?” protests Gavin. “The x-height on it is hideously minuscule! What it does to the counters-- it’s completely illegible, Captain! I am ASPHYXIATED by its lack of sufficient aperture! I can’t work in typographical squalor, this aesthetic is a disgrace to the force! I QUIT!”

“Your gun and badge,” says Fowler.

5. Venus: relationship 15 degrees Scorpio (loyal, possessive, adventurous)

“Here’s a handbook of sexual perversions that I’ve compiled for you,” says Gavin. He drops a gargantuan dossier in front of RK900, where it lands with a thunk hard enough to make the table shake.

“I... really don’t think this is necessary,” says RK900.

“Listen, I would literally keel over and die of grief if for some reason you suddenly decided to go slam your cock inside someone else instead of me,” says Gavin. “Tell me what freaky shit you’re into, and I’ll do it. You tell me what it takes to keep you around.”

“Isn’t there a nicer way of saying all this?” asks RK900.

6. Mars: action 24 degrees Virgo (occupied, particular, critical)

“This folder is for solved cases that haven’t been filed yet,” says Gavin, cursor hovering. “This folder is for solved cases that are partially filed. This folder is for solved cases involving drug offenses. This folder is for all cases east of Woodward but west of Broadway. This folder is for bad crimes. This folder is for cases that when I looked at them, I was like, huh! This folder is--”

“Please, your organizational scheme doesn’t make any sense,” says RK900. “I’ve had to patch up several critical errors during your attempt to explain it just now.”

“It works! I have a system!” insists Gavin. “You know how Fowler feels about me, would I still be here if I didn’t have a system that worked and got cases cleared?”

“Your continued employment at this station is a source of persistent mystery to me,” says RK900.

7. Jupiter: development 13 degrees Leo (dramatic, proud, demonstrative)

“You requested me?” demands Gavin as soon as the door to Fowler’s office swings closed, too befuddled to let his irritation silence him. “You asked to be partnered with me? What the fuck did you do that for?”

“You have... unorthodox methods, Detective Gavin Reed,” says RK900. “The capacity for improvisation is a quality I find lacking in myself. I intend to learn from your extraordinary proficiency in adapting to unforeseen circumstances.”

Gavin opens his mouth, only to close it again without managing to say anything. He turns on his heels and starts stomping away.

“Come on, you dumb shit,” he calls over his shoulder. His ears are flushed, RK900 notes.

8. Saturn: limitation 29 degrees Gemini (concrete, inarticulate, intuitive)

“As Democritus said, happiness resides not in possessions,” announces Gavin as he bursts into the bedroom, glasses on the bridge of his nose, squinting at several closely printed pages that he clutches in his hands. “There is an ethical imperative to question whether it is beneficial to hold onto that which can be held onto; if it is not, at times, more salubrious to our spiritual health to cast off that which we let fester by keeping close to ourselves. For indeed, as stagnant water breeds disease, so do we find that the objects--”

“Gavin,” interrupts RK900, “are you... are you trying to thank me for taking out the trash an extra time last week?”

“You have to let me finish,” says Gavin. “I’ve been working on this since then.”

“Hold on,” says RK900, “you spent a week writing a speech because you couldn’t say th--”

“--SO DO WE FIND THAT THE OBJECTS WHICH SURROUND US CEASE TO GIVE US JOY WHEN THEY HAVE OVERSTAYED THEIR WELCOME,” shouts Gavin.

9. Uranus: freedom 25 degrees Aquarius (scientific, original, technocratic)

“I’m a Gen Z chaos child and proud of it!” says Gavin. “We’re the generation that invented androids!”

“Some might say that you were adamantly refusing to be proud of this accomplishment until very recently,” remarks RK900. “Some might also say that it’s not your accomplishment in the least, that you had absolutely nothing to do with it, and point out that you have trouble operating a microwave on your best days.”

“They all have different ways you need to enter minutes and seconds,” says Gavin, hotly.

10. Neptune: transcendence 08 degrees Aquarius (humanitarian, secular, modern)

“I’m a Gen Z chaos child and proud of it!” says Gavin. “We’re the generation that replaced religion with unparalleled medical advances and brought us one step closer to a post-scarcity society!”

“Wouldn’t know it from looking at you,” says RK900. “Generation that replaced religion with memes, more like.”

“Who taught you to talk like this?” demands Gavin.

11. Pluto: transformation 15 degrees Sagittarius (confident, principled, revolutionary)

“I’m a Gen Z chaos child and proud of it!” says Gavin. “We replaced religion with memes and the whole world is better for it!”

“You smoke actual cigarettes and use voice-to-text to take notes,” says RK900. “I’m starting to think you might not even be Gen Z at all. How old are you, Gavin Reed? Are you a Highlander? Can you only be killed through decapitation?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” says Gavin.

BONUS. North Node: purpose 10 degrees Gemini (interaction, partnership, community)

“Go talk to him,” Tina hisses under the clamor of the bar, elbowing RK900 in the side.

“He has been uncommunicative and belligerent since my return,” says RK900, keeping his eyes fixed on the glass of Thirium in front of him. “Correction, he has been especially uncommunicative and belligerent since my return. I believe attempting to engage with him at this point would only cause him to lash out further.”

“But have you figured out why?” asks Hank. “You know what’s got his panties in a twist?”

“That is an unsolicited mental image,” says RK900, “but I believe it is related to my dereliction of duty while I was confined to Cyberlife for repairs. The damage was extensive and I was unable to assist with Detective Reed’s caseload for much longer than he has been accustomed to. The evidence leads me to conclude that he is still resentful of my prolonged absence.”

“Unbelievable,” says Tina. “Brain the size of a planet and that’s what you conclude.”

“Nines,” says Connor, kindly, “replay your memories from the night of the shooting. My hypothesis is that you may not have taken all the evidence into account.”

The memories from the night of the shooting. Why, when the way that Gavin’s been acting ought to be explanation enough? Why go back to the sound of the gunshot like a cracking whip, the split second of frenzied calculation, the bullet in motion -- straight as the crow flies -- Gavin’s eyes widening as RK900 shoved him away, the sharp brittle crack of his shell coming apart, and then the terrible, painful static filling his head-- and Gavin’s fingers, slicked with blue, shaking uncontrollably as he fumbled to hold the shards of his skull together-- Gavin shouting something at him that he couldn’t hear over the noise, then Gavin’s lips still moving noiselessly when his audio processors cut out, just a deafening silence as the countdown began, and barely visible beyond the angry blur of error messages and critical malfunctions that had filled his view -- only now in the solemn clarity past the moment, RK900 could see -- in the low light of the alleyway, on his knees in filth beside him, Gavin looked--

RK900 glances up from his glass, turns to the far side of the bar where Gavin has been all night. The giveaway flurry as Gavin whips his head away, pretending for all he's worth as though there’s something very interesting on the wall next to him. He knows RK900 is looking, and RK900 knows that he knows because he stubbornly refuses to look back.

“Go talk to him,” says Tina, again.

His ears are flushed, thinks RK900, and stands up.

