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lucascecil · 1 year

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Something I Read - The Eighth Doctor Strips

So, while I haven't (yet) heard all of Eight's audios, there are only a handful left. And I have started reading the books (going through Kursaal right now. You can find my commentary of the books on the 'bookshelf' tag). So, while I have a lot to go through, I wanted to start something new, different, exciting.

And so I decided to read the Doctor Who Magazine comics. And what a ride it was.

To make it easier for me and to write a cohesive text, I'm going to talk about individual stories and then at the end of each volume comment upon the overall arch.

Endgame, by Alan Barnes - ★★★☆☆

It's not a bad start, but not my favorite. The Toymaker is a fun concept but his stories are very inconsistent to my tastes. Here, he is fine. The comic is smart in the sense that the use the format to its fulliest, allowing the Toymaker to be as cartoonish as ever - and it fits.

And even tho there is a comedic tone, he still comes off as a threat. There is a gruesome scene where he crushes a character bones and flesh. You can feel the pain. I usually do not like when a new companion is introduced in a continuity heavy story as I think it takes atention away from them.

Izzy is great. She is a geek, she is witty, she wants adventure. She is flawed, I couldn't help but wince at how selfish she sounds when she talks of her parents - which she has been fighting with over insecurities about being adopted. She doesn't even call them mom and dad anymore. And that makes her come alive. She is a breathing, living person. And we have a wonderful journey ahead in a yellow brick road.

The Keep, by Alan Barnes - ★★★★☆

The comics got me here. Endgame is nice and all, but it's The Keep who starts playing with bold new ideas for the stories. I got a glimpse of what I could get out of these and I loved it. I was all in for the ride.

Eight and Izzy arrive at the far, far future, near the time the sun is failing and soon enough it will be no more. It's Earth dying days. It's a wasteland. The whole planet turned into a warzone as the Transmat Wars begun - a concept never fleshed out but engaging nonethless.

What's more interesting, though, is that a local scientist have dedicated his whole life to building a superficial star. It had unexpected consequences, as it turned out that it's actually alive. Eight is nedeed so someone bonds with the star, guide it towards the right path. Crivello, the scientist, tried - but even short exposure to the star was enough to make him age years in a blink. A time traveller - even better, a time lord - is needed.

I find the scene Eight merges with the plasma beautiful. This incarnation more than any other feels to me like a force of nature, a constant to the universe, and so I'm always on board when he is influenced by forces outside his control - and vice-versa. Izzy gets anxious and cries, because the Doctor may have died, and it finally hits her that if he does, there is no way back home - for now the narrative don't dive into this topic, but it's a nice touch still.

And then the story takes your breath away, as when everything seems nice and done, Crivello is brutally murdered by his assistant.

Fire and Brimstone, by Alan Barnes - ★★★★★

I did not want a Dalek story, but I am glad I got one because this one is great. It continues the plot points left open at the end of The Keep, as Izzy and Eight visits the same place decades later. The new artificial sun is now stable, but there is a threat in the horizon.

I love that plasma from the Cauldron can be used to see the future, and I love that Eight still have a link to it because they'll always have a bit of each other. I really like the wasps weapons (biological?) the Daleks use to control the humans. It's horrifying, it's disgusting, it looks great. It's truly unsettling, the panels of characters vomiting hordes of insects after infection.

The Daleks are a real threat this time around and it makes perfect sense that they would try to irredicate genetic variants from other dimensions. It's a pity that we see little of that conflict, because the mutant Daleks looked GREAT.

I was devastated that the Cauldron imploded at the end. It all ends considerably well, but there is a wild sorrow of knowing that a whole new lifeform died. I love a rich diverse universe, and I want it to last. What is even more bitter, though, is Eight's silent rage that he can't right now strike back at the Threshold - you can tell by looking at his face in the last page how furious he is over Ace.

Tooth and Claw, by Alan Barnes - ★★★★★

The superior Doctor Who's Tooth and Claw, mind you. I loved this. It's a horror story at heart. The Eighth Doctor and Izzy are pulled into a murder mystery plot in an isolated, atmospheric isle as one old acquaintance of his, Fey, call for his help. And then the guests start dying, one by one.

It's fun, it's believable and it's the kind of horror story I am always open to. Conflict comes not only from the apparent supernatural menace, but also from humans interactions - Marwood hunting Izzy is terrifying, the human ability to be more frighting and cruel than any fictional villain ever could.

Which is not to say the fictional villain is bad, because it only gets better. From the start we are told of a local ghost; then we have bodies on the house and killer monkeys; and yet we also get bottle diseases and vampires. And it all ties well together. This is an island of terrors, ever entertaining.

It ends on a huge cliffhanger, with Izzy and Fey taking Eight to Gallifrey to help him recover from what may well be a mortal wound.

The Final Chapter, by Alan Barnes - ★★★☆☆

Reading the extras I was surprised by how harsh Barnes was with this story - it's not bad at all. Yes, a lot of its themes and plot points were better fleshed out in Neverland, but it's good for what it is.

I love the scene where Eight meets Rassilon and a whole council in his dreams. Demoiselle Drin says she has taken the seat of Merlin the Wise, and given that the Doctor himself is Merlin I wonder about these implications. I love villain Rassilon - but it's refreshing to a seemingly well meaning version of him, too. I wonder, also, as Eight is in the Matrix, if this is the same Rassilon of Zagreus. It's fun to try and fit all these piece of a jigsaw never meant to be completed.

The clone plot is not that enganging, but as Eight and Fey explores "madworld" to try to understand what the hell is happening, I was wondering if a bit of this went into Seven's part in Zagreus, with little rat Charley. And that's the main problem of this story. Ideas better realised elsewhere. A group of time lords trying to gain control of Gallifrey and rewrite its history? Neverland. A kind-of time cult? Faction Paradox. Weird surrealists scenes in the Matrix and timelords' minds? Zagreus.

The regulars are great, and the story is engaging enough. Also, the cliffhanger of a lifetime.

Wormwood, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

This was fun and a great conclusion overall to the Threshold. It's not what I was expecting and while that sometimes oes play a role in how much I like a story, this one has ideas strong enough so that it didn't really matter.

I wouldn't say this story is mocking the Briggs-Doctor, but it does play with the readers expectations in that way in a time we only had the expanded universe. Of course I already knew Eight wouldn't be regenerating while reading these comics so it didn't hit me in that way, but it was fun nonetheless. What I thought, however, is that this would be a retroregeneration or something alike, so I was very much pleased to known that it was actually Shayde playing as the Doctor.

I'd have preferred if the Threshold were actually a natural ocurrance of the universe and not a fabricated species made mainly of humans buuuut as I said previously this is fine. I also wished to a darker motivation for them other than greed, but that's also fine. What I do like a lot is the terror that went through my body when they killed everything in space - and I wish it was not reversed at the end. Not only it would weight upon the characters, but also would be so interesting to see how the whole universe would handle something like this.

We have a glimpse of that kind of horror, of whole civilazations colapsing, but I wish we got some time to explore this idea fully.

Shayde is ine of my favorites things about the comics. It's an amazing concept brought to life wonderfully and that gets even better when coupled to Fey, who is also amazing. How they handle their new status quo is not explored here but rather in future stories, but I do have to say that I love it.

Happy Deathday, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

It's a fun anniversary story. All these Doctors interacting is great.

The Fallen, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

I'm not the biggest fan of Grace, mostly because I don't see many ways to use the character interestingly. Well, The Fallen does it wonderfully. There is something wrong in London and Grace is somehow at fault.

I love her relationship with Eight. It's still a bit sexual - they do kiss once more - but honestly it doesn't bother me. I do not share the opinion the Doctor should never engage in romantic or sexual relationships, I just want it to have meaning.

Grace is repenting for her faults. She thought she had a special future ahead of her beacuse of what she was told in the movie, but now she helped creating a huge danger that is getting people killed. She resents the Doctor in some ways, that he wasn't there and feels like he mislead her. She calls him out when he gets angry with her - he out the world in her hands and left her and she didn't known better.

Izzy and Eight at this point are already the dream team. Their domestic scenes are great and this time around Izzy is alone for a bit - the Doctor believes her dead. She is growing up and have already come a long way around, which is one of the main themes of her stay in the TARDIS. She is in a way a mirror to Ace - completely differente character, yes, but I mean in how she fits as a companion.

She is a sapphic character with parents issues, her stories can be read as a coming of age and her relationship with the Doctor is a bit paternal. Just like Ace. The first big arc of stories with Izzy as a companion handles the Threshold, who are responsible for Ace's death, so I don't think I am completely out of my depth when I say that this era of Eight mirrors Seven's life.

Unnatural Born Killers. by Adrian Salmon - ★★★★★

I love Kroton. If you don't love Kroton, there is something wrong with you. Seek help. This is not his introduction, he appeared on the magazine twice before - both good stories, but Ship of Fools is a must read. He is tragic to the core and deals with a concept that I love and wished to see more in Doctor Who: a faulty Cybermen, who kept this emotions.

I am happy to dicovered the expanded universe because now I have three plots like this to feed my fictional needs: Kroton, Marc and Bill. So that's no longer a problem. But I would love to see more of Kroton - it's such a pity that these stories don't leave much room to have him along Eight and Izzy because they are absolutely one of my favorites TARDIS teams ever.

Unnatural Born Killers get Kroton - already well established - and makes him even better by making him an action hero. The art is beautiful and I love every single fight scene of his. Also, he punches some Sontarans in the face. I love the guy.

The Road to Hell, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

Izzy and Eight get to 17th century Japan, where creatures from the myths are terrorizing local population. Sato Kitsura is a samurai who just lost his lord to a demon and now seeks revenge upon these creatures.

I am a sucker for stories of fictional characters or monsters being real, so we already started strong. I also love historicals, so that's two points for The Road to Hell. And while I do prefer them to be pure historicals, I actually love how this story handles its sci-fi elements.

An alien species gave a local lady a machine that allows her to make anything alive out of her thoughts. They only wish to observe what she makes of it as they want to understand the concept of honor. It's a great idea even if not the highlight of the story, as their conflict with the Doctor is not all that much relevant, but I like it still.

What makes wonders out of this concept - besides amazing drawings of creatures and japanese pop culture - is when lady Asami uses the machine to try and see what comes of Japan in the future, when she discovers that Izzy is from the 20st century. What she sees is, of course, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And then she goes bonkers.

What I think could've been handled better is how much seeing so impacted her psyche because she has little character layers after this points as she is going balistic. Because while she was not a good person up to this point, it's not hard to understand why she would get mad at what she saw. She has every reason to get furious. And I don't think that entitlement to anger is given proper focus. But I like it still.

This story also ends with the Doctor making Sato immortal, which he hates as he was trying to kill himself in ritual now that his revenge was done. He feels the Doctor robbed him of his honor, of his humanity even, but is dismissed. In one perspective, I like a lot what this says of the Doctor - about how him being a time lord make him insensible to others sometimes and how badly he can mishandle a situation. Because he thinks he knows better. And so he dismisses what other people have to say.

But I was also rewatching seasons eight and nine of the new series while reading these comics, so I was surprised about how similar Ashildr's character is to Sato. They are handled completely different in some aspects, and while I actually like Alshidr a lot, I would say Sato makes the most of it. I don't known if Moffat had ever read these comics, but oh my gosh it's almost the same plot.

TV Action, by Alan Barnes - ★★★☆☆

Beep the Meeo is back. Haven't read The Star Beast yet so I wasn't pumped, but he is fine. The best part is Beep being defeated by Tom Baker talking too much, however.

The Company of Thieves, by Scott Gray - ★★★★☆

Or that story where the Kroton plot comes into the ongoing Izzy storyline and we get the best TARDIS team ever.

I got worried for a second beacuse of Eight's initial reaction to Kroton - he tries to kill him and it appears to be sucessful - that I was going to be denied grandeur, but it all works out well. The crew characters are not that interesting and they look a bit too 90's comics for my tastes.

The Glorious Dead, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

One of my favorites Doctor Who stories ever. It does everything it wants to do magnificently.

The setting is gorgeous. I love how this diplomatic meeting goes wrong in the worst way possible and we are left in this deadland. I love also how it ties to the religious themes and what makes humanity - in a loose sense of a human. The Doctor is out of the story when things gets bads; Izzy and Kroton are left to handle things themselves.

And how far has Izzy come. In one if its parts, this story makes the best of the doctorless time to show us how Izzy is now capable of doing a lot - I got my eyes wet reading her letter to Max; her relationship with Kroton is beautiful and I love how they relate by feeling like outsiders and less than human sometimes. I love that Izzy has a plan and that it works. The whole universe was doomed, but then Izzy Sinclair gave them a chance. And then she is dead.

Or so Russell T Davies thought, alongside us readers. Kroton rage after her death is heartbreaking. And then we see that Sato is somehow tied to this situation. Time made him insensible in his immortal life and now the only thing he believes in is death. Being denied death made it the thing he wants the most and the Doctor, even if unintetional, made a monster out of him. Of course Sato has personal responsabilities and this theme is dealt within the story itself, but it was his immortality that made it possible this horror movie ti happened.