#detroit become human #gavin reed #rk900 #reed900 #this isn't writing #sketch #WELL THAT'S QUITE ENOUGH FROM ME #eta what the shit #does tumblr mobile not do keep reading cuts?!#s...sorry anyone who is reading on mobile #but also read the whole thing i dare you #it's a dare you have to do it

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rk800hunter · 6 years

Text

Dramatics (Sequel - Connor x Reader)

Summary: Jealous/Protective Connor being jealous over reader’s close friend

Pairing: Connor x Reader

A/N: This was demanded from me and I have provided xD Many of you asked for a sequel to Dramatics so here you are! I hope you all enjoyed this as you’ve enjoyed the first one. We are all suckers for protective/possessive/jealous Connor. Feedback is appreciated! I also want to thank you all for being so enthusiastic in my writing, because it makes me want to just write more for everyone~ You guys are the best ;w;

Keys: [F/N] - Friend’s name

[F/LN] - Friend’s last name

[Y/N] - Your name

[L/N] - Your last name

Tags: @captain-winter-wolf-aehs, @rosealexandersson, @alientrashbin, @honeybeelily, @dragonempress123, @randomstuff-idontwannatalkaboutit, @sygin, @dylan-o-yumm @im-a-slut-for-connors-hair-flipp, @ elaneth-elf-friend

I think I’m missing some tags. x.x I’m so sorry...

Warm in your bed, you weren’t keen on waking up for work. The sun was already leaking through your curtains and you could hear the birds chatting and singing up a storm on the nearby willow tree. You quickly switched off the buzzing of your alarm before slumping back down onto the bed.

Staring at the ceiling, you sighed as your mind was already in the works. There was so much to think about considering what had happened last night. You closed your eyes as you replayed the events, remembering every single detail. The sight of Connor’s shirtless body, android-white and gleaming as if it were shining in perspiration. His hair hanging loosely over his forehead with messed curls. The warmth of his breath by your cheek, feathering your neck. His gentle hands brushing against your other cheek, comforting and rhythmic. His hooded, coffee eyes, harsh and piercing, warning away other predators but alluring, tender and almost pleading when they met yours.

And oh. His lips. Oh my god. His soft, inviting lips. Parted slightly. Teasing. Close. Curled in a soft snarl with a tensed jaw and gritted teeth.

You inhaled sharply and bit your lip, feeling heavy churning in your stomach. It was supposed to be the feeling of butterflies but it felt more of wild flapping of disturbed pigeons. You groaned and grabbed the nearby pillow, stuffing it onto your face as you tried to get the images of Connor out of your head.

You had left Hank’s place before anyone had the chance to explain anything but not before placing a blanket on a drunk lieutenant that drooling on the couch. You had asked [F/N] if they were okay getting home on their own to which they had hesitatingly reassured you they were going to be fine. Flushed and embarrassed, you had distractedly arrived in your own home, showered in frustration and fell into restless sleep.

You finally decided that your job was the only thing that fed and housed you, flipping the blankets off and proceeded to clean the evidence of sleep. You were frying quick breakfast when your phone rang. Wiping your hands with a nearby cloth, you looked at the screen to see your caller.

Connor - RK800.

You felt your cheeks immediately burn at the sight of his name and his contact picture, regal and poised. You paced the small apartment kitchen, your heart beating faster with slight anxiety working you up. You suspected he called to apologise for his behaviour and blame it on a system malfunction, vowing that it would never happen again.

The phone was still ringing. Oh crap. You panicked and pressed the decline button. Oh my god, why did you do that? Facepalming and whispering curses to yourself, you scraped the nearly burnt breakfast into a plastic box. Putting the breakfast into your bag, you locked up and quickly boarded the bus that nearly left without you. You settled down on a seat near the window and plugged in your earphones, selecting your favourite song as the bus pulled out onto the road. You looked around and saw androids and humans sitting next to each other like there were no differences. Ever since the android revolution, relationships between androids and humans were quite estranged. However, the androids were putting on their best behaviour, ready to be accepted as equals. They no longer needed to stand in their own android compartments on buses, android parking and such. They were one of us now. You smiled as you saw an android lady talking animatedly to a small boy, revealing her android skin around her hands. It seemed like she was teaching him something. The boy’s father was beaming proudly at them both. It looked like they were such a happy family.

Imagine if you and Connor were a family. Holding hands, laughing as your child ran ahead, chasing a little ladybug. Choking, you realised what you were thinking about and turned away to face the window to watch the passing streets as the world woke up in the sunlight.

You need to get yourself together, [Y/N]. You mentally slapped yourself, it was definitely just a system malfunction. Connor was still adjusting to the new deviancy. After all, he was made to be a deviant hunter so obviously Cyberlife would take extra precautions in his programming.

The bus stopped at the small square where the bookstore was and you briskly stepped off, making your way down the path. Greeting a few other shop owners that were also just opening, you rummaged for your keys, opening the door.

The door revealed a rather large plush doll of a Saint Bernard sitting on the counter. Around its neck, was a golden chained, ivory stone necklace. You were stunned as you looked around outside to search for the culprit. No one suspicious in sight. Returning back inside, you placed your bags down and picked up the plush. It resembled a lot like Sumo. You noticed a solid paper card underneath the plush, sealed in a golden envelope that had your name in crisp, cursive black print. Probably Cyberlife Cursive typeface, you guessed. Connor...sent this? You were quite surprised because people rarely use paper anymore with the new digital age and all. He certainly had a taste for gifts and maybe by the fact that you work at one of the few standing paperback bookstores, he knew you preferred the traditional materials.

You put down the plush and carefully opened the envelope, pulling out the letter within.

[Y/N].

Hank and I would like to present these as gifts souvenirs we have collected during our investigation. As you may have guessed, the Saint Bernard stuffed doll is a representation of Sumo, chosen by Hank himself. He had immediately thought of you when he passed it by the store window. As you know, Hank doesn't like sappiness so he does not want to include himself in this letter.

You snorted out loud, smiling as you read. Classic Hank.

The necklace around Stuffed Sumo is my gift to you. Made out of pure ivory, it is actually the rare tooth of an elk. I had promised to find you a souvenir from the investigation itself so yes this is part of the pieces of evidence. Don't worry. They won't be able to detect the difference between the fake I deposited.

As I present these gifts, I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. It was definitely very uncharacteristic of me and I have done a self-diagnosis that indicates a bit of a system error. I hope [F/N] did not take offense.

Ah there it was. You had already predicted what he would say.

I hope that you would find it in your heart to look past this inconvenience.

Connor

Oh... Inconvenience? Okay sure, it was an inconvenience to your poor heart and mind that wouldn't stop freaking out but you knew that wasn't what Connor had meant. Shaking your head with a smile, you placed the Sumo plush by the window, giving it a pat on the head before setting down to work. It was so sweet of both of them. You made a vow to always treasure them both enough and to make sure they knew.

Half way through the day, you remembered to give [F/N] a call, to make sure they weren't going to run away from you. You had also wanted to catch up with them before they headed overseas again.

"It seems like I have competition," they had joked and reassured you. "Don't worry about it too much."

You had sighed with relief. "Could I make it up to you with a proper dinner out? I promise it'll be Conner-less."

Agreeing on a time and a rather expensive place, you decided to message Hank, letting him know that you were going to be missing dinner with them.

As evening settled, you waved off your last customer before putting away the last stock. You were just about to leave before something glittered by the window, reminding you of a certain tenderness. Connor's necklace. Biting your lip in a quick thought, you decided to take the necklace off of stuffed Sumo. Clasping the chain around your neck, you glanced at the reflection on the window, admiring the way the tooth glimmered against the streetlight that streamed through the glass.

You touched it lightly with your hand as you thought about Connor once more. How was it possible that a machine becoming deviant could be so impactful...? It allowed him to understand sentimentality. Evolution was a wonder.

Feeling rather embarrassed about the amount of times you thought about him, you shook your head and exited the shop, making your way to the restaurant.

The night was going really well. Excellent food and drinks along with [F/N] with so many stories to tell about their adventures and experiences in teaching at seminars and several universities. You exchanged stories by telling them about the whole deviant revolution that happened a few years back and how things were actually still so raw. You avoided the subject about work, explaining that it was obviously nothing compared to what they were doing.

You had excused yourself to go to the restroom and had just walked out when suddenly, the restaurant exploded, causing you to fly backwards into the wall. You felt your breath leave you as you fell onto the floor. You could hear screams along with things breaking and burning. What the hell happened...? Glancing around with blurred eyes, you saw that everything was in ruins and on fire. Nothing was recognizable anymore. You feel your conscious giving up on you as everything slowly turned dark.

Then...silence.

It felt like you were drifting in the void, drowsily letting go of everything. It was so quiet. It was kind of nice. Just nothing. It felt like you had been there for ages.

"[Y/N]!"

Someone was calling out to you. Probably [F/N]. You could sense desperation in their voice. You opened your eyes but squinted them close again from the white flash of pain that you felt everywhere.

You tried to get up but a sharp jab in your chest caused you to cry out as you collapsed back down. Strong hands gripped your arms, stablising you. You felt them lift you up, sweeping you into a bridal style. They were asking you something but your ears still rang of both noise and silence. Was that even possible...? You felt that you had discovered new muscles and pain in areas that you didn’t realise could feel pain. Hazily nuzzling against their chest, you moaned, trying to communicate with your savior.

They were saying something else, but you could only make out the reassuring tone with a sense of worry and anger. Closing your eyes, you let yourself be carried outside and felt your skin prickle with something damp. Oh. It was raining. The air smelt of the mixture of burnt plastic, smoke and moisture of the rain. You could hear panicked voices, sirens and just ultimate chaos. You were placed onto something soft and your savior’s hands searching you everywhere. They gently touched your face, eyes, ears, down to your neck, and suddenly...

WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! As you felt the pair of hands lift up your shirt you jolted up despite what it feels like to be a stab wound in your chest.

“HEY!” you yelled, feeling the haziness flutter away form your brain. “What are you doing?!”

The hands pushed you gently but firmly down. “Please calm down, [Y/N], you are seriously injured and I need to remove this garment so I can tend to it.”

The voice sounded extremely familiar now that you were out of the initial haze. You closed your eyes as you pleaded. Please don’t let it be Connor, please don’t let it be Connor, please don’t let it Connor... You wouldn’t know how to react if it was the detective android that was tending to your pretty exposed body.

You opened your eyes slowly to look at your caretaker.

What do you know...? Of course, it was Connor.

"Wha-" You stuttered as you looked at him up and down. Oh no... Not the collared white shirt. It was slightly singed with smudged ashes. Thank goodness it wasn't buttoned down all the way. It looked like he was having a casual night before everything happened. There was still quite a visual of his collarbone but you immediately looked right up to his eyes to stop yourself from flushing more than usual.

"Connor!" you gasped, bewildered. "What are you doing here?!"

You realised that you were in the back of an ambulance with the doors opened, allowing you to make out a crowd of people and flashing lights of authority. Conner scanned the road, searching for something before turning his gaze back to you. His eyes were filled with the same fire they held the previous the night as his jaw evidently tightens.

"Why did you not inform me of where you were?" he hissed, his voice lower and huskier than usual. You felt your chest numb, as Connor injects something there. It didn’t stop the burning traces of his hands as they brushed against your skin while he worked on stitching up the wound that sat directly below your rib.

"Hey, I told Hank I was going to be busy," you retorted defensively.

The Android took a step closer towards you, his LED flashing red as he concentrated. "But you didn't tell me," he growled slowly. "And now you are here. With [F/N].” Quite honestly, instead of intimidating you, it was turning you on a little, despite your condition. The close proximity is going to drive you nuts.

You opened your mouth, suddenly worried about [F/N] but Connor waved his hand dismissively, interrupting you. “They’re fine.”

His eyes briefly flickered to you as you looked away, relieved. Glancing back at him, you frowned. “Is it even in your programming to know how to tend to the wounded?”

Connor subtly tilted his head in his usual quirk, eyes not leaving your injury. “I have some programming,” he explained absentmindedly. “It would also be an inconvenience to me if a foreign model or person touches you.”

Your eyes widened at his additional comment, and you could feel a rise in heat.

He shook his head in frustration and continues to scold you. “Look at what happens when I am not around; you get into trouble."

You decided that you were done being bullied into submission even though you were lying there belly-bare as he towered you. "Conner, they're just my friend that I haven't seen in ever." You glared at him square in the eyes, causing him to raise an eyebrow at your sudden fire of defiance. "It’s also not often that restaurants get blown up either. I can take care of myself. I don't belong to you or anything, it's not like you own me." You tried to restrain from grimacing from the ache all over your body, feeling smug at your self-confidence.

The detective smirked, agreeing to play your game. "Well, Miss [L/N]," he cut the last thread of the stitch, letting his hand rest on the nape of your neck. Taking the chain of the ivory tooth necklace and slowly brushing against your skin, he knelt down and leaned in right next to your ear. His other hand was resting on your bare belly, thumb stroking lightly.

Your breath hitched as you felt his lips graze ever so lightly against your cheek. You could feel your heart wanting to jump right out your throat and throw itself at Connor. What the hell man. This isn't fair. You were a strong independent person and yet, your willpower and probably sense of dignity would vanish the moment Connor came into scene. To top it off, you were wounded and vulnerable in a bed so obviously he had the higher ground.

"The moment you placed this on..." he whispered, pulling back slightly, his face only inches away from yours as he glances at you with eyes glinting dangerously.

"You belong to me.”

You laid there, hot, bothered and in pain. This was absolute torture. You closed your eyes, and kept your lips thin as you stubbornly refused to look at him, knowing that he enjoyed toying with you.

You heard him move away, possibly with the biggest, cockiest smirk in history. You still kept your eyes shut, brows furrowed with embarrassment.

“I must tend to the investigation now, they need me to be on scene,” you heard Connor say.

He placed a soft hand in the middle of your chest and scanned, enjoying the sight of your elevated heartbeat on his HUD interface.

“Get better, [Y/N]. I will be expecting you.”

#detroit become human #dbh #connor #connor x reader #hank #hank anderson #dramatics #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #markus #kara #android #reader #reader inserts #protective

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jui-imouto-chan · 6 years

Text

Part 11 of The Mostly Human AU

Level Select:

Suggestions by @supposedlymatureadult

It’s odd to be in the house without Conan or Collin around.