And while I am in this topic, I love the body horror of this story. The way these people burn themselves to death for their beliefs is disturbing. The "monsters" desings are dope. There are a lot of alien species here, and they all look cool. Ooooh, and towards the end when it's revealed that this is what came of Earth...

And so I need ti talk about the other half of this story: the Doctor meets the Master once again. And of course he has been manipulating recents events. And it's interestingly in many layers.

First, the Master seems to have changed into someone different. Or so he says. And I do believed he did, I just don't think it was for the better. What he has now is a belief and that makes him more dangerous than ever. He may not have become a better or worthier person, but he does terrible things while trying to prove so. He wants to show how monstruous the Doctor's actions are but don't take any responsability to himself as he believe it was done for a cause. And it all comes into his need to prove himself better than the Doctor.

Secondly, it's a meta commentary on their relationship and how they destroy everything around them. And I mean that in a textual sense - they are the main characters of the story, but what about the lives of the people they leave in pieces? The Glorious Dead turns this around by making the Master - and even the Doctor, a little bit - think he has a destiny, that this story is about him and his friend. But it's not. It's about the little people. It's about Izzy and Kroton and Sato and how they try and get up again. Trying to reclaim themselves of a world that is usually center around other people stories.

Kroton and Sato are mirrors of each other in that sense; in how they are dealing with death and immortality. With loss. Of other people, of their souls. It hurts, but it's beautiful.

The Glorious Dead is one of favorites Doctor Who stories. You should read it.

The Autonomy Bug, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

This is going to sound pedantic but I am not a comedy guy. It's not that I hate it, just that I prefer drama overall. It's why it's rare to see me having much to say about a comedy story. This was great. It's a basic concept - robots appears to have gone crazy - but handled beautifully to tell a story about what makes us, us. The characters are weirdly complex for the little time they have to show it off. The funeral scene is as sad as they come.

The ending made me emotional. It's completely different from the stories Scott Gray told in his Eighth ternure overall, and it's great by being so. It may not be my favorite of the bunch, but it stands ou as unique.

Izzy's Story, by Alan Barnes - ★★★☆☆

Second time listening to this story. The first one I hadn't read any Izzy stories yet so I wanted to see if my opinion changed. It didn't. It's not bad, I have fun with it and all, but it takes what I like the least from Barnes' stories to make an audio. It's one of Eight's most cuttest and comedy based like Deathday and TV Action and so it feels inconsequential to me.

I don't know if I agree this should be placed here. Izzy sounds a bit too immature and so I think it would work best earlier in her timeline. The plot itself of Izzy going after a comic book that desappeared is nice, but I don't care much for the conclusion.

Ophidius, by Scott Gray - ★★★★☆

This is interesting in many ways. It introduces Destrii, so that's already a must read. It also starts the body swap plot, which I love. Izzy has never been so betrayed and it's really interesting to read, as next stories will explore. And I love the setting. Ophidius is a living ship who has its own ecosystem. The people who control the ship are horrendous and the idea that so many people have been turned into beats is horrifying.

The visuals are beautiful. I love the design of the mobox when they are in fours, but I thought they didn't look that good on two legs. There are many other cool aliens designs in Ophidius, including Destrii. That chair that let Eight become invisible by placiing him just a milisecond in the future is a dope technology that, under the show rules, make sense.

I wondered for a second if Eight wasn't going to notice that Destrii was in Izzy's body but thank gosh he did. I don't like when this happens in this trope because it undermines the characters relationships and at this point Eight should be able to recognize if there is something wrong with Izzy - and he did.

Beautiful Freak, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

A wonderful character piece. Izzy is depressed. She is in a body that isn't hers; her own destroyed in Ophidius. She feels ugly, disgusted and angry and don't know what to make from here on. Her life has changed forever. While I think Izzy's thoughts about Destrii's body are a bit cruel, it's understable. She was betrayed, she had her own body and now she won't ever be able to go home. She has every right to be outraged.

The pages where Izzy is submerged in pool as she can't breath is painful and so, so beautiful. Her dialogue with Eight gets to my heart. A sample of the best Doctor Who have to offer.

The Way of All Flesh, by Scott Gray - ★★★★☆

An interesting story. I don't think we reach the full potential of the concepts introduced here, but it's fun and emotional and have nice things ti say. We get a glimpse at Frida Kahlo's life in the Día de los Muertos as there is something terribly wrong happening.

This is a horror story. It uses body horror concepts to the fullest. It's as disgusting as Doctor Who gets. The Way of All Flesh introduces the necrotists, alien artists that make art of the dead, out of pain. A bit influenced by Hellraiser, I would say. I like that Gray chose the day of the dead as a setting for this story because it me disguted that the girl would dare to make something horrible out of such a beautiful date.

Frida also fits well into the story. She can relate to what Izzy is going through and I like that she calls her our on her bullshit. The ending is so beautiful, with Frida painting Izzy as she "was". Because it's the same person beneath. There is still the same beauty in her, no matter the state of her flesh.

Character Assassin, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

Oh this is great. Scott Gray was already my favorite Doctor Who writer by this point but he got extra points by writing a hate piece for Moriarty, one of the most infuriating characters to ever be. Oh it was so fucking great to see him humiliated.

Children of the Revolution, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

I thinks about Children of the Revolution a lot, even more than a month after have read it. It's my favorite Dalek story and I doubt that'll ever changed. I love the setting, I love what is done with established history and I love the art and the colors.

Izzy and the Doctor visits a friend of his who can help her acclimate to her new body, Alison. She is a marine biologist who is working in an underwater station. One day, however, they are attacked by (underwater) Daleks. What will happen next will shock you.

Nobody is exterminated. The Daleks choose to get the humans into the city they built underwater. Nobody can know they live there. Because they are peaceful. They are the Daleks with the human factor the Second Doctor helped engineer in Evil of the Daleks. In that sense this is a heavy continuity story and I could have hated it, but I don't. Because it makes something incredible out of the continuity it's using.

This Dalek city is engaging. You doubt every second when something will go wrong, because you know it will. But this time it's not these Daleks fault. It's the humans. I do think it's a complex situation because knowing every single thing the Daleks ever did I would never, ever trust any of them either and so the human characters are not hard to sympathise. But it's so heartbreaking to see something to beautiful crumble into pieces. There was potential here, for a better future, and it's shattered because of hate and mistrust.

It's interesting to have the TARDIS team as outcasts not because they put themselves in an awkward situation - they were friends with the crew - but rather because they are fundamentally different. Neither the Doctor or Izzy are humans at this point. The Doctor have story with the Daleks, and these ones trust him. They are outsiders and for once the Doctor have his hands tieds. He don't know if he can trust the Daleks, but if he don't and he is wrong - this is a chance of a lifetime. But he has no pull over the humans anymore. There is no winning.

And of course, there is Kata-Phobus. This huge, gorgeous, lovecraftian monster who has lived in this planet for ages and influenced this Dalek colony since its inception. It also influenced the conflict with the humans as it wants to feed upon them all. Kata-Phobus in a sense is there to externalize all that is wrong with the Dalek-human conflict, that ideia of racial superiority, that ideia that there are outsiders. That some people are essentialy different than others. Phobus is that fear made flesh. He plants fear and distrust in the head of these into his reach and he feeds on it.

So yes, I was moved when, in the climax, Alpha commands his fellow Daleks to autodestruction so that Kata-Phobus is defeated and they die as they wished to live - a peaceful people who didn't want any more death or cruelty in their lives. And so the Doctor and Izzy are left speechless because for once there were goods Daleks - while they saw the worst humanity had to offer. It's a must read. I love it. Just, trust me.

Me and My Shadow, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

Children of the Revolution ends in a cliffhanger with Izzy being abducted by these weird aliens - and now the Doctor is out for blood. But that's not the focus of Me and My Shadow - this is a Doctor lite story as we are reunited with Fey and Shayde during World War II and see how they are doing - not that great, as they have difficulties sharing a body and for the modt part have agreed to be active at different times.

Fey is frustrated that she can't use her abilities to the fullest because Shayde knows what that can do with the timeline. They are now one living being, but they are not in sincrony, and that is holding them back. And we also get hem being badasses and killing some nazis. So ten out of ten.

Uroboros, by Scott Gray - ★★★★☆

The Doctor recruits Feyde to help him rescue Izzy. Somebody pointed out how this is a bit similar, but in a much smaller scale, to what he does in A Good Man Goes to War, and that's fair. He is also reunited with Destrii who, as we discover, did not actually die neither had Izzy's body been destroyed.

I know it's Destrii kissing him but that panel of Eight being kissed by Izzy's body it cursed. Burn it with fire.

I don't care much for the Mobox plot to be honest. And that's way it loses a star. It's a fair enough sequel to Ophidius and there sre some cool concepts, but the plot falls into who tropes that I don't like that much neither feel like this story had enough pages to try and do something new with then.

Still solid.

Oblivion - ★★★★★

So finally we go after Izzy, who has been taken to Destrii's homeworld. Which is very ugly. I know it's intentional because it's a wasteland, but nonetheless what a ugly, disguting place.

The local riches have turned into humanoid animals some decades before and are now there to entertain local "monsters" - who are actually people of this dimension who have been badly fucked up by actions of the royals themselves and...

This place is a mess and everybody is horrible and no wonder that Destrii became such a horrendous person. She is the most sympathetic of the bunch, actually. Her mother is indeed a monster and was horrible to her. And is horrible to Izzy, when she arrives there mistaken as Destrii. And, of course, she made her daughter fight in arenas to the death.

Destrii once had a pet, that she took care of for months, until the day her mother made her kill it. And Destrii's death since then have been pure death. I wonder why the hell the girl run away.

Oh and her uncle is not much better. He talks like a nicer man but he is as bad. He helps Destrii escape, but it's more so he could test a way to run away himself - he had no way of knowing she would survive doing so. He is only gentler as long as he get something out of it.

So yeah, Destrii is fucked up. The parallels between Izzy and Destrii are great and I love how it's written. I love that Destrii had the option to make hell on earth, but she steps away. I love that she tells Izzy how unfair she has been treating her parents. I love that she kills her mother, even.

And then Izzy. As I said before, this is a coming of age story for her. And now is fully intk adulthood, and is ready to leave home. The TARDIS. So she kisses Fey because you only live once and she is tired of being a closeted lesbian, asks the Doctor to take her to her parents and say it's time she fix things. Izzy has had many adventures and she has grown up so much, and now is time to move on.

And oh, how I will miss her.

Where Nobody Knows Your Name, by Scott Gray - ★★★☆☆

It's fine. The Doctor is dealing with missing easy while drinking in a bar. It has some fun alien concepts and the Doctor bits are fine. And unkown to him the barman is Frobisher, who doesn't know he is talking to the Doctor because he haven't met Eight yet.

The bits of Eight thinking about retiring do plant some nice ideas tho.

The Nightmare Game - ★☆☆☆☆

I tried. I promised I tried. But I have been reading hundreds of pages of wonderful imsginative stories and then I get to this and... it's inferior. It's leagues below the stories being told before.

The Doctor almost asks the worst kid to ever exist in London if he wants to travel with he him. I get that he is lonely but can we not.

Also it's that guy writing. Yeah. That guy.

The Power of Thoueris!, by Scott Gray - ★★★☆☆

Something I haven't yet is how more violent Eight is in these comics (and the books) when compared to the audios. You might think that's why three stars, but I like it. I think it's fine for some lives of the Doctor be more violent and even cruel than others.

And oh my gosh. He is savage here. That poor hippopotamo girl was irrititating, yes, but oh dear she was eating alive by crocodiles.

Overall a fun story with an art that I like but that is not that consequential.

The Curious Tale of Spring-Heeled Jack, by Scott Gray - ★★★★☆

And then we are back to form. The Doctor is still directionless and in search of his next companion to be, because he collects them as Bruce Wayne collects orphans, this time in victorian London as the city is being "haunted" by a badass looking prankster "ghost".

It has a kinda obvious twist but who cares, it's well written. And one of the best non-introductory companion stories I have seen so far as it actually does something interesting with the non-companion.

Once again the Doctor overstepped but this time he isn't called out neither by characters or by the story. I understand that the girl he met and the monster that revealed herself were two different people and you could make an argument that debating so would make a great plot, but that's not the focus of this story so instead what we see is the Doctor wiping a criminal's woman memory so she lives unaware of her crimes (and honestly without being taken to justice).

I understand why it happens, but I wish the story would delve more into the implications.

Bad Blood, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

I like this story a lot. The Doctor arrives in the USA in 1875 in the middle of a conflict by an indigenous tribe and white people. The leader of the the tribe believes that the Doctor was sent to help them survive. The scenes where the both of them go into the "spiritual world" are beautiful.

And then there is Destrii and her uncle trying to get something out of this situation. There are "werewolfs" attacking nearby villages, which has been rising the racial tension. Jodafra and Destrii offer weapons, much more advanced than they should ever get, to the white soldiers. And, of course, there is also second intentions behind their actions.

I *must* say: Destrii is far from being a perfect person but these traits are written intentionally. She is kind of an asshole in this story because she thinks of this situation as being part of a western movie, one of the few references she has of Earth. She doesn't understand that is helping genocide, the impact of her actions. But she is not a monsters, so when her uncle put children into risk she draws a line in the sand and betrays him.

I like to think she had flashbacks to her own childhood. She is distress by children in danger while she usually have no problem with people dying. And the way Jodastra hits and almost kill her is disgusting and horrifying. Destrii is not a good person, but she is trying to be. And that's a little bit heartbreaking.

Sins of the Father, by Scott Gray - ★★★☆☆

The Doctor takes Destrii to a space station where she can be healed but the station is attacked by vengeanful monkeys who live in zero grav and centuries before were slaves of the same alien race that now owns the medical station. They are not slavers or even violent anymore but that's the only revenge the monkeys are going to get so they will destroy it anyway.

Destrii is a decent person and kinda saves the day and the Doctor offers her stay at the TARDIS. Not the strongest the DWM have to offer but not the best either.

The Flood, by Scott Gray - ★★★★★

Ok so let's start by talking about the elephant in the room. Destrii character makes sense but I still wish she was written a lil bit different here. She is not human and the only thing she knows of humanity are movies and cartoons that are filled with racial stereotypes so she reproduces them when meeting humans and it makes sense but oh my god it's so umconfortable. And I know it's intentional but still.

That out of the way, this is good. Destrii entusiasm of properly visiting Earth is contagious. Too bad they arrive just before a Cybermen invasion. And what a invasion. They have been manipulation local population through water that mess with their emotions. The guy Destrii is racist to tries to kill her because of it as his emotions are totally out of control and it seems as if he is having a breakdown.

Cybermen from the future have arrived in London and are about to try and convert everybody. For starts I love their design, they are my favorite Cybermen just for how gorgeous they look. We meet the M16 characters again and it's disturbing when their emotions are manipulated to they actually have a breakdown. It's cruel and effective when we see these characters that we have met before are hurting themselves, asking for mercy and, later, even converted.

We see them partially converted and it's disturbing.

At its heart this is the best the cybermen have to offer: a story about how our feelings is what make us humans, no matter how heartbreaking it can be, or how painful it might get.

It's also about change, as Eight's time was near its end and the Ninth Doctor was ready to make his debut.

At the climax of the story the Eighth Doctor falls into the time vortex and almost merges with it and the description of him almost becoming one with time itself is beautiful. He chooses to step away from eternity, though, for Destrii. She needs him.

It was the right choice from DWM to not have Eight regenerate here, because they got the perfect ending. Eight and Destrii walking towards the sun, ready to have many other adventures. Because their story together just begun.

This was a wonderful read and there is barely a story I could call bad. Most of them are great or classics, to be honest, and this is perhaps the best Doctor Who has ever been.

So farewell, "but change is what makes us real".

#Doctor Who #Eighth Doctor #Izzy Sinclair #Fey #Shayde #Feyde #Kroton #Destrii #bookshelf

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chelzone · 1 year

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big chel's big summergamefest reactions

new prince of persia: looks like a mobile game with fartnite graphics, bored

new mortal kombat: looks dreadful and way too slow at times

path of exile 2: not for me

mecha ryu and guile vs dinosaurs: LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LET'S GO

nic cage debby daylight trailer: still funny, also wild to see how diff he looks compared to his game equivalent

witcher tv show: i dont care

witchfire: ?????? (genuinely kinda headscratching at this)

crossfire sierra squad: man i dont give a shit about VR games anymore this is lame

remnant 2: not for me

sonic superstars: looks cute. never really been into the 2D sonic games personally tho, sowwy ;w;

honkai starrail: a Polite thing for me to say is Not For Me but also i hate anime games like these LMAO

lies of P: conceptually and visually really cool but bit of a letdown to not see any gameplay ;o(

Sandland: genuinely looks REALLY FUCKING AWESOME and goddamn toriyama's style translates wonderfully ot this

throne and liberty: anything worked on by amazon games is an immediate stinker in my mind

warhaven: boring

party animals: back in like high school i liked watchin folks play gangbeasts and the like but these days its very much not for me, i feel too old for that stuff and im only 25 dfghfhgf

crash team rumble: i loved the new crash stuff both the 4th game and the remakes but this looks ???? and really bad dfgdf

alan wake 2: i liked the first one a lot even if folk's didnt. never played american nightmare or saw the control-related DLC. this one could be interesting if theyre goin further into the twin peaks vibe??

new warhammer: the series in general is not for me hyuuuu

yes your grace DLC: i really really despite the game art style of these 32-bit adjacent aprooximations on realistic backgrounds sorry AUGH

john carpenter's toxic commando: looks like shit!

baldur's gate 3: i know nothing of this series, also where's the gameplay????

spider-man 2: i wanna play the modern spiderman games at some point, the pre-marvelified version of the ps4 one looked amazing. also the miles morales one i wanna play sometime toooo

palworld: pokemon with guns is incredibly funny especially since they can get away with it this long, in no world am i playing this tho dfgdfgfd

black desert DLC: probably one of the mmos i care about the least. we really peaked with oldschools runescape and wow

LOTR return to moria: DWARF FORTRESS 3D CONFIRMED #REAL (could be good genuinely?? its not the gollum team thankfully LMAO)

FF7 evercrisis: what? huh? why (my phone cant run this shit and i dont like mobile games anymore)

banishers: games dont even feel real anymore man, sad, whatever

like a dragon gaiden the man who erased his name: a mouthful of a title but this new yakuza game looks fucking SICK!! I LOVE IT!!!

under the waves: could be something interesting?? kinda soma-adjacent vibes sooorta.. also happy world ocean day i guess fgfhf

cod warzone shit: who cares

porsche xbox: sick pride flag bro

faefarm: Not For Me

marvel snap: zzzzzz / prozd chasing that bag i see, more power to u i guess

king arthur legens rise: shit

wayfinder: shit

unreal editor for fartnite: There's Nothing Nice For Me To Say

stellaris nexus: i hear people say its good, im probably too dumb to play it

space trash scavenger: cool ps4 tech demo

star trek infinite: do NOT tell mike or rich about this game (civilization-type game maybe?????)

twisted metal tv show: where da cars

lysfanga: not for me, part 4599504

immortals of aveum: is medieval era the current trend?? robot knights too???? im seein too much of these

fartnite wilds: man,,,

ff7 remake pt 2: kinda didnt care for the first part, not for me i guess. also andrew tate off the shits

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secretexperiment · 1 year

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I don't have anywhere I can really post something like this, and it's the kind of thing I would maybe opt to write in my diary normally, but I don't feel like getting up and grabbing my diary and if anybody sees this and it helps make them feel a little less depressed at the direction of our general society and treatment of the planet, I think it could be worth posting.

A few days ago, Jupiter and Venus were bright and visible in the night sky, appearing right near each other. A couple months ago, Jupiter and several of its moons were visible with only so much as the view from a pair of binoculars...

Whenever something like this happens... A natural phenomenon occurring like this, I feel compelled to make the most of it. Sometimes that means standing outside at the nearby park for a good 15 minutes to marvel and take in what I'm seeing, sometimes, like the other day with Venus and Jupiter, it meant just taking a short walk outside of my apartment, catching a glimpse and being grateful at that opportunity, then going back inside with just that little piece of wonder to break up the mundane. A couple of years ago, there was a comet, the Neowise comet to be exact, again visible with just binoculars. My boyfriend and I drove a good 20-30 minutes up a mountain just to watch it make its slow decent across the sky.

The reason I love doing this type of thing is because it reminds me how great and vast the universe is. It reminds me how small I am, how brief my life will be, and that I need to cherish what I have. A week or two ago when Venus and Jupiter were visible, I could've cried- "I don't want to ever not exist and not be able to experience this feeling again," I thought. I wished I could just have eternal life and be shot into space so I could sink in the vastness of time and witness all of the beauty and destruction that this universe has to offer, unbounded by our silly little tasks we busy ourselves with everyday.

When I am having an off day, I tend to reach for nature. I look at the sky. I think about how far away the planets are. I think about everyone who is currently existing, and ground myself by closing my eyes and lying in bed and pretending I can feel the footsteps and the rumbles of car engines coming all the way from the opposite side of the planet. I think about all the animals on the savannah and in the rainforest, the birds, the bugs, and how they all are always just there. Just existing. I turn on nature programs and it feels like taking a refreshing sip of water, like the illusion of nature could somehow be enough.

I sometimes feel hopeless. Why is there so much war? Why are people so cruel and evil toward each other and other beings? Why is there all this hate and spite and ugliness? And why do I feel obligated to live among it? Of course there are answers to these questions, very real answers that matter in the scope of our species. I don't intend to say that, because we are so small, our problems don't matter. Certain things matter a lot. The suffering of innocent people in warzones matters. The suffering of a single human being because of a single other person's actions matters. But it's not healthy to let that be the prevailing thought in our heads 100% of the time. And when I feel like it's getting to be too much, I turn my gaze to the beauty around me. What IS good in the world?

The trees that grow and feed the air...

The bees that pollinate the flowers so they might continue to grow another year...

The stars that, too, will flicker out some time far away from now...

It's bittersweet, but I want to cherish those things while they last, and I while I'm still around to enjoy them.

#long post #not to mention small kind acts from others #sometimes you just get a very genuine compliment from someone and you're like oh “okay... yeah maybe this isn't so bad...”#that on its own can be a beautiful and good thing to relish in #but yeah for me my comfort is just in like.... the void i guess loool

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tasteofthatgoodlife · 2 years

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26 julio 22

Es tan dificil recibir todo lo que más habías soñado en la vida, y saber que no eres lo suficiente para ello.

Desde que recuerdo, fui una niña de 10. Sacaba la mejor calificaciòn porque id make my parents happy and that would make me happy.

Nowadays, I dont know where my brain is. I dont know where my true being rests. I feel like I´m sitting in a dream, those where everything is foggy, you cant seem to make out what happens, and whats actually going on, but you feel something. Very intensely. And you try different things every day. To work through it. Sometimes they work. Sometimes your days are actually pretty happy and enretaining. But the core problem persists, its still there. And will always be there.

No matter what I do and what I try, I feel like I keep on shrinking. No matter how much I try reaching out, it’s like everything becomes clearer. I’m blank. Its not what i am, but rather what I’m not. I’m not what everybody else is.

I can’t think. Like I can’t even think. And the more life advances, i feel like i’m getting dragged by. Whats the point of getting one of the greatest jobs, if I’m not even able to do it right.

Whats the point of getting into one of the greatest universities, If i don’t have even the language or cognitive level for it. I’ve just been priviledged with opportunity. The cv really does lie.

It tells you I got honours for my bachelors degree. What it doesnt tell you is I went to a lousy school. Where there where barely any classes, and barely any reading.

Reading. It’s so essential. So important. I get jealous of all the books read in their university times. All the reading I could’ve done. It’s like I’m a car missing out parts. Shit. Fuck that. I dont know one thing about fking cars. Bad reference.

I dont know how to fking fit the mold. Theyre all lies. Yeah, I manifested into getting a job, and my fkin dream. It came true. But thats bullshit. None of that really matters when your own selse of self doesnt align with any of that.

And I’m tired, of people around me pumping me up. It’s dangerous, to tell someone they’re something positive to make them feel good, when it turns out to be a lie. Don’t lie to anyone, ever. Thats toxic positivity to me, right there.

I am entering a warzone unarmed. That’s what I feel.

I can’t not go to the uni. Why? I dont know. What does anything mean anyway. What does getting a job, and going to university mean anyway. What is being smart. What is thinking. Why do we do all this stuff everyday?

I mean yeah, we do it to solve problems. Make life bearable. Do shit so we don’t die right away.

I really dont know what I am. Like I know in my core who I am, and all that really actually matters to me are people. My friends and fam, they’re the only thing in this world that make sense.

But it gets hard. It feels like im in an acting scene, but I’m the only one who didn’t get the script. I don’t know what is personality. What is banter. What to talk to others about. What is anything.

Suddenly, I have no memory anymore. Like my brain is fried out. Maybe from the weed and alcohol.

Like fk this. I have to forcefully depend on being something in society. But my society mask is so fragile, I dont’ know what part to play out. I dont know how to respond, interact. Where is my mind? Where is my creativity and intelligence. Where is my capacity to withhold information.

Suddenly, words are no longer here for me. I’m just existing. Being present. Getting dragged by others. I’m just standing there, letting the tide move me, side to side.

I don’t understand what is happening to me, and why. The only thing that makes sense is my capacity to understand my own mental processes.

I know, that if everything else fails. And i know I will probably be unable to keep my act up for much longer. I cant keep on pretending, i feel like someone will figure it out. Call me out on it. Finally someone saying that I’m incompetent.

I find comfort in knowing I can be useful. Thats the thing though. I dont have 0 confidence. I know I’m smart, but not the kind of smart I need. It’s like a thick glass wall separating my mind from the rest of the people. Those who really know me, understand. And love me as I am. But I cant reach out to others. Its like the real me is stuck inside this inner cave, screaming out “hey! I’m here! I exist! I think! I am!” but the words cant come out, and instead, there’s silence.