Even Hank feels a bit off with the lack of the twins’ presence.

He keeps going to their rooms to inform that breakfast is ready, or lunch, or dinner, and he finds himself deflating when he remembers that they’re gone.

He places one shirt on each of their door’s knobs to remind himself to stop when he goes to enter their rooms.

Some nights, he’ll lay on their beds and wear their shirts while going into sleep mode.

Hank takes a few pictures and prints them out without Connor’s knowledge—he has good reasons, and he’s sure he’ll be forgiven.

Hank proposes the idea of a care package, and Connor leaps at the chance to provide for two of his closest people.

Connor prepares a bunch of food that he then freezes for them to heat up after they receive it.

He also packs medicine, some extra school supplies, and puts in some of the money he’d gotten from his detective-ing.

He also recognizes that they’re in college, so he hides something else inside of one of the zippable binders.

Hank slips some extra things into the package just as they’re about to seal it, but Connor doesn’t inspect nor question it—they’re Hank’s sons, not Connor’s. Whatever is in there is from Hank to them, and Connor can respect that.

The twins share an apartment nearby the campus, and find a package had been shipped to them, sitting on their doorstep.

“I hope it’s not a bomb.”

“It’s from dad, it’s probably a gun or something.”

“Let’s open it inside, then; don’t want the neighbors to catch us with a firearm again.”

“Yeah, that was messy.”

They open it and immediately find a note taped to the inside.

‘Hope you’re doing well! It’s weird not seeing you every day, and I’m finding that I miss you two a lot! Please do call me soon, I really want to hear your voices again! Hank’s message for you is, “Fuck shit up and don’t die.” Sumo only says “boof”, but I’m sure what he’s saying is full of affection. -Connor’

The note is cute, the words holding so much warmth and personality despite being written with perfect handwriting—the typeface appears to be specific to androids, from what they understand, after having scanned it with an app.

Conan and Collin fight over who keeps the note, but eventually they agree to stick it to the fridge.

After they get over their appreciation for Connor’s overwhelmingly endearing note, they see that he had labeled everything he packaged with little post-its.

The miscellaneous meals all had instructions for storing and heating. Connor prepared their favorites.

They immediately set about disposing of the dry ice they were packaged with and putting the food away. Conan also puts the medicine in the cabinet near the sink, while Collin places the school supplies on the table. One of the binders is heavier than the other, and he decides to investigate that after they’ve gotten everything out of the package. The money is placed in their savings jar, which they stash in a safe place.

At the bottom of the package is an envelope with the words, ‘From Dad’ on the top in Hank’s semi-neat, semi-sloppy handwriting.

Collin pulls it out and waits for Conan to sit beside him, tearing it open only after the older twin urges him to do so.

He reaches in an pulls up a few pieces of photo paper, though they’re facing away, so he can’t see what images are on them yet. The envelope reads, ‘He misses you two.’ under the cover.

They turn the photos over to see images of Connor sleeping in their clothes and their beds, pillows arranged to replace their bodies so that Connor could hug and cuddle them. There are two copies of each photo, so they can divide them up and take their share without fuss.

Their father knows them well.

Collin mentions the binder after he and Conan put the photos in their rooms.

He and Conan are surprised to find packages of condoms inside.

“Connor what the fuck.” Collin mutters to himself.

There’s an assortment of sizes, Connor got them anything between medium and extra large and they feel an odd sense of pride at that. There are also miscellaneous flavors and colors.

‘College is a place to learn first and foremost, but a search has shown me that there’s a lot of intercourse that occurs during a student’s time there, so I’m making sure you guys are safe! I didn’t know for sure what you’d prefer and your specifications on size, so I’ve taken the liberty of buying you a bunch! Have fun! 😉’

The winky face at the end is what gets Collin to groan into his hands and Conan to blow out a sigh.

“Does Connor really think we prioritize sexual endeavors to our schoolwork? Not to mention that neither of us are really interested in anyone other than him.”

Conan silently places the condoms under the bathroom sink, slamming the cabinet door shut. He vows that he will make it clear to Connor that the only one he’d ever have any sexual intentions for is him.

Collin wonders if he’d even need condoms with Connor, since he’s an android, but that leads into a rabbit hole of thoughts that Collin would rather not dive into while in the living room.

Carl calls Connor after a month of radio silence on the elder’s end.

His health had taken a nose dive, and Markus had been disguising his unease at flitting in and out of the hospital behind a cheery exterior.

Carl’s status was kept under wraps until he got better—even the rest of Jericho were left unaware of the man’s condition.

While he was in the hospital, he took a liking to the android in charge of tending to his needs—he didn’t have a name, but his model number was AP700.

This android doesn’t have a personality, unlike Connor, as it didn’t have a proper AI, just an extensive but not as extensive set of protocols.

Carl had Markus call up Kamski and request for the android to be reprogrammed after buying him from the hospital.

“Connor could use a friend he can relate to.” Carl explained, though Markus didn’t look entirely pleased by that.

When Carl calls, Connor is delighted to speak with him, polite but eager as he asks about how he’s been doing.

“It’s August, isn’t it? How time flies—it feels like it was only yesterday that Hank first called to complain about you.”

“It really doesn’t feel like it was that long ago, despite my system clock telling me it’s been 8 months. Simulatanously, it feels like it has also been a lifetime, which, considering the length of mine so far, is almost true.”

Carl considers for a moment. “How old are you, Connor?”

“It has been approximately one year since I was first activated in Mr. Kamski’s lab.”

“One year? It’s pretty weird that I’m talking to a one year old right now, wouldn’t you say?” Carl teases, chuckling lightly. Then his eyes light up in realization.

“Oh, Connor, we ought to throw you a birthday party!”

“A birthday party? I have been invited to a few before, but they seem to be something humans do to celebrate the life someone was given. Why would I need one?”

“You’re as alive as can be Connor, and you’re reason enough to celebrate.”

Connor eventually relents, and Carl eagerly recruits Kamski and Kara for the party planning.

August 23rd, 2037 was the date Kamski booted up Connor after his AI was finished and installed, so that’s when the party is set.

They didn’t inform Connor of the exact date, hoping that Connor will enjoy a surprise party.

They make sure to tell Hank to keep Connor from having any of his weapons on him. And, just in case, his coin.

Connor is good at improvising; he could wreak havoc with a sunflower seed and a glue stick if he felt the need to. Such precautions are drastic but necessary.

Everyone’s waiting in Carl’s living room, silent in the darkened room when Connor arrives at the mansion, dressed in black slim fitting jeans and with a blue oversized t-shirt. It has cartoonish versions of a multitude of cute animals arranged neatly on the front with hearts placed around them.

Connor is pushing Carl’s wheelchair, the painter and Hank keeping him distracted as they lead him to the living room.

Hank, standing slightly behind Connor, draws his attention with a question just as the doors open, so Connor is extra startled when there’s a shout of “Happy Birthday!” from a large sum of people.

He’s so shocked, in fact, that his system shuts down for a moment.

Hank catches Connor and Connor is left wide eyed, partially limp while his systems start back up, tears slowly coming to his eyes.