A deep silence, a transference in the signal, broken chords, broken cables, that distort the message, and out comes the un-understandable.

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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Unnamed Extremely Bad Plan to Defeat Darth Sideous AU - SW AU NO 9

Hopefully writing down this star wars au will help me exorcise the cringe demon that helped midwife it. Time travel au where obi-wan and Anakin come up with an extremely SPECIFIC and UNCOMFORTABLE plan to defeat Palpatine because it unfortunately, would actually work, as it capitalizes on one of Palpatine’s easiest to reach political vulnerabilities. This is not a unique plan- there are other au’s like this, but this one is mine. When searching for ways to explain exactly why this anti-sith strategy inspires such cringe and delight in myself I realized, with sinking dread, I have seen this in an Always Sunny episode...which yeah. I might be over reacting but hey, cringe is a personal phenomenon, everyone’s different.

Anyway! Uh here’s a bunch of plot that will eventually culminate in the plan.

*Too much plot, aaaah*. **All plot actually.** ***Its 1 am and this is still a draft*** ****It’s 2am**** *****This post will be just be background I guess.*****

*******STAR WARS AU NO 9 LAZILY OUTLINED CHAPTER ONE*********

Force ghosts Darth Vader and Ben Kenobi have had time to yell at one another without need for breath, and have more-or-less come to terms with the trainwreck that was their shared life. I wouldn’t call them well adjusted, but they’re more stable then they were the last decade or so of their living existence.

In haunting Luke, they end up encountering an artifact in an ancient Willis temple that offers spirits the chance to fix the mistakes they made in life. It doesn’t truly unwrite what’s been done, but it lets you create an alternate timeline. So this galaxy will still be what it is, but some alternate galaxy somewhere could at least have it better. Its almost never been used, because becoming one with the force usually lets you accept the past, but viewed objectively, Vader and Ben’s lives involved an extreme amount of yikes. They say goodbye to Luke and are flung backwards and sideways.

Anakin is holding his mother as she dies. Obi-Wan is landing on Genosis.

Vader just barely manages to avoid slaughtering the tuskens. To be honest, he doesn’t really get why he shouldn’t- his moral compass is still pretty f-ed up. He’s fairly certain the force is just torturing him, but still he controls himself (for Padme for Luke for Leia).

I’m gonna say well-adjusted!Vader sees murder in general as more of a vice than a sin- on par with having a beer. And really well adjusted Vader is willing to admit to himself that he’s an alcoholic, he seriously cannot regulate, its a problem. He really can’t let himself go, because he’ll just end up spiraling. And so he restrains himself and only seriously maims a few of the adult raiders.

Vader figures he can always come back later and slowly torture them to death if this whole ‘save the future’ thing doesn’t pan out.

Obi-wan leaves his shuttle and hides under a rock for 30 minutes. He calculates thats just enough time for him to pretend he went on an extremely effective and sneaky fact finding mission- just in case anyone checks R4′s records. Gets back in shuttle and gets the fuck out of there, much to Dooku’s chagrin, who lost sight of him after the shuttle landed and is now going to have to switch to one of his alternate start-the-war plans.

On the flight back he reports everything to the council- fallen Dooku and the separatist leaders, the trade federation and the massive droid army, Jango Fett the clone template of the republic army (?) working for the separatists. He briefly comms Anakin, but anyone hacking into their conversations would hear only a nonsensical, rambling conversation. Later, a hacker might turn over the idea that they were speaking in elaborate code, but why would Jedi invent such a thing during peacetime?

The war still starts; at this point in the timeline it was inevitable; the artifact was only designed to give them the chance to correct their own failings, not the galaxy’s. Palpatine still gets his emergency powers.

The same day the armies are discovered, separatist war ships take off to engulf Ryloth. The Jedi are instructed by the senate to lead the clone army and provide immediate relief-this will not be a repeat of the republic’s inaction on Naboo. It’s both better and worse than the first Battle of Genosis. So many more civilians are caught in the crossfire. The first titanic battle is not contained to evacuated droid factories, but rages across an entire populated world. The battle lasts for weeks.

The main reason this fight is less deadly is solely due to the fact that General Kenobi manages to maneuver his way into high command of the entire army.

“I believe assumptions were made since I was the first point of contact with Kamino, Masters,” the Knight explained apologetically to the arriving high council members. “I realize its not quite appropriate, but for right now I am the Jedi most familiar with our forces and the enemies. I would, of course, prefer to cede the role to someone else.”

The assembled Jedi can feel the truth in that statement.

“For better or for worse, advance troops were directed by the senate to land planetside and have met heavy resistance. I managed to redirect them to a more defensible position, where they can provide surface based cover fire for incoming reinforcements. The battle has already begun.” He received a grim nod of approval from Master Windu.

“I feel the need to say now, that if there’s one thing I learned from my time as a general on Melida/Dann, or in working against Death Watch on Mandalore, its that having a clear chain of command is vital for a military to succeed. I don’t need to remind some of you that leadership breakdowns were what ultimately ended both the Stark Hyperspace War and the Yinchorri Crisis,” Masters Koon and Tiin exchanged looks before deliberately sending forth a small force wave of approval, understanding where this briefing was leading.

“I believe that unnecessarily restructuring command before the battle is won here could do far more harm than good.” The reminder of Obi-wan’s unusually militaristic apprenticeship put some of the assembled knights at ease even as it inspired a twinge of guilt in the older masters.

“In command you are, General Kenobi,” Master Yoda finally acknowledged. “A Jedi Master you will be, once done this battle is. Have us do, what would you?”

The battle lasts for weeks, and when its over, the commanding Jedi and Troopers involved will openly acknowledge that had anyone else been in command, it would’ve lasted months, if not years. Facing down logistical, strategic, and tactical problems on a scale unheard of for a thousand years, High General Kenobi does not falter.

Enemy reinforcements seem unending. For all their preparation, every single trooper is new to war, and secretly concerned that should they fall, they will be replaced with cadets who hadn’t even finished their training.

Obi-Wan is putting out fires before they can start. Much to their shock, clone commanders are informed that they will, for the time being, remain in charge of their troops. With a handful of exceptions, Jedi ‘Generals’ were in fact, to be treated as a cross between highly skilled commandoes and advisors with abnormally sourced field intelligence.

“All of you have spent your lives training to lead your brothers into combat. The Jedi Masters and knights who are being assigned to your divisions have not received such training.”

General Kenobi addressed the division commanders, some in person, some over holocomm. All focused in rapt attention as their General reordered the shape of their lives using language they could understand.

“The command structure I am issuing is designed to maximize our ability to utilize our respective strategic capabilities, while minimizing potential loss of your life. It will be our great privilege to serve alongside such an army, and while I fully expect a complementary exchange of knowledge in time, for now, focus on survival.”

The Jedi received similar briefings, tailored for their broader array of combat and military experience. Some, including Jedi Master Pong Krell and Grandmaster Yoda, were pulled aside and tasked with the essential mission of infiltrating and destroying the Droid factories on Genosis. If they were to have a chance of winning this war, they they would need to cut off the seemingly unceasing flow of droid reinforcements.

An elite squadron of Arctroopers and Jedi field operatives were covertly dispatched, Grandmaster Yoda himself in command. Considering Count Dooku had yet to appear anywhere near Ryloth...the grandmaster had the best chance of bringing in the fallen separatist leader alive for questioning.

Shortly after they left, Anakin arrived, having finally turned over Padme’s protection to her regular guard. With the military creation vote past, the assassination risk was considered minimal. The real delay in his arrival came from her repeated attempts to join the Grand Army of the Republic on Ryloth with the intent of coordinating humanitarian assistance. Eventually he managed to convince her that she could do more good in the senate.

After all, he pointed out, someone would need to followup the military creation act with a bill to grant clones equal citizen rights. Otherwise, the legal grey area that cloning fell under and their non-republic origin would inadvertently make the clones slaves.

His borrowed Nabooan cruiser entered the warzone with the grace and efficiency as a small neutron bomb.

Those close enough to see its flaming descent watched in horror, realizing that the high generals own padawan would likely be a war casualty before he ever engaged in combat.

The legion nearest to soon-to-be-ground-zero, under the command of Captain Rex of the 501st, were distracted by heated combat, as the temporary barricade they had put up to defend the civilian population gave way to droidika artillery.

While reloading, several dozen troopers happened to look up to see a speck detach itself from the hull as at spiraled in the lower atmosphere. Hope spread that the Jedi had managed to activate some sort of eject hatch. A skilled shocktrooper could probably control and and survive such a fall with luck, which mean a Jedi almost certainly could.

A few tactical scouts charged with watching the skies confirmed that the speck was indeed a humanoid. No chute was visible, but even 8 days into the war, rumors had already spread about how Master Windu had passed off his chute mid-air to a troopers who had been damaged by suppressing fire, cushioning his free fall solely with the tank he crushed upon landing.

Only one trooper, stationed in the town clock tower specifically to track the Padawan’s arrival and issued with a high-resolution farscope, saw the whole thing. Fortunately for his credibility later, in its current setting, the scope automatically logged photos every 5 seconds, ensuring that for years to come Obi-Wan would have a flipbook as evidence that he was not the crazy one.

CT-3609 or Blink (as he was named after winning the division wide staring contest on Kamino two year prior) forwarded the trajectory of the vehicle to command, who confirmed his analysis that it would impact two clicks out from their makeshift fort and not present a risk to civilian or trooper lives.

As it traversed the stratosphere a figure (desperate repair droid, Blink assumed) emerged from the cockpit to perch on the nose of the ship. As it entered the troposphere, it became painfully obvious that the figure jutting out from the hull of the ship was in fact not a humanoid droid, but an unarmored human. The Jedi stood on the prow of the ship, seemingly impervious to and oblivious of:

air resistance

centrifugal force

normal space gravity

Blink’s slack-jawed bewilderment

the flames engulfing the ship below him

At this range, the smirk on the man’s face was visible (man? boy? kriff is he even through puberty?). Several miles above the surface he leaped, diving towards the ground like a bird of prey.

To the west, the ship made impact with the ground, sending a shockwave that shook the tower just enough for Blink to lose visual in the final moments of descent. Cursing, as while he was confident the Jedi would inexplicably survive, he really wanted to see how. The trooper scanned the droid-engulfed farmland to the north for a crash site, to no avail. Lingering smoke from the burnt countryside negatively impacted visibility low to the ground.

Rather than trying to articulate his report into words, he sent the 50-odd frames the farscope had saved, as well as the coordinates for the jedi’s projected radius of touchdown. A quick radio over to long range electro-ballistics ensured that his landing wouldn’t be marred by friendly fire.

He awaited follow-up questions on the absurd entry method, which, when they came, mostly consisted of variations on “...Is this for real?” and eventually “Can you set the scope to video for a little while?” and finally “Do you think that’s how he got the name Skywalker?”

There was a temporarily lull in fire from the west, likely a ripple effect from the ship’s explosion. From his vantage point Blink could see his batchmates using the opportunity to try and plug the holes in their barricade with broken droid pieces. Regardless of the itch to join them, he knew he couldn’t leave his post until the Jedi actually arrived in camp. Finally, a distant explosion and thick pillar of smoke gave the Jedi’s position away.

He tried to make out details, but the scope had a difficult time focusing through the haze. Manually trying to fine tune the scope’s settings, Blink caught a glimpse of what looked like half a hover tank sailing through the air to impact with a trade federation troop carrier in a fiery explosion. Several more explosions, flying droid artillery, and plumes of smoke were caught on record before visual contact with the source was established. He was mostly visible as a blue blur, lightsaber mowing a meandering path towards their location.

It wasn’t until Skywalker braced himself in place to punch a droidaka into pieces that Blink caught actual sight of the man. Only his eyes were visible, nose and mouth covered by layers of cloth. He blurred, then reappeared on top a massive missile launcher attached to an absurdly heavily armored vehicle. A minute or so of rapid blue flashes passed, the longest he had seen concentrated in one area. Then Skywalker was gone, movement clearly visible as he for once he moved in a straight line, plowing a rapid path away from the launcher.

Less than 30 seconds later, Blink had to wince away from the scope, as a burning white explosion temporarily overwhelmed the direct light filter. The trooper panicked for a moment, thinking he had gone both deaf and blind, but the abrupt, sucking silence ended after a moment with a deafening sonic boom. The shockwave rattled the farscope, nearly knocking it over, but Blink managed to steady it and himself in time.

A cheer emerged from pleasantly surprised vod below. The entire droid legion that had been guarding the missile launcher and apparent ordinance bay was flattened.

It took a moment for the realization to set in that the background noise of missile and and anti-missile collisions directly overhead had slowed pace. With the northern flank gone, artillery were able to redouble efforts to the east, and a second white hot shockwave ensued, signaling that the tide of battle had shifted. It was almost too easy for the republics electro-ballistics to tactically devastate the surrounding forces.

Eventually some sort of win/loss programming must have set in and all forces outside of a certain radius began retreating southward, conceding the scorched land to the republic army. It was cadets work to clean up the final suicidal droid charge.

A commotion ensued as Skywalker leapt the barricade with a mid-air flip. The vod greeted him with cheers, as they correctly assumed his appearance had something to do with the skirmish’s decisive victory.

Blink sent the video of the battle to command and quickly packed up his scope and assorted equipment. Hurrying down the battered tower, Blink thought to himself that this Anakin Skywalker was the best sort of Jedi a trooper could ask for.

uh sorry i got really sidetracked there moving on

Kenobi and Skywalker quickly become the face of the war once again

they grit their teeth a bit, but when they finally have a moment to really plan they eventually agree that to take down Sideous they have to cut off his political power in addition to everything else, and taking advantage of their public personas was the most accessible way to do so (*evil laughter*)

While Dooku wasn’t captured, Yoda heard the truth in his old student’s cryptic warnings about a Sith in the Senate, and the council begins carefully editing their release of tactical plans to the Chancellor’s office in the hopes of ferreting out the spy in their midst.

Pong Krell looses two arms in his duel with Dooku. Obi-Wan successfully hides his smug pleasure at the news. Anakin enjoys makeing comparisons between him and Grievous.

Kenobi doesn’t allow the origin of the clones to go unexamined, although he agrees that if the public were informed that they don’t actually know who ordered them it would probably cause panic.

The ‘inhibitor chips’ are ‘discovered’ early on and Anakin leads the effort to ensure that they are phased out and removed immediately. This consists of reminding every Jedi who even hesitates about how how he as a child slave had some experience with control chips and unless you want to take a leaf out of the hutts books lets start doing brain surgery chop chop mmmkay?

(This isn’t to say that Vader doesn’t still a twinge of shame at acknowledging his slave roots. But it is eclipsed by the burning guilt that he knowingly acted as slave master to his troops for decades after Sideous wiped their minds. He tried to rationalize it to himself, after all he didn’t immediately understand what Order 66 had done to the troopers. But while the morality of murder was more of an intellectual concern than a personal one, treating people as things...)

The Kamonions are a little harder to budge, referencing contracts that they refuse to allow the Jedi to see

Finally Vader snuck into the Chief Medical Scientist’s home while she was sleeping and straight-up threatened to murder her and burn down her lab. At the risk of losing her life’s work, Nala Se complied.

Vader left with the final threat that in the event that Darth Tyranus caught wind and activated Order 66 prematurely, he would kill 100 Kamonians for every Jedi felled by troopers. Shaak Ti was pleased by the cloners sudden change of heart. Tyrannus, and by extension, Sideous, are in the dark.

Obi-Wan frequently publicly confronts Palpatine about the troops citizen status, urging him make use of his emergency powers to grant them citizenship and full pay, with the option to leave the army should they so wish.

Anakin manages to play off his avoidance of the Chancellor as disappointment in his perceived lack of dedication to anti-slavery efforts

Finally Palpatine gives in- regardless of what happens next, the troops will be looked after.

With 2/3rds of the troopers dechipped, Vaderkin is eager to kill Sideous again, but after several intense screaming matches and sparring sessions, the time travelers come to the agreement that even if they succeed in their duel, with things as they were, the perception of the Jedi military coop would cause mass civil unrest. The scattered sith apprentices, while individually weak, were more than capable of magnifying that fear and anger until the galaxy breaks. Darth Sideous wanted to ensure that if he couldn’t have the galaxy, no one would.

(Vader knows this. Sideous enjoyed monologuing, and much of his plotting couldn’t be safely bragged about until after he had decisively won, leaving Vader as the unwilling receptacle for years of pent-up rants and self-satisfied gloats about the inevitability of his victory)

Continued Here

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bondsmagii · 3 years

Note

People get fucking crazy when it comes to books, it blows my mind how some take you not liking something as a personal attack. It really feels sometimes like some people think if you don't like a book they do, it means you don't like them as a person which is why they get so defensive and vitriolic. Which is honestly pathetic, thinking about it.

honestly, they really do.

this is extra loaded, because the book in question is a book written by a Cree author about the atrocities committed against her people by the residential school system -- which is, undeniably, an awful piece of history that deserves far more attention that it's got. unfortunately, the book -- while decently emotional, in fact that it its only strength -- is very, very badly written. the characterisation is barely there, the pacing is downright confusing, the dialogue is stilted and uncomfortably awkward, and it just does not do its story justice. my criticisms were all about this aspect; I even awarded an entire extra star because despite this, it still made me feel utterly despondent for the real people who suffered through this.

unfortunately a lot of people seem to have interpreted my dislike of the book as an inability to understand how serious its subject matter is, and since being featured on the first page of the book's reviews -- as its only naysayer, no less -- I have been inundated by clowns subtly calling me a racist for disliking the book, insinuating that I just don't get it, and now -- the absolute crème de la crop of takes -- that because my people were historically hanged for speaking their own language, and murdered in their millions by a foreign invader, I should have more understanding. more understanding of what, exactly? I understand the subject matter! I sympathise! but my understanding that the book is badly written has absolutely nothing to do with the atrocities committed against my people. ironically, one scholar commenting on my review has slammed me for judging a Cree author with English language standards, when she wrote the book originally in English and I am reading it in English -- and yet both the author and myself are only speaking English because of damage to our own native languages thanks to the exact same kind of cultural genocide. it's maddening.

as I said, the fact that someone thinks they can say this kind of thing to a person who lived this oppression in a real-life warzone and lost real-life people to it, to defend fictional characters? it's insane. what's extra incredible is that the Irish have always had the upmost support for Indigenous Americans, and of course, none of the people jumping on my review so far are Indigenous themselves. the thought of a bunch of white non-Irish trying to pit us all against one another on a Goodreads review so they can pat themselves on the back and call it activism is almost comical. I dislike the book. I have complete sympathy and respect for all other oppressed peoples. I can do these things at the same time. absolutely inconceivable, apparently.

#anon #asks

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zodiyack · 3 years

Text

In Letters

Requested by @imaginesbymk: Oh gosh hi! Could I request a imagine w/ Eugene Sledge falling in love with y/n and when he returns home he surprises them with flowers and asks y/n out on a date? Hope this was ok!

Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, mentions of war

Words: 1,795

Summary: (See Request)

Note: So I got a little carried away and I’m not too proud of the ending, but I tried my best and I hope you liked it :D

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow

Masterlist | Joe Mazzello Masterlist

My dearest Gene,

The nights seem quiet, deafeningly so. The room feels lonesome without your presence. Although it pains me to admit it, it’s not just my chambers that are haunted with such sadness.

I feel goosebumps rise from my skin as I lie in bed, similar to the ones I’d get when you wrapped your arms around me. The hairs on my neck rise just as they did when you whispered in my ear each night, assuring me that nothing could hurt me, for you were there to fend off whatever creatures dwelled in the night. But alas, these are not from you this time. My body reacts in such ways to a frightening feeling, one I almost forgot having never felt it after the first night you snuck into my room, and the nights prior to your descent. With you away, I have no soldier to protect me whilst I rest.

My words, melancholy yet true, shan’t bring you down... I hope. Please do not assume wrongly of my intent; I am indeed very proud of you. So much so that I simply cannot help but worry.

What has my worries, you may ask?

Well, my soldier, it’s you. Whether this letter will actually find your soft hands at all, I know not, however, you told me to have hope, so I will. Before you set this parchment aside and go out to your tasks, I ask one last request.

Take your advice, and have hope. When the nights become too much, think not of the horrors, but of me, of this letter, of the nights back home wherein you protect me like you are now protecting us.

You’re so strong and brave. I find it mandatory that you know that and believe it, not just hear the words and brush it off as a compliment. Eugene Sledge, it is a fact. You hold others up as though you are Atlas and they are the world that you carry upon your shoulders. Even now, you carry a burden and you march forward nonetheless. It amazes me. Inspires me, truly.

To end this letter, I’m unsure. Do I make up some falsehood to fill you with delight? No, no, I cannot do such a thing to you, even if I wanted to. I can try all I want, but anytime a lie is formed on the tip of my tongue whenever I talk to you, it rolls backwards rather than out like I want it to.

What ever are you doing to me, Eugene Sledge?

Y/n

Darling Eugene,

You didn’t have to send me the necklace. You know that, right? Nonetheless... I have yet to take it off since I received it. It smells like you. Before the war. Your scent lulls me to sleep as though you are lying with me once more. I’m too overjoyed to remind myself of the reality. I hope you received my gift. And I hope it gives you the same affects yours does unto me.

I try to cling to the hope that you may return safe and unharmed. Any type of war is never easy, I know that, I really do, and I know you won’t be the same person you were when you left. However, you will always be my Gene. With that being said; I will never turn my back on you the way you wrote, the way you feared I would.

Lest you too lack of sleep more than before, I have included a gift of my own. See to it as...a gift to make things even. It’s only fair, seeing as you sent me an accessory you crafted. If you haven’t seen it yet- open it.

A locket can be seen as a feminine accessory, yes, but in truth, it’s attached to no sex. I do hope you like it. I’ve also debated on sending you one with a photo of us both, but settled on purchasing matching necklaces. One for you, which holds my photo, and one for me, which holds yours. Before you lecture me on spending money on you- I spent it for both my sake and yours.

I’ve read every book you gifted me throughout the years and still, you are not yet in my arms nor beside me in the study. I try to imagine, but it gets harder as time goes on. I miss you.

I hold strong aversion to the time it shall take for your return. Nothing pains me more than the suffering you must be going through, and the suffering I too am experiencing. Though my pain is less than yours, it is still great in its ability to affect me. Life without you is dull, meaningless, gut-wrenching and awfully depressing.

Have you made any friends? Other than “Peaches” and “Snafu”, whomever those men are. Perhaps you can introduce some of them to me when you’re home, I’d love to meet the men who kept you company. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. (Peaches is quite an interesting name though. I mean no ill-will behind my curiosity, but...is “Peaches” his real name?)

In reference to my previous question; I myself haven’t made any new friends. To be completely honest, I rarely leave the house. Whenever I step foot outside...it feels...well...pardon my language, like I’m entering a shit show, stepping into hell itself. I’d rather be in hell than live in a world without you.

Think not of my prior comment. Merely bask in the positive parts of this letter. For me.

All my love,

Y/n

Eugene,

I heard you boys are coming home? I do hope the news is true. I fear I cannot face yet another disappointment, nor much longer without you. As time has gone by, nights spent without you beside me, days awfully bore...your face seems to fade as though it plots to abscond.

Funny. It’s seldom that I think of anything else, and it still rebuffs all my attempts to conjure your image into my brain. Whilst I have photographs to assist in my efforts, I can’t quite see your beauty in full, as though the photo is faceless. I miss your charming features and I loathe myself for having struggled to remember them now, even if it happened against my own wishes.

Albeit my words, which were truthful, I still see you in my dreams. Only, when I wake, your face abates until it’s lost in the nothingness, lightyears away from my grasp.

My sincerest apologies for the briefness of this letter and its majority of sorrowful content. I would write you a thousand joyous letters if only I had the strength to tell you falsities.

Awaiting your return,

Y/n

Each letter he received from her warmed his heart and never failed to put a smile on his face. Despite being in a literal warzone, joy never left his heart. The nights where he couldn’t sleep due to the things he had to see, the things his imagination conjured up, or just due to the lack of Y/n. It was the last one more often than not.

Snafu teased Sledge with each letter he managed to catch a glimpse of. Despite the man’s suggestive teasing, the two in question were only friends, inseparable since childhood. However, he wasn’t completely wrong with his jabs. Eugene felt his heart long for her like hers did him, but his longing wasn’t purely platonic. Since his teen years, he felt an almost magnetic-like pull towards her. Her letters only amplified the harshness of the tug on the invisible rope.

His hands shook as he wrote back to her, the first few lines seeming very unlike himself, but the rest so poetic and beautiful, even Snafu was speechless. The words were there, but they only really flowed onto the paper after he let go of control and wrote from the heart. Honest and sincere, he told her as much as he could.

The only thing he didn’t include ever, was a confession.

It took almost all of his strength to prevent himself from giving in to the urge of being lovesick-fool. But as her letters grew more desolate, as the war became more intense, as his time to write shortened...he couldn’t bring himself to confess. He couldn’t bring himself to push that onto her- a confession during the war, forcing her to live with his last letter being a question he could never fulfill.

...

He underestimated himself in so many ways.

The second he returned home, he bought flowers and rushed to find her, not even caring to make sure he looked his best. It was the first thing on his mind. Despite being ever so tired, his eyelids begging to drop for a little while longer, his feet sore beneath him- he powered through.

His fist rapped against the door, a quiet hiss leaving his mouth through his teeth at the feeling of his skin coming in contact with the hard wood. It creaked open, half of a face, an eye mostly, coming into view slowly before it widened and the door swung open.

“Gene!”

She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him as she leapt into his grasp. The two chuckled for a moment before her feet found the ground again and they stood in silence. Drinking each other in, all they could do was smile.

“Oh!” Eugene exclaimed once he’d returned to reality, holding out his hand to Y/n. “I uh- bought these for you.”

“Thank you.” She smiled sweetly, accepting the gift with teary eyes.