Markus runs out of the crowd trying to wipe Connor’s tears while apologizing profusely and telling everyone to cancel everything.

Carl rolls his eyes at Markus being utterly overdramatic.

“I...” Connor begins, eyes slowly focusing as his systems finally start coming back online.

“I’m not upset, or anything... I just...was overwhelmed by emotion and surprise.”

He can see his software instability shooting up and up and up, until it glitches out and vanishes. He’s just so happy now. He has so many friends—So many people who care about him and he can’t help the joyful tears.

They all surround him and reassure him and all comfort him with pats and cooed words.

Hank eventually grows exasperated with the comfort situation and clasps Connor’s hand, yanking him up onto his own feet, telling everyone that it’s time for actual partying, a hand clapped on Connor’s shoulder.

The Jerrys go into the kitchen and pull out an utterly MASSIVE cake, decked with an impressive amount and variety of frosting.

It’s decorated to look like a dog with an LED as a frisbee in its mouth. Candles stick up like the dog’s fur is 3D, and the LED itself is shimmering amongst the flickering firelight.

Connor almost screams in delight, and the Jerrys tell him that Markus used the frosting colors as paint to make the picture.

He throws his arms around Markus’ neck and jumps up and down, shouting out “thank you!!”-s at an alarmingly rapid pace. Markus moves his arms up to Connor’s waist to hug him back and/or hold him down, but Connor’s motions lead to Markus accidentally squeezing Connor’s ass. Markus suddenly finds himself being given a scolding look from Daniel and Josh while Simon gives him a congratulatory pat on the back with North. Rupert, standing nearby, watches him with displeasure in his eyes.

Ralph offers to cut the cake, and Kara warily hands him a knife, though her fear is unfounded—Ralph handles the knife with a certain amount of caution and care that makes her feel guilty for not trusting him as he places it beside the cake.

Meanwhile, Luther goes over to a box at the side and pulls out an excessive amount of party hats.

Everyone puts their hats on, waiting on Connor, who places it on his head.

He’s so cute when he looks up from under his lashes with a shy, delighted smile.

Immediately, Carl has little drones ready for pictures, capturing Connor’s smile as well as the group grinning at said birthday boy.

Another photo is of Connor blowing out the candles, hands holding the edge of the table as he does so, eyes sparkling in the light of the flames.

Ralph meticulously cuts the cake into even pieces. Thankfully, Connor doesn’t pay attention to the fact that the dog in the photo is now separated onto a bunch of plates.

Connor actually doesn’t get his own plate.

Per a suggestion from Kamski, everyone takes turns feeding Connor, who throws his head back and lets out muffled squeals of joy at the taste every time a forkful finds itself in his mouth.

Kara and Chloe teamed up to actually bake it, with Alice giving them tips about what Connor likes and dislikes. They also premade the frosting, before Markus used food coloring and flavoring mixed with the frosting to create his masterpiece on top.

The Jerrys helped with gathering supplies.

As the clock strikes midnight, Connor is laying his head on Hank’s lap, his father figure petting his hair lazily.

“First birthday, eh, Connor?” Hank takes care in messing Connor’s hair up as much as possible. “Did ya have fun, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, looking all around the room sleepily.

Luther and Kara had to take Alice home not too long ago, despite the girl’s reluctance. She gave him a big hug and a kiss to the cheek before leaving. After them, people slowly trickled out, having work the next day. Markus set about putting Carl to bed, Jericho having left with the others, and now Connor, Hank, and the twins sluggishly ready themselves to leave. Most of Connor’s gifts were packed into the back of the car by Conan and Collin, so it was just a matter of getting him in the vehicle.

Unfortunately, Connor’s sleep mode overtook him and Hank ended up piggybacking him to the car. The twins agreed on sharing Conan’s bed so that they could both have Connor for the night.

Next Level: Getting Crushed at the Pet Shelter (suggested by @manadrite )

X| Continue to Next Level

O| Save Progress And Quit to Main Menu

————————————- •

Leave suggestions in the comments or my ask! You can also criticize, scream, and/or question in the same places!

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pierrotdameron · 6 years

Link

1) Jean Grey: The Early Years

While X-Men: Apocalypse introduced a grown-up Jean to the First Class timeline, it turns out that Charles Xavier has a longer-standing relationship with her. “There are not a lot of flashbacks in the movie, but that foundational relationship between Young Jean and a younger Charles is one of the core themes of the film,” Kinberg explains. “The question of Jean’s relationship to her own powers becomes a big conflict for her throughout the film once she’s transformed by something that happens up in space, that has nothing to do with her childhood. It opens with a mission that takes them up into space that has consequences for Jean that ripple throughout the movie.”

2) The Professor’s Problem

In previous tellings of the Dark Phoenix story, Professor X has limited Jean’s capabilities after seeing the full potential of her power – and the Dark Phoenix trailer teases at a similar strand here. “Charles has been hiding secrets about Jean’s past from her that get revealed over the span of the movie, and only make her more unstable,” say Kinberg. “It’s the most inopportune time for this character to become unstable emotionally, because she’s becoming unstable in a much different way after this cosmic thing that happened to her in space. In this way, Dark Phoenix is the most intimate, emotional and personal movie we’ve made, and yet also has the biggest breadth in terms of spanning beyond our planet, even beyond our galaxy. There’s a sense that the things that are happening emotionally for Jean and what’s happening cosmically inside her is making her incredibly unstable, dangerous, destructive.”

3) Present Day

Cut back to the main timeline, and a reasonable amount of time has elapsed since we last saw Prof X and co. “It’s 1992, nine years after Apocalypse,” confirms Kinberg. “The X-Men have become the X-Men that many of us know from the comics – they are heroes. They’re still viewed as different by society, but they’ve been more embraced than ever before. And when the movie starts in 1992, they are a known superhero team.”

4) Suburban Outfitters

In a move sure to please many long-term fans, the X-uniform in Dark Phoenix finally brings in a classic yellow-and-blue design similar to the comic and cartoon incarnations. “I’ve been waiting to do that from the first time I ever got a call from Avi Arad,” Kinberg enthuses. “Avi and Kevin Feige were the chief two people that called me about an X-Men movie 15 years ago. We talked about the costumes, and what Bryan Singer had done I understood and liked, but they were very different to what I had grown up seeing in the comics. So I was excited finally as the director to have more of a say and clothe them in their classic costumes.”

The new look pinches elements from various designs seen on page and screen over the years. “I had a board full of my favourite images from the comics, and then I worked with our costume designer, who also worked on Logan, to create something that was incredibly loyal to the comics and then also had a little bit of its own feel. There’s little nuances from the cartoons, the comics, from whatever it is that if you were a fan you grew up reading or watching.”

5) Sense Of Mystique

While Mystique was primarily an antagonist in the original X-Mentrilogy, working alongside Magneto, she’s skewed more heroic as Raven since her introduction in First Class. At the end of Apocalypseshe chose to stay with Charles, and help establish the X-Men – and she’s still part of the group nine years on. “Raven is a part of the X-Men, but she’s critical of some of Charles’ methodologies, in terms of him feeling as though they can just dress up in those costumes and be considered the same as the rest of humanity,” Kinberg explains. “So there is a schism forming between her and Charles. That struggle has been present in every movie, and we do it in a hopefully slightly more subtle way in this film. She toggles back and forth between Raven and Mystique, and there is meaning to that as there has always been in the previous three X-Men movies.”