“But...not as a friend gift, really.”

“Well of course not, we’re best friends!”

“No, no... I mean it as a step above best friends. I mean them as a gift and a question.” Her brows furrowed and she tilted her head, visibly confused. “I know I just came home- I haven’t even changed my clothes for fucks sake, but I need to ask. I’ve wanted to ask for so long.”

Y/n’s eyes darted around, even more confused than before. “Ask what?”

Eugene cleared his throat, finally meeting her eyes; “Would you be interested in joining me for a meal...or, more specifically, a date? It doesn’t have to be today-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Y/n bit her lower lip and giggled. “I would love to. Tonight, after you get some rest, I’ll meet you at your place.” Y/n placed a hand on Eugene’s cheek, smiling at him. Then, her lips replaced her hand. She turned and walked back inside, closing the door with a smile.

The soldier outside, who had faced and won two wars around the same time, stood outside, hand where Y/n’s lips were, and a matching smile upon his lips. He was undoubtedly glad he didn’t confess in letters.

#eugene sledge x reader #eugene sledge #eugene sledge imagine #joe mazzello #joseph mazzello x reader #joseph mazzello imagine #imagine eugene sledge #joseph mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #zodiyack #x reader #reader insert #all readers #imagine #the pacific #the pacific x reader #the pacific imagine #i hope you liked it!

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mars-the-4th-planet · 3 years

Text

Centrists in Theory: I am both anti fascist and anti communist. Racist cops are bad and looting shops is bad. We should get vaccinated and wear masks but those who cannot do those things because of medical reasons can rely on herd immunity. Still, shutting down everything all the time may be excessive and too harmful for the economy. Bigotry is wrong but it's also wrong when Sjws do it. We should raise the minimum wage sure but to an amount that businesses can reasonably be expected to pay and still make a profit.

'Centrists' in Reality: What if the person the cops killed had a criminal history tho. You shouldn't judge transphobic legislators so harshly for anti-trans laws, I'm sure they have the best interests for youth in mind. Religious influence is government is a good thing actually. What if the cops shooting at random solitary people in the street with riot rounds were only doing it because a protest happened there recently? If you don't want the cops to hurt you, you shouldn't be on your porch watching them when they say not to. The curfew may have said you could stay out as long as you're on your property, but the cops make the rules on the spot not the elected city council/mayor. Don't go near a warzone and then get onto a soldier for harming you. The radical left tho. Workers should just work harder/smarter if they're not making enough money to pay the bills. Raising the minimum wage and taxing the rich is cruel to the wealthy, who are the real discriminated minority nowadays. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. We need to open the schools no matter what, kids and their relatives at home will just have to deal with it. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. We'll just manage ok? Racism isn't really a thing anymore, at least not against non-whites. I'm really more of a 'moderate conservative' see. Why can't we joke anymore? Is it illegal to have opinions now? Climate change is real but we're all gonna die anyway so who cares? Humans deserve it lmao. Animals don't have feelings lol they can't feel pain stupid hippie. Mm bacon. Grass does have feelings though plants scream in agony when they're killed. No its not an automatic chemical reaction they're screaming in agony they can feel pain they're sentient you cold-blooded monster. Not cows though. I'm not saying I agree with what Robert E. Lee believed but there's nothing wrong with liking him and wanting to keep his statues up. The left is just making itself look bad by destroying them. Jordan Peterson-

#police brutality tw #sorry for ranting #legit all of the centrists in reality parts were based on real conversations I've had with people #long post

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horrible-writer-rain · 3 years

Text

Over the Edge and Under

Summary: The 118's actions have devastating consequences.

Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Male OC!

Warnings: Suicide, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Depression, Post-lawsuit, Past Abuse in reference to Buck's treatment at the 118

A/N: This is not edited. I wrote this fic at like midnight. I'll post the reactions and aftermath at some point.

He was tired. Tired of the glares and harsh words from the people he called family. Tired of going home to an empty apartment because Luca was overseas on some mission that was classified. Tired of being the man behind when all he wanted was to save people. To do the one thing he was good at. He left a voicemail for Luca and one to both Luca’s twin sister and brother in Texas. His grip is tight on the railing but not from a fear of failing. No, he had resigned himself that he was going to die but only when he’s ready. He hopes Chris will forgive him, but he had written him a letter and had left it on his counter with Carla’s name on it. He knew she would give it to him. Luca would be pissed and heartbroken but he had a good support system in their old team, his family, and his crew in Austin. He had left letters for the crew of the 118 as well. Left them on the counter as well. He had written a letter for every person in his life that he loved. It was up to them if they read it or not.

He lets out a breath when he hears a car stop. “Sir, please step away back over the railing.” He felt like he could cry. He knew that voice. “I’m good right where I am, ‘Thena.” He calls opening his eyes to look down. It was about a 40ft drop into freezing water so if the impact didn’t kill him then the hypothermia and subsequent drowning would. “Buck?” He hears her come closer. “What are you doing here, baby?” She asks and he shrugs. “I’m tired ‘Thena.” He tells her as a firetruck pulls up. “Anyone I can call?” She asks stepping closer and he shakes his head. “Stay where you are ‘Thena.” He warns and she stops moving. “Just you Bobby. Keep the others back.” He hears her speak into her radio. The 118 must have responded. Fuck. It was bad enough that he was going to jump in front of Athena but now his crew. The ones who have thrown insults and petty jabs his way. The ones who had a hand in causing this. His grip loosens and Athena lets out a strangled noise. “It’s Okay, ‘Thena.” He tries to reassure her.

“Why’d you have the rest of the crew stay back, Athena?” He hears Bobby, no captain Nash say his tone weary. He knows exactly when Captain Nash spots him. His breath audibly hitching. “Buck?” The use of his nickname and the concern in his voice has him letting out a harsh laugh. “It’s Buck now, is it?” He says finally turning around to face him. “Buck, you don’t have to do this.” He says stepping closer, but Athena holds her arm out. “Why should I listen to you? You’ve done nothing but belittle me since I got back. This isn’t your house, so I don’t have to follow your rules.” His voice is calm, and he looks over to where Hen, Chim, and Eddie have gotten out of the truck. He can see the horror in Hen’s eyes, and he feels kind of bad. She was the one who he confided in the most about being away from Luca. They had eventually bonded over their similar sexualities and marriages to people of the same sex.

“Eddie get me a harness.” Captain Nash says and he sees Eddie falter for a second before following the order. Chim stands beside Hen watching with wide eyes. No doubt trying to figure out how to explain what happened to Maddie. Hen is gripping her med bag tightly. “Think about the people that love you, Buck. Think about your family.” Captain Nash says and he turns his gaze once more to his captain. “My family consists of Luca Rizzoli and his family.” He says and Captain Nash shakes his head. “You’ve got us Buck.” Eddie says as he hands over the harness to his captain. He lets out another humorless laugh. “I’ve not had you since the bombing. I thought you were my best friend. But friends don’t call each other exhausting or shove them around. Family doesn’t belittle anything that’s ever happened to a member of said family.” Eddie looks guilty at his words. “Captain Nash, I used to think of you as a father figure. Now, I see that your no better than my own damn father who didn’t give a single shit about me. In a way this is your fault. You chose to lie to me about what happened. So the only way I saw to get back to my family was to fight for it. I turned down 7 million dollars to get back to my family. It was never even about the money. I just wanted you back.” He pauses to take a breath before continuing. “I knew it wasn’t going to be easy and I accepted that you all would be mad at me. I just didn’t expect for it to last a few months and involve being assaulted. You chose to leave me as the man behind. At first, I was fine with it. I knew you didn’t trust me. I figured I’d need to earn your trust back, but you never gave me the chance. Then after awhile it just started to hurt. You had taken away my ability to help people in a way I loved. I wasn’t being shot at or have the threat of getting blown up and I wasn’t in some active warzone halfway across the world.” Captain Nash had put on the harness as he was talking but never took his eyes of him.

“Please, let us make this right.” Captain Nash pleads with him, but he shakes his head resolved to do what he had come here for. “Think of Christopher. That kid loves you like you’re his father too. Think of what it will do to him if you die.” Eddie says. “That’s a low blow, Eddie. I did think of him. All the time. I wondered if he had nightmares from the tsunami. Wondered if there was any way I could help him, but you kept me away.” He seethes but his voice is still level. “I’m sick and tired of thinking of and putting other’s before myself. Call me selfish but I just don’t give a shit anymore. I’m tired of being other people’s punching back both physically and emotionally. I’m done.” He sees Hen and Chim start moving toward him. “I’m sorry but I just am.” With those final words he pushes himself away from the railing letting go.

The air is cool against his skin as he falls closing his eyes a thinking of his husband. He can hear the screams of the people he once called family, but the sound disappears as soon as he hits the water and his world fades to black.

The 118 stand shocked as their youngest member just jumped of the bridge. Henrietta Wilson falls to her knees as a broken wail leaves her. Her partner Howard Han stands in total shock trying to make himself believe that the man he considered as a brother has just ended his life. Edmundo Diaz has crumpled to his knees as well sobs leaving him as the reality of what he had done had cost him his best friend and the man his son considers as a second father. Athena Grant stands with her hand over her mouth and tears streaming down her face. It was like May’s overdose all over again but this time she wouldn’t be saving her child. Robert Nash is half leaning over the railing with his arm outstretched for the man that had become like a son to him. Guilt consumed each member of the 118 from their actions in the last few months. Athena’s guilt coming from her failure to save her boy. Each of them wondering how they were going to tell their family and how they were going to tell them it was their fault. How it was their actions that drove him to take his own life. “Get water and rescue down here to search the waters. I want his body recovered.” Captain Nash’s voice is void of any emotion as he gives the command. It prompts the others into action but a cloud now hung over them and its their own fault.

#911 fox #9 1 1 lone star #post lawsuit #post tsunami #post bombing #post embolism

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phantomphangphucker · 4 years

Text

Ectober Day 7: Hero - But It’s Not Funny

*a sequel to Realities Little Joke For Infinity* Highly recommend reading that first but it’s not exactly necessary.

Tony has a bad habit of adopting strays. Particularly the stupidly heroic kind that were too reckless and too selfless for their own good. So of course he wasn’t going to just ignore the random teen that literally saved the universe only to disappear into the future. Even if said teen was somewhat dead and the only hero left in a world and time that seriously needed more.

Tony grins as he finally gets the connection to work, making his face appear on the strange future teens laptop; or whatever tech people used in whatever time this kid’s in. Going a bit wide-eyed and wheezing when the first thing he sees is Phantom -in alien PJ’s, because of course the first thing he sees on the kid who showed up in a t-shirt and jeans to an active warzone is pjs- shrieking and jumping a foot off the ground while holding a full pot off coffee; which predictably sends the contents of said coffee pot flying into the air and splattering all over the teens face and floor.

Phantom looks to the screen slowly, with steaming coffee dripping off his chin, hair and eyelashes, “seriously?”.

At that Tony can’t help but bend over laughing. Straightening up and looking at the coffee pot, “what were you even doing walking around with a full coffee pot?”.

“Well I was going to drink it. But now it’s as empty as my wallet”, Phantom looks down at the pot and grumbles, “ya know what? Fuck it. I’m still gonna drink it”, then pointing his finger around and telekinetically making all the droplets of coffee on him and the floor float back into the pot.

Tony watches, a little disgusted, as the kid practically takes a full swing of the previously spilled coffee, shrugs, and sits down by his own screen; feet clearly pulled up onto the chair seat as well and coffee pot cradled between his knees and chest. Tony eyeballs the coffee pot, “you’re really going to drink that huh?”.

Phantom shrugs, “I know what’s on my floor”, looks down at the carpet and shrugs again while muttering, “a Zone damned biohazard of blood n’ ‘plasm that’s what. Oh!”, eyes widening a little, “and a sock with a questionable stain”, looking back to the screen, “‘s not like I can get sick anyway. I could drink this shit outta a radioactive waste barrel and be fine. Prob’ taste like shit tho”.

Tony wheezes both amused and pained, “please don’t kid”, that... that would definitely make him gag.

Phantom chuckles, “don’t intend to”.

The two sit in silence for a bit. Tony taking in the teens appearance. There’s hand-shaped bruising coating his neck, one of his fingers is clearly broken, and there’s a pencil-sized hole going clean through the other hands palm. Phantom doesn’t even seem to care about the state of his body, considering how relaxed he seems and the PJ’s. Plus, no way would Tony be carrying anything, including a full pot of coffee, with his hands in the state Phantom’s are.

Phantom yawns, Tony noticing that he’s missing more than a handful of teeth, before Phantom asks, “so...why’s the past tin can face-timing my laptop?”.

Tony puts on a smile, so it was a laptop. Neat. “future or not, I’ve adopted you as one of my brats. I remember you saying there wasn’t superheroes in your age”, waving his hand around, “no older generation to guide the newer. Well you're getting the older generation now”, shrugging and smiling more genuinely, “plus underroos won’t stop talking about you”. Understatement of the century, Peter was thrilled to meet another teen hero, and wouldn’t stop going on about what powers he might have or if he even has anyone to support him. The latter Tony cares about more.

Phantom wheezes, “whom the fuck is ‘underroos’?”, shaking his head, “so ya wanna be my mentor of sorts and help me blast my foes from the past?”.

Tony smirks and nods, this kid’s humour sure was something else, “exactly. And you met before, the kid? Peter?”. Sure it had been a few months but he couldn’t have seriously just forgotten?

Phantom tilts his head, “the red and blue teenager?”.

Tony grins, “you got it, kid”, eyeing the teen's hands again, “your hands gonna be fine?”.

Phantom waves one hand around, chugging more coffee, “eh don’t worry your metal ass about it. I heal like crazy”, stretching his feet out and resting them on the desk, “I’m just putting it off a while on my hands ‘cause the broken ribs and missing bits of spine are kinda more important ya know?”.

Tony rubs his temples, “Jesus Christ”, just how much damage can this teen sustain? That kind of injury should kill a person.

Phantom laughs, probably at Tony’s pained expression, “don’t worry about that either! Not like I can die twice! Haha!”.

Tony looks back to the screen at that, feeling a bit more serious, “yeah, Thanos said something like that. That you were dead but alive. And you confirmed it. What did he even mean?”.

Phantom purses his lips, “well I could explain but that also could mess with the time stream and could result in some weird immoral science crap”. Tony doesn’t get a chance to comment on that as Phantom turns his head to the side and whines exaggeratedly at the thin air, opening his mouth as wide as looks physically possible, maybe even past that, “tiiiiiiime dadddddddyyyyyyy, will this break the time stream? Your problem child has a proooooobleeeeeeem”.

Tony wheezes into his hands, “Christ”, and stares dumbfounded as a giant hourglass with purple sand comes out of nowhere and smacks the teen in the face, making Phantom fall out of the chair with a thud.

Phantom groans and begins laughing, righting himself and spinning the hourglass around, pointing the bottom of it at the screen, it reading ‘you’re fine’. Tony is so not reading into that, kid had someone like Strange in his corner. Phantom sits back down, lifting up the hourglass like it’s a weight, “Kay Kay Kay, so I’m a halfa right? Unique creature, that’s what I am. A fucked up little science project gone wrong, or right. Your choice. My folks screwed up in the lab and boom!”, he sticks his limbs out comically before righting himself and catching the coffee pot he effectively tossed in the air, “a whack-a-mole of electricity and a wormhole decided to stop my tiny little heart. Also restarted it too though! So it’s cool”, tilting his head, “wait... didn’t I already explain this?”.

Tony sighs, “sort of. We were in the middle of a war”.

Phantom quirks an eyebrow, “your point? That was, like, the bloody third one I’ve been in”, rolling his hand around, “first there was the High Ghost King, his fifty-thousand odd skeletons, and objects of near-unlimited power. The alternate future where an evil me single-handedly annihilated humanity, talk about traumatising having to fight yourself literally”, tilting his head, “and no clue if the plant guy with his army of mind-controlled people and plants or the sleep guy with his army of Walkers, counted as ‘wars’. And eh!”, snapping his fingers, “there was that guy I stole the Reality Gauntlet from! He took over the planet and turned people into clowns and shit. So that might be big enough to count as a war, even if it was just him versus me. But then the tornado guy caused storms all over the planet too so would that count then too?”, shrugging, “eh whatever. I’m sticking with three. Pariah would have eventually destroyed the Zone, which woulda ended the universe. Dan was actively on his way to ending all life in the universe, probably all death too. And grape guy, Thanos, was about to annihilate half the life in the universe which honestly would just end all life eventually... maybe”.

Tony stares at the kid before wheezing some more and falling backwards, “Christ”, righting himself and his chair, “there is something seriously wrong with your life. Like, seriously wrong”. Apparently the future was a freaking mess and fixing its crap was all on one random teen's shoulders. All because the kid died, which somehow gave him superpowers, and decided to make something good out of that death. Talk about unfair. And messed up. Really messed up. At least Tony had his team and they had each other, “please tell me you have some kind of support?”.

Phantom grins and nods eagerly, “got my guy in the chair techy, he destroyed a sataliget once! My rich activist goth, she sued one of my enemies into oblivion. And a ghost hunter who only sometimes tries to murder me and got a nanobot supersuit running through her veins; she can lowkey kick my ass if I hold back enough to avoid accidentally killing the living”, wagging his finger at the screen and getting really close, “us dead fucks are borderline indestructible immortals, halfas even more so”, leaning back and shrugging, “can still die, or fade it’s called for the spookies, though. Well, most can anyway. Timedaddy’s straight-up immortal. But if they died then, well, then the universe would literally implode from the time-stream collapsing”, and makes a little explosion sound and motion with his hands. Oh fuck, the kid was really just a damn kid. And from the sounds of it, his entire support was three teenagers. Ah Hell. Oh and some time being, ghost?, that just left him to his own devices.

Tony shakes his head, “you know what? That doesn’t actually make me feel any better”.

Phantom shrugs, drinks, swishes the coffee around, “don’t know what to tell you, man, my entire existence is pretty fucked up. My archenemy is my uncle, wants to adopt me, and gave me his inheritance. My girlfriend has a solid murder boner for me. My parents get giddy at the idea of dissecting me and are actually worse about that the odd time they’ve been successful. The kids’ at school think I’m their personal punching bag. The government would love to shoot me full of missiles and bombs. Pretty sure my sis is just using me for her research paper on ghost psychology or whatever. And my friendships are pretty much based on the three of us just being really weird”.

Tony groans, this kid probably needed more help and support that literally any other teen or hero. “ClockPops is great though. We play chess”,

Tony blinks, mentally pausing, “you... play chess? Seriously?”, this kid seemed to have more issues sitting still than Peter did. Tony finds it hard to believe he can sit through even half a game of chess.

Phantom nods and grins, “yup. Switched the pieces out for shot-glasses once, it was great. One of my teachers is cool too. He crossdressed and pretended to be his own sister to get me to try harder on a test; it worked better than it had any right to”.

Tony blinks and breathes, “your life”, shaking his head because it sounded like the future was just pure insanity, “well now I’m here and while I’m a bit reckless and a recovering alcoholic, I’m not insane”.

Phantom chuckles, “I’ll probably prove to be a bit much for you then. I’d have to be stupid to not think I’m not at least marginally nuts. Nowhere near frootloopy but eh”.

Tony sighs, being self-aware enough -or just not giving enough of a damn- to recognise that was both impressive and depressing. Impressively depressing. “A few of us Avengers are trained doctors and psychologists outside of being experienced heroes. So kid? You’ve got all of us. At least for verbal advice. Strange already went and basically confirmed that paying you a visit wasn’t a smart idea”.

Phantom snorts and rolls his eyes, sipping a bit more before staring down the pot at the small amount left. Speaking into the pot, “oh yeah, I can just imagine all the time problems that could cause. I’m surprised this is okay”.

Tony can’t help chuckling at the slightly silly image, though he’s not sure why the kid doesn’t just drink what’s left, savouring it maybe? “Same. Strange looked at me like he was questioning my sanity. He’s probably going to pester you about the Clock guy you keep mentioning”, grumbling to the side, “I just hope Loki will keep his trickster mitts off you”. Because fuck, they’d probably get on like fire and more fire. Which yeah, slightly horrifying mental image. Probably inevitable though. Loki was already impressed, amused, and interested by Phantom and literally everything the teen did after showing up. Seriously though, who’s first thought when fighting giant spaceships with mouths and other horrifying shit, is to turn it into bouncy balls and worms??? And a smoothie for a reward? For effectively saving the universe? Kid was a trickster, dabbled in death kind of literally, and ‘gave precisely zero fucks’. Loki would have a field day and probably be a horrid influence. Though thinking of it, Phantom might be a bad influence on Loki. Loki generally had reasons for anything beyond mild messing with people. Phantom seemed more likely to just go buck wild purely because he could. Even if he seemingly had a heart of gold and more self-sacrificial bones in his body than actual bones. Seemed like his entire world/time belittled and beat the shit out of him, and yet he gladly got dissected and lost chunks of his freaking spine for them. At least he had the power to back it up.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at mist, or something, leaving the kid’s mouth before Phantom goes wide-eyed and Tony jerks as an actual literal swear-on-every-ironsuit-and-the-entire-tower cartoonish rocket smashes apart what he’s assuming is-was a window; sending glass flying everywhere... and Phantom flying off-screen, the coffee pot going up in the air and sounding like it smashed apart on the ground.

Tony can practically hear the glare in Phantom’s voice, “hey! You spilled my damn coffee!”, while a robot blasts into the room, breaking more glass and bits of wood from the looks of it.

The robot pauses, seems to frown apologetically before shrugging, “apologies whelp, but it is no matter! You won’t need such things after I skin you!“. Tony chokes and gags a little at that. “Also-”, pointing to where Phantom probably is, “-that was practically empty”. Tony then stares as Phantom comes back in screen -looking all black and white- only for the robot to shoot a missile at him immediately, Phantom just sort of shrugs and lets the missile hit him in the face. This kid seriously really didn’t give a damn about his own well being.

And not even seconds later Peter walks in out of the blue, face lighting up as he notices the screen and probably Phantom’s very noticeable self on it, and dashes over. Obviously noticing Phantom’s current situation, “oh Phantom! Kick his butt!”.

Phantom does a silly thumbs up at the screen and immediately gets stabbed in the shoulder. Tony watches in slight disbelief at the kid looking at the knife, saying, “oh! You got a new knife! Shit is the handle engraved?!?”. And the robot actually stops and replies with a wide grin, “it was a valentines gift from Ember! Impressive right?”.

Tony and Peter both blink at the fight effectively stopping as Phantom pulls out the knife and looks it over, seeming impressed, “actually yeah”, pointing almost aggressively at the robot, “you got her something too right? You’re fucking horrible for that man”.

The robot rolls Its eyes, how metal is moving that organically Tony has no clue. “Of course whelp, those drum sticks you can sing into”. Phantom facepalms and Peter actually shakes his head in disappointment. Though Tony agrees, that was awful. But who talks with their enemy -who wants to skin them for peat's sake!- about presents?

Phantom makes a tsk tsk sound, “you dumbass, she got you a sick-ass knife and you got her a knick-knack? Seriously?”, Phantom walks off-screen, the two watching as what they’re assuming is cash flys over to the robot and Phantom returns on screen, “go by some flowers to make up for that crappy present. And for the love of everything, don’t get roses”, waving his hand around, “that’s so cliche. Go with tulips and forget-me-nots”.

The robot inspects the cash before flying off-screen, presumably back out through the window It destroyed, “I will have your pelt next time, whelp!”.

Phantom chuckles, shouting back, “sure you will, Skulkie! Ghost Zones greatest hunter”. Tony and Peter can feel the sarcasm in that. “Also! No you don’t have to ask! An engraved knife would be a wicked Christmas Truce present!”. Tony sighs when a ball or something slams into Phantom’s stomach and sends him flying off-screen.

Peter leaning towards the camera, “woah! You okay?”.

Phantom’s laughter echoes horribly, “right as rain! Mind you, it’s not actually raining”, righting himself and pulling himself up into the previously knocked over chair, “don't mind Skulker, he’s a poacher and I’m rare. Practically one of a kind actually. A poachers dream prize. His girlfriend has a mind-controlling guitar and occasionally attempts at world domination”. A ghost-shaped guitar floats on-screen, Phantom grabbing it, “she gives awesome presents though”, and gives the guitar a good couple strums.

Peter’s eyes go wide, “you can play the guitar?!?”, tilting his head and asking what is in Tony’s opinion a more important question, “wait, your enemies buy you presents?”, tilting his head back, “oh man that’s awesome”. Tony just shakes his head with a smile, teenagers.

Phantom grins and strums some more before the guitar floats off-screen, “all my enemies do”, shrugging, “for the Christmas Truce and my death-day anyway. But that’s normal. A ghost culture thing. Even the prison warden guy, whose got special torture weapons set aside just for little ol’ me, buys me some kind of present. Heck! Even the eyeballs do! And they’ve repeatedly tried to assassinate me”.

Tony blinks, “kid, that makes no sense. But I’m glad they’re at least occasionally nice to you”. Hell knows Phantom needs someone to be nice to him.

Peter tilts his head, “what even is a ‘death-day’? Sounds dark”.

“Oh nothing special, just the day I died. Like a birthday! But for death! A real dead-ringer of a holiday!”, and laughs loudly before rolling his eyes at Tony, waving his hand around, “eh, I’m kinda their king so be kinda a dick move to not give me gifts on literally the two biggest holidays”.

Peter practically shrieks, “WHAT! You’re a king! Oh that is so cool”. Tony blinks, “you did mention something about being the guardian of death and Earth”.

Phantom laughs some more and finger-guns while winking at Peter, “yup! Very important, much power”, and grins stupidly before pointing to the air above his head; a green floating crown bursting to ‘life’ with green mist or something wafting off, followed by a black cape with a flaming white collar and large flaming green skulls pinning it closed with a shadowy chain.