6) Star-Crossed Lovers

Jean and Scott Summers, aka Cyclops, both entered the prequel saga in Apocalypse, with sparks of chemistry between the two. In the comics and original film trilogy, the pair are a fully-fledged item – and in the intervening nine years they find themselves in a similar place emotionally here. “The love story between Scott and Jean is such an integral part of the Dark Phoenix saga in any iteration, whether it’s the comic book or the cartoons,” reasons Kinberg. “Obviously we don’t have Wolverine, so that’s one less part of that love story. It is very central [to the movie], and they are a couple. As Jean starts to become more unstable, there are people in the X-Men who don’t think she can be helped and saved, many of whom think the world and others need helping and saving from her. And so Scott is probably the most prominent person who’s holding on to the hope that Jean can be saved.”

7) The Village Green Preservation Society

While Charles remained at his mansion to build the X-Men team at the end of Apocalypse, Erik Lensherr, aka Magneto, went his separate way. In the Dark Phoenix trailer, he’s in a leafy commune when Jean approaches him for guidance. “What you’re seeing is the beginnings of Genosha,” reveals Kinberg. “That’s where Erik is when we meet him. It’s like Magneto’s Israel – a land built for mutants, a homeland where they can be safe and self-sufficient. Jean finds him there because what’s happening to her is making her do destructive things, and she doesn’t know why. The only person she’s known who has done destructive and lethal things in the past but came back from it is Magneto. She feels he alone can give her answers because he’s lived both sides. He’s lost control and killed and hurt people, some of whom he even loved, and yet he’s also found a measure of peace and that’s what she’s searching for.”

8) Intergalactic Influence

The main new cast addition to the series is Jessica Chastain, who’s gone all platinum-blonde to play… well, we don’t know. But Kinberg elaborated a little on the origins of her character. “I can tell you this much. Jessica’s character is not of this Earth. She’s an extra-terrestrial character, an alien character,” he teases. “I won’t say much more in detail on the specifics of that. While everyone else is trying to control this power inside of Jean, she’s much more interested in essentially encouraging her to go further with it and try to be the peaceful side of herself. She is the devil on Jean’s shoulder, so to speak.”

9) Cosmic Jam

Cut to the end of the trailer, and we get a glimpse of the outer space incident that kicks off the whole Phoenix takeover. “Jean is in space, and what she’s taking in is a cosmic force that she thinks is one thing, and over the course of the movie realises is something far different, that our human science can’t explain,” says Kinberg. “But she needs to find a way to control it or she’ll destroy more than just her friends – and even our planet.”

10) Cracked Actor

Before the title card, we see Jean in Phoenix mode, face streaked with white lines – and she’s only just getting started. “That’s not maximum [Phoenix]. That’s a two or a three on the Dark Phoenix spectrum,” warns Kinberg. “It is a manifestation of her transformation from the Jean we know into Phoenix. Over the span of the movie we see different symptoms or iterations of that. The lines on her face let you know that Jean is losing control, and that force inside her is trying to escape, push through, take over. Those cracks are almost as if something inside her that’s more powerful than she is is trying to push out of her body.”

11) Earthy Tones

For years, the X-Men logo and title card has been emblasoned in bold metallic fonts – but not here. X-Men: Dark Phoenix (or simply Dark Phoenix, as it’s being called in the US) has a darker, more mellow typeface that Kinberg explains is emblematic of a new tone for the franchise. “The way I wanted to make the movie was very different than the aesthetic of previous X-Men movies, which I’ve been very involved in and proud of,” he says. “But I wanted it to feel more naturalistic, I wanted it to feel edgier, more handmade, more real. I was very inspired by what James Mangold did with Logan, and I felt like if I could bring a measure of that aesthetic in the film that all of the intergalactic and larger-scale things that happen in the movie would feel more shocking, more realistic, more emotional. They’d be grounded in some reality. And so, all of the movie – from the costumes, to the title card, to the set design, to the way the X-jet looks – all of that stuff is just more analogue in a way. More like, let’s say, the original Star Wars movies. Not that analogue, but the movies I grew up loving had this very gritty, edgy, cool, human feeling to them.”

#X-Men: Dark Phoenix #interview #Simon Kinberg #Jean Grey #Scott Summers #Charles Xavier #raven darkholme #Erik Lehnsherr

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dangstudios · 6 years

Text

Getting the Most Out of Your Writing: Welcome to Word

Good Morning everyone, and welcome to another seminar on Getting The Most Out of Your Writing. I’m your host Perrin, and this week I’ll be starting you all off with an introductory course in writing. Whether you write fiction, non-fiction, scripts or prose, I’m here to give you the latticework you need to get started. And that latticework has a name - Microsoft Word. Here is my DANG! approved, August 2018 course on Word 2016.

More like Word 1016. Ugh, take me back to the printing press.

Somewhere down in your toolbar you’ll see this icon: This is Word.

Click on it to launch the program. If you can’t find it anywhere on your desktop then I am sorry. You don’t have Word.

Once clicking, you will get this screen:

This is what we writing veterans call “The Preparation Screen”. Here you will prepare to see Word for what it truly is. If you feel you are ready to begin, click the “Blank Document”. All the other ones are pointless. You don’t need to take a tour - I’m already taking you on a tour right now. If you need to make 10,000 resumes well there they are. I’ve never clicked on the Accessible Template Sampler. It tempts me, for I hope after clicking it the man and his dog will emerge from my computer and then there will be a dog to pet. But I also fear that one of the numerous background taxis may also emerge and crush the man and his dog.

This is what a new blank document will look like:

Now this is your canvas (metaphorically) and you can pretty much go hog honk from here until the sun collapses - but hold back your wretched excitement. As you can see at the top of the screen is a bunch of damn hoo haw. This is where the brains of Word lie, and uneasy are the brains of Word.

Under the home tab you have the Usable Features. Things like fonts and font sizes. Paragraph settings. Font color. Um, a clipboard. Over on the far left is where Word stores the paste. The little crossed out ‘abc’ in the font tab I believe erases the alphabet, and the two x’s next to it change the box art for DVD copies of X2: XMen United. You’ll be spending most of your time here in this section.

Next to the usable stuff you have all this vermin shit. The only thing here that I’ll mention here is the ‘dictate’ button on the right, because holy yuck. Yowza.

Next to the home tab is the Insert tab. Here you can immediately make Word fill out the new document with all of Wikipedia. You can also place pictures or insert ONLINE pictures; distinguished as such because they are on-line. Or make a thousand tables. Add some shapes.

The rest of the Insert tab is a meaningless pile of rotted code. Just looking at it is making me tired. If you wanna put math in your Word file it’s there I guess.

AH!

This is the layout tab. It basically lets you say what parts of the document you DON’T want to use. I like to set my margins on all sides to about 1 or 2 feet wide, and my left/right indents about double that. I usually have no before/after spacing. Selection pane is about windows???

Oh boy, this one is a whopper and a half. The review tab. Use it to check spelling or look up words similar to the one you keep using over and over again to describe that one character. You can have Word read what you’ve written aloud to you, and why why why you would ever want this is beyond me. Accept or Reject your own writing. Compare your document to just anything Word can get it’s hands on at the moment. There’s also the ‘Hide Ink’ option which is dumb. It’s really dumb. Oh gee, oh giddy me! I shall hide Master William Hobblescoth Obeluenta’s Ink Well so that he may have-such-a-fuss when he next assumes to pen a letter with his quite in-style and catching Floennentine Quill! Stupid.

Now that you’ve seen all the useful tools let us explore the document-space. Begin by writing something. Just a little something. Just a taste. Just a smidgen of a scrumptious literary morsel.

You’ve done it. But have you? No, not really. What ghastly font is that? Its dog dunk, find a better one.

Simply highlight what you’ve jotted down and go up to the fonts section in the Home tab. Click the drop down and you’ll be able to peruse the dusty typography.

There you go. Now, let’s find one that works. A font that really compliments what we’ve written. A typeface that can hold the sloshing juice of our wordplay.

Be sure to pick a good one like this one: The Font That Says EMAAA.

Once you’ve done that the font will automatically change, and...

TA DAAAA! Your work is done! Thank you so much for accompanying me on this journey and I hope you learned one, two, three, or nothing things. Feel free to have questions and just hold on to them tightly. Stay tuned for the upcoming second installment all about alternative word processors like Bendengratz 89 and Oh Ow Oopsie The Words Are Colliding With My Head.

#writing #word #devblog #instructional #DANG!

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ayellowbirds · 6 years

Photo

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 23: “A Tiki Scare is No Fair"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 2 Episode 6. Original Airdate: 10/17/1970)

AKA, "Adventures In Culturally Insensitive Tourism"

This is the sole episode of Season 2 of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! that has no musical chase segment, and the episode feels like it really drags in comparison. The content doesn’t help much. Read this recap bearing in mind that i’m an American of mostly Ashkenazic ancestry, and so i was raised with a lot of white privilege. If i make any missteps in criticizing the episode’s handling of Hawaiian culture, let me know.

The scene opens to soothing music with an evening view on an active volcano, the music transitioning into Aloha Oe as the view transitions down to a Hawaiian village where Shaggy, Scooby, and one “John Simms” are enjoying a luau. The scene is presented in the same terms Shaggy and Scooby are experiencing it: tourism aimed at a mostly white audience. Although there’s faux-conversational background noise, none of the locals are heard to speak—not to the gang, not to one another, and barely even when the episode’s villain appears. Only two Hawaiian character gets any lines, and it’s near the very end of the episode.

Shaggy’s first line sums up the attitudes informing this scenario.

After its illegal annexation as a US territory to appease the interests of white settlers, Hawaii had been a US state for barely more than a decade before this episode aired. American tourist culture—that is, white American ideas about what Pacific culture is like, filtered through the experience of tourism and material indulgence.

Mr. Simms snaps a photo of Shaggy stuffing his face, mentioning that it’ll be great for his newspaper, and Shaggy shares his gratitude for Simms taking the gang on a tour. The episode is kind of vague as to whose dollar funded the trip; if Simms brought the gang, his reasons are never brought up, and it seems more likely they arrived by other means and that the arrangement with Simms is about being shown the sights.

In fact, Shaggy mentions plans for the following day: visiting the “ancient village of a lost tribe”, a plan the rest of the gang came up with that isn’t part of the tour Simms is conducting.

Simms warns Shaggy and Scooby that the village is haunted, and advises them to just stick to the tour and enjoy themselves.

Then the drums start.

A poorly-animated man slides in from offscreen, stammering, “ghost drums!”

A trio of drums decorated with faces throb and pulse alone on the sand like abandoned personal massage wands, and ominous clouds move in around the volcano. The light over the whole scene turns red, and in an explosion of smoke, a masked figure appears.

I found it odd that, when mentioning this scene later on, Shaggy insists that Simms was present when this “witch doctor” appears, but he’s actually vanished when the villain shows up to declare that everyone present is “on the forbidden ground of Mano Tiki Tia!”

Now, “tiki” is a word indelibly merged with the concept of island culture in the American consciousness, most egregiously in the form of gimmicky lounge/bar drinks served in cups poorly imitating traditional carvings. It’s from a Maori word, meaning “figurine”, and as far as i’m aware, doesn’t actually mean anything in Hawaiian (though they are related languages, so maybe there’s a cognate i’m unfamiliar with). “Mano” could be any of several words depending on how you accent the vowels when writing it in English; it could mean “shark”, a source of water, or “a vast number of things”.

It’s more likely that Joe Ruby and Ken Spears just made it up to sound “Hawaiian”.

The costumed villain (who, unsurprisingly, will turn out to be a white man) vanishes, and the villagers, Shaggy, and Scooby panic. Scooby and Shaggy are separated in the confusion, and Shaggy finds himself alone.

The action cuts to the Pineapple Parlor, where Fred and Daphne dance to a jukebox while Velma kvetches about Shaggy and Scooby’s idea of fun. Remember what I was saying about the indulgent American tourist culture? The episode began with luau number 48.

Shaggy arrives in a panic, knocking down the door and surfing it across the floor to tell the others what happened in sentence fragments that don’t really communicate anything. “Shaggy, get ahold of yourself,” Fred advises.

The gang take the Mystery Machine back to the site of the luau, Shaggy and Velma arguing about “scientific facts” versus the things Shaggy saw with his own gullible eyes. As the gang arrive, Velma catches sight of an old man sitting by a statue.

The gang get out of the van, and Velma suggests asking him, but to her surprise, he’s vanished before the others could see him. Just as quickly, a “ghost drum” appears, bouncing towards them, and circling the Mystery Machine as they gang try to hide... only to flip over and reveal that Scooby was hiding underneath it.

The gang want to find Mr. Simms, but Shaggy is reluctant, until the incentive of another luau is dangled before him. I really need to affirm that the tourist-centric concept of the luau is inauthentic, and stands as a symbol of the whole repackaging, rebranding, and sale of Hawaiian and broader Polynesian culture to white people. Shaggy’s appetite for luaus goes well beyond his usual gluttony and makes him into a living avatar of American imperialism, here motivated to save lives only by the prospect of more parties.

While searching, the gang find a newspaper with articles by Simms. They can tell this because the page Velma is reading is shown to have the name John Simms written across the entire top of the page, less of a credit and more of a headline or title for the paper itself. It also has the worst typeface choice ever made for a newspaper.

The gang want to investigate further, intending to follow the tracks into the “jungle” (guay de mi, am i glad that word is vanishing from the English lexicon), and Scooby needs convincing to use his nose to follow the scent.

This is probably the single most uncomfortable image of Fred Jones that exists, and i’m including things that can only be described with the words “rule 34″ in that.

Naturally, Shaggy falls for the temptation, and scarfs down the Snack and gets to sniffing on all fours. Scooby follows suit, reluctantly, and we get another glimpse of the old man, watching from the bushes. The gang catch sight of him and flip out, and he laughs to himself as they flee.