Peter cheers immediately, then adding, “Loki would love this!”. Tony points at him, “no. I want to keep that one as far away as possible for as long as possible”.

Phantom snickers, “I have chronic bad luck, so don’t count on that working out for you. Spidey probably has better tastes than you though, Ironass”.

Tony shakes his head with a smile, “you like making up names for people huh?”.

Phantom grins meanly, “it pisses people off. Which makes them easier to hit”, and holds up a fist, smacking a hand on his bicep.

Tony can’t help but laugh at that, “you got a point kid!”, though that was stupid reckless, and effectively confirmed him being tricky. One of Tony’s tech toys starts beeping so she moves to check it out. Peter taking his place in the chair. Glancing back at Tony before looking back to the screen, “hey I’ve got a question, teen to teen. What’s being a hero to you? Why do you do it? It just... it seems like your only suffering for it. Waaaaay more than normal. And not making stuff much better for it”.

Phantom hums, spinning around in the chair, “a hero's not afraid to give their life, and anything worth doing is worth getting hurt for. I do it so others will not suffer. That is all. It doesn’t matter if things change or not. If there’s still unnecessary violence and pain, then it is still a hero's place to grab their fists around it and pulverise it to Hell and back. So long as cruelty exists I will be there to stand against it. With a smile on my face and a laugh in my heart and Core. Because there is no greater joy, no greater choice, no greater path, than self-sacrifice for the sake of another. Regardless who they are, what they are. Good or bad. Young or old. And whether they support you, or not”, Phantom nods, puts his hands behind his head, cape bunching up, and looks to the side, “and maybe someday things will change. I doubt it, but who knows. But if things do, if that kind of future is on the horizon, then I think I’ll rest. Until then, I’ll be here. Doing what I do and suffering immeasurably for it. Until the world doesn’t need ‘heroes’ anymore. Till it doesn’t need me anymore”, looking back at the screen, Tony having walked back over slowly though the kid doesn’t pay him any mind, “so I guess, being a hero to me is being the embodiment of a brighter future. To absorb the suffering of the world”, sticking a finger up, “like a paper towel!”. Tony chokes at that a little; though the kids' sudden seriousness and introspection was just as startling as last time.

Tony shakes his head, “you make it sound like you’re immortal, kid. Also, that’s what a team’s for, to help share the load. The burden. Sure your ideals are noble and probably needed, but you can’t help anyone if you destroy yourself”.

Phantom smiles but something about it seems almost... sad. “In a way, I am. A ghost can not die and a human can not fade. A ghost ceases to exist when they fade and a human when they die. Yet I can do neither. So that raises the question, what is ‘death’ for a halfa? An idea? An ideal? A reality? Or just pointless conjecture. And besides, for a ghost to fade they must satiate their Obsession. Be satisfied with the fulfilment of their existence”, pointing to his chest, “and my Obsession? Protection. To protect is a physical and mental need for me. And it will never be satisfied till there’s nothing left needing protection. And it is thus that I will always be here”, shrugging and chuckling, “likely anyway”.

Tony blinks, that... that changed a lot actually. It also explained a lot. This wasn’t some kid playing hero, or even an experienced hero just doing what’s right and their job. This wasn’t someone stuck in a bad way and doing what needed to be done purely because no one else could. This wasn’t someone trying to do good to make up for their sorted past. This was someone wise beyond their years, with little to no regard for themselves, and a living -half-living- embodiment of the word ‘hero’. Watching the teen turn his head at someone -likely his mom- shouting that supper was ready. There was a rocket-powered fistfight minutes ago and his parents’ didn’t even check on him. Christ that was depressing. But it also made him want to help this kid out all the more.

Phantom turns back to the screen, “whelp that’s my queue then I guess. And let me guess? This-” gesturing at the screen, “-is gonna become a thing? Which totally cool, little warning next time. And keep this mind, walking the straight and narrow takes more time than I got. I will steal, mildly harm, trick, and lie, as I see fit”.

Tony rolls his eyes, he’d expect no different from a kid basically left up to their own devices, “we’re all guilty of that, kid”. Phantom just laughs as the screen goes dark.

Tony leans back, well fuck, he wasn’t prepared for the kid to have shit that bad. And the King situation definitely threw him through a loop. He’ll have to talk to Thor -not Loki, dear God not Loki- about that. Being a hero and a king.

Regardless, they’re gonna help the weird spooky future kid out. And Peter absolutely liked Phantom, which hopefully wouldn’t be a bad thing. Hopefully. (And it wasn’t, if you ignored Peter carrying out more than a few pranks on Phantom’s behalf).

End.

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ofmythsandmadness · 4 years

Text

i need a favour - seven.

PART SEVEN - bullet wounds and wounded hearts. (or, in which, they’re just too eager for some relief from the pain that no one gives a shit about labels anymore). WORD COUNT - 3318. A/N - forgot i wrote this, forgot about it for months & here we are. sorry. i’ve not really had much interest in writing this or anything in this style on here lately, but i didn’t want to leave this totally abandoned. figured, there’s no point in letting it rot away, might as well post (and for some reason, there’s been a spur in people reading this, so.) START FROM THE BEGINNING - one | two | three | four | five | six

PEOPLE THEORIZE A LOT ABOUT COMAS. And more specifically, what they do to a person.

More specifically than that, where a person goes, once in one. What the mind and psyche creates for them, where and when they escape off to while their body falls apart. If they relive their life’s best and worst moments until they can return to reality, if they dream on continuously - like the world was just one bad trip, and waking up they would not even realise their sleep had lasted more than a day. Or, if the person’s aware of everything around them, just unable to open their eyes and rejoin life - but maybe that was something totally different entirely.

But it was nothing like that, for her.

There was no way to tell just how much time transpired, when out; it could have been an hour, a couple days, three years tossed down the drain, for all she knew. Time moved so much differently, lost in the hellish dreamscape of the inbetweens of life and death.

For the most part, she felt absolutely nothing at all. Not even a sense of drowning, or darkness, or anything around her; like she was dead, her brain was turned off, and really...nothing at all. The only way she knew she was still alive and things were happening was when her brain woke up just a little, enough to send her into panics she could not express. She still could not move or speak or fucking breathe on her own, but she felt the world crashing in, sluggish and deafening around her. People moving around her, voices, loud noises echoing like crashes and explosions that she could not place. It felt like she had been laid down in a warzone, paralysed from head to foot and forced into silence. Just waiting for her eventual death.

And the voices...she really could not distinguish most. Or if they were even real. She got flashes of familiarity, phrases and sentences that added up to only nonsense in her mind - threats of violence, promises, old memories so faded they might as well be someone else's. None of it made sense. It just made her feel more and more scared, and trapped, every time she ‘woke up’ again. Left her craving the still of death once more, waiting for its skeletal hands to cradle her trembling figure again.

Finally, however, she heard the first real sound in a long time. She left the stillness to a strange noise, not a voice but a repetitive beep that would not turn off. At first, she thought it was also in her mind and that if she just ‘shut’ her eyes, sleep would once more overtake her - but despite her mental protests, the sound wouldn’t stop. If anything, it got louder, forcing her forward until she could just about think of opening her eyes.

And then, the beeps were joined by another sound; soft, almost non-existent mumbles, or snuffling of something? Something alive, not a machine, but...Y/N wasn’t sure what it was at first.

That was, until she began to move. With all the strength possessed in her frail figure, she pushed her lids open, blinking away copious tears welling at the bright light and forcing her eyes to work again.

She found herself in a small, white room - and though her mind seemed a million miles away, she could sort of guess it was a hospital room. There really was not much around her, the bed being the main furniture. The beeping came from her right, and she was able to crane her neck just enough to see some sort of monitor, the sort she would have seen on a crappy doctor’s show. With flashing lights and graphics she really couldn’t make out and honestly just hurt her head. She turned away from that pretty fast.

To her left, however, was a different story. She found the other source of the noise; Diego was slumped over in a chair too bony to be comfortable, softly snoring away. Which was never a good sign. The man was a quiet, still sleeper, like he was always waiting for something to happen - but after too long without sleep, his body would collapse into emergency catch-up mode. She had seen it many times after he’d come to her. And he always snored then.

She sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillow. There was no pain, which she guessed was either good or bad (who knew what the doctors were pumping through her veins, eh?) but her mouth was bone dry and she felt helpless, like even calling out for Diego was a deathly trial.

Y/N craned her neck again, taking his slumped figure in. He was almost right next to her bed, close enough that if she could reach out -

-her hands shook like tsunami waves, crashing against his black jacket like jagged knives of limestone on a cliff. She just could not find strength enough to angle them right, finding herself only able to brush the man and hope he felt her touch from wherever he had drifted to. Forget calling out; she could only mimic motion in the barest of touches, waiting for something to happen.

Luckily, it only took maybe a minute for him to stir. Slowly at first, then when realising what woke him up, he was up in seconds. His hands met her own, squeezing tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he croaked out, voice hoarse and worn out - she could only imagine how much stress-induced yelling he had been doing. Begging for something to be done, snapping at anyone who tried to get him to move; the guy was all too predictable. “I just fell asleep, I-”

“-s….okay…” Her vocal cords felt rusted over; how long had it been since she spoke? Her hand left his, gesturing weakly towards her throat. “Wa...wa...ter?”

“Shit, right.” He left her side and grabbed at a glass by her right. Within a moment he was by her left again, bringing it up to her lips. His hands shook ever so slightly. “Careful.”

But she ignored his word and slurped at it eagerly, too parched to be ashamed at how childlike her actions were. Too long had her throat been forced dry - how long had it been since the relief of a glass of water?

Once she had drunk enough, she waved it away, doing her best to smile. “Thanks.”

“Course.” His eyes remained on hers, steady and dark. “How...how are you feeling?”

She glanced away for a moment to look down at herself in the bed, before looking back. Slowly, Y/N shrugged. “M’not sure...weird. I don’t know how I should feel.”

“Right. Well, you’re on a shit load a’drugs, so I guess that’s stopping the pain. Uh...you remember what happened?”

She frowned. “Sort of. More...I don’t know. Remember the pain...like burning, on my side. Talking...was there a Polish chick?”

Diego didn’t crack even the tiniest of smiles. “Ukranian. But yeah. She was with you when it h-hi-she called the ambulance.”

“Right.”

“Look, Y/N, I am so-”

Before he could continue, a new voice joined the duo, one Y/N was certain she did not know. She tore her eyes away from the man by her side to take him in; tall, gray-haired and smiling from ear to ear. It made her a little uneasy, the look; was this how all gunshot victims were treated? With doctors who thought big grins and happy tones were a good answer? If she didn’t already have a headache, she would by just one look his way.

“Good to see you up! Was wondering when that’d be happening.” He seemed to grin even larger, if that was even possible, and made his way around her bed. She watched him fiddle with something behind her, before moving into her view once more. “How are you feeling?”

“Um...weird,” she mumbled, struggling to find any words to describe the feeling. “Tingly.”

“No pain?”

“Not really.”

He nodded. “Good. You’re going to be hopped up on pain meds for a while, but just let someone know when you start feeling anything.”

“Okay.”

Once more, he nodded. He looked like a bobblehead, almost, in the ways his head swivelled and shook on his too-small neck. “You got quite lucky, I must say. Good support system. This guy, right here? Barely moved at all while you were out.”

Her hand squeezed a little, in Diego’s. “How long was I out?”

“About three days, after surgery.”

“S-surgery?”

His grin got a little strained, there, but somehow still remained. Impressive. “Yes. Yeah, we had to get you straight into intensive care after you were brought in. The bullet hit your right hip, just about here-” he grazed the blanketed leg lightly, “-but then travelled downwards into your leg. Which was somewhat good, you avoided serious damage to your hip, but it did nick your femoral artery.”

Y/N frowned, glancing down to where his hand hovered. She could not even remember feeling pain in her leg; it had radiated from her hip alone. “How...how did it go down?”

“Well,” the man sighed, “from what we could gather, you were at just the right angle for the bullet to go straight through the hip. Since it didn’t hit that bone - again, a lucky point on your part, it tore right through and down to your upper thigh. The bullet actually remained lodged, which made reason for surgery. If it had come straight through, well, I don’t know what situation we’d be in but you were very fortunate. Held you from bleeding out on us.”

Something about the emphasis on ‘lucky’ made her feel somehow worse. Like she was a kid all over again, and before getting the bad news, her parents had to amp up the few ‘good’ things about the situation. She really wished he would stop smiling.

“How much...I…” she weakly lifted her hands, gesturing downwards. “How much damage has been done? In simple terms...please.”

His grin shrank a little more. “Well, that’s a bit complicated. The surgery was a success, although there were several blood transplants needed to cover that hit your artery sustained. However, because of said bleeding, and the way the bullet hit, it will be a long recovery time. The leg muscles are built to be used, but when damaged as yours was, well - I can bring in the charts and explain this to you simply, if you want?”

Y/N bit her lip, hard enough to rip through. Absent-mindedly, she noticed the taste of blood, licking a bead of red off. “Long?”

“The timeframe is hard to estimate,” he said - and at least that time, he had the courtesy to look semi-apologetic. “After a couple days, we