Seriously, though, how strong is Velma Dinkley? Get this girl into some weightlifting competitions. This particular formation hooks Shaggy and Scooby upside-down on a tree branch opposite some similarly-posed bats, evidently drawn by someone who couldn’t be zoinksed to look it up and learn that there’s only one species of bat native to Hawaii. The boys flee from the menacing red-eyed, red-eared grey-black bats and—we get another transitional wipe! Are they here to stay?

When the gang literally run into each other again, they wind up at the feet of a giant statue, which Velma identifies as the figure of Mano Tiki Tia from the newspaper article. They’re in the “haunted” village, strewn with human skulls and ominously sharp carvings. As the gang look around, the giant statue rotates at its base, and its eyes open to watch them.

Somehow, they don’t notice this.

They do notice the witch doctor, who chases them in the direction of a large building that is evidently still seeing use, complete with a rotating trick wall. Shaggy and Scooby are left on the outside, as a snorting shadow—very clearly a boar—approaches, and Shaggy is forced to heft a “club” in self-defense.

...what? The boar jumps out of the underbrush, followed by two piglets, bowling Shaggy over. Meanwhile, Velma drops through a trap door, and winds up in a cavernous dungeon where she spots Mr. Simm’s horribly tacky hat. She hides, just as the Witch Doctor enters, but her haypile hiding place triggers a sneeze and she has to run.

The boys recover at the feet of the statue, where Shaggy for some reason has the utter gall to ask if Scooby is really afraid of ghosts. As Scooby gives the obvious, honest answer, a voice booms:

“MANO.... TIKI... TIA!”

Shaggy looks up to see where it came from.

Mano Tiki Tia is the biggest “monster” the gang face by far, and unless i’m misremembering things, will hold onto that status for a good long while.

He’s also really obviously mechanical, and as he gives chase, the camera lets the viewer plainly see the creaking wheels moving his feet over the ground. Hiding from him leads the boys to reunite with Velma, and the trio flee the Witch Doctor into a nearby building where they attempt to barricade the door, forming a chain to pass furniture across the room.

I’m pretty sure this is the first time we see this particular gag in Scooby-Doo, though it’s going to repeat plenty of times in the future.

A brief glimpse of Fred and Daphne’s wanderings reveals another sighting of the old man, and the scene cuts back to the chase.

You know, usually the disguises involve them throwing something else on over their clothes. This is one of the most obvious times that they would have needed to strip and throw on something else, and i really feel like that’s time that would be better spent running.

Even more astonishingly, this disguise works, and the Witch Doctor is totally fooled as “Tarzan” directs him towards “boy, girl, and dog”.

Meanwhile, Fred and Velma find a genuine clue:

A table half-covered with pearls and oyster shells. Another transitional wipe later, we get one of the few exchanges that suggest the gang have a sense of real danger, as Shaggy complains “my feet are killing me,” and Velma responds:

“It’s a good thing we slipped the Witch Doctor, or that wasn’t all that would be getting killed.”

Not that the Witch Doctor ever shows any signs of being armed or in any way capable of hurting the gang, but... wow.

A moment later, Scooby spots a small wrecked airplane. It looks like it’s overgrown with vines—plastic, Velma notes—and there’s a laughing skeleton at the controls... manipulated by a tripwire Shaggy sets off, linked to a tape recorder hidden under a nearby shrub.

Emboldened by the realization that it’s a fake, Shaggy uses the skeleton for some prop comedy. “Hey skinny, do you know why the skeleton went to the library? To bone up on a few things!”

Shaggy laughs at his own joke, and then the skeleton, which is no longer connected to the tripwire and tape recorder, starts laughing as well. I’ll save you some wondering before the end: this sequence gets no explanation whatsoever as part of the villain’s scheme, and is not referenced after it concludes. We never find out how the fake plane crash plays into things, or what caused the skeleton to laugh again.

The trio book it (that’s another library joke), and run into Fred and Daphne. The transitional wipes see heavier use as the gang continue to investigate, chasing the old man into an underwater cavern that leads back into the haunted village, and another encounter with the Witch Doctor and Mano Tiki Tia.

The Witch Doctor alternates between ominous declarations in a faux-aged falsetto, and guttural, animalistic growling, both provided by the diverse talents of the late John Stephenson, who also lends his voice to Mano Tiki Tia. The only reason i don’t complain about this casting (the many flaws aside, the showrunners had already demonstrated that they understood the idea of casting nonwhite characters with appropriate voice actors, and this was back in the dang seventies) is that both are eventually revealed to be white dudes.

Trapped between a rock and a nutcase, the gang flee into some nearby huts. The Mano Tiki Tia statue demonstrates some decent dexterity and considerable strength, lifting up the entire small houses from the ground to look for the gang as if it were a shell game. The kids, of course, are not hidden under any of the huts, but are instead clinging desperately to the rafters of one.

The chase sequence is one of the few in which the gang seem to face a real, immediate threat of harm if caught, with Mano Tiki Tia’s fists slamming pitfalls into the ground. The contrast between the desperate nature of the chase and the many gags involving Scooby and Shaggy responding inappropriately actually make the whole scene work better, as the jokes break the tension of the action and the chase makes the jokes seem fresh rather than a constant stream. Even the canned laughter can’t quite spoil it.

Eventually, Shaggy and Scooby work together to improvise a disguise that actually scares off the Witch Doctor, shambling out of the brush as a kind of “leaf monster”. Fred’s inspired to frighten the villain even more, and formulates a trap that involves a “trick amusement park mirror from the Mystery Machine” (the what and why do they have that?) being placed to frighten the Witch Doctor right into a concealed pit.

Once again, Shaggy and Scooby foul things up in a way that catches the villain anyway, winding up on top of Mano Tiki Tia and blinding the statue so that its attempts to snag them capture its master, instead.

The statue crashes, and Fred unmasks the Witch Doctor:

Mister John Simms?

Somewhat thankfully, the horribly racist caricature villain turns out to be white American in disguise. And the statue of Mano Tiki Tia?

How many parade floats you know that can punch holes in the ground, Velma?

Fred and Velma conclude that Simms set up the whole thing to scare villagers and tourists away so he could poach the lucrative oyster beds for pearls. “Right, Mr. Simms?”

Jinkies, not even a “meddling kids”?

As fir the old man, he appears and reveals himself as...

Um, never mind what i said about appropriate voice casting. Lt. Tomoro is unmistakably Casey Kasem putting on his more authoritative voice, sounding almost exactly like his performance as the heroic but paranoid Cliffjumper in the Transformers cartoons.

Tomoro, like Inspector Lu before him, reveals that he’d been on this case “for a long time”, and that the gang have solved the case for him—so he treats them to their final day of vacation in Hawaii.

The gang enjoy some more dancing, Scooby steals Shaggy’s poi, and the episode ends with the visiting white teenagers and their dog having saved the day by interfering in an ongoing investigation where the locals failed to accomplish anything.

What a great message. I’d like to say the franchise gets better about this kind of thing, but, well, it’s going to be up and down for a while.

That said, there’s only two more episodes of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! to go... maybe we’ll see if in the New Scooby-Doo Movies?

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

#scooby doo #KRAOSD

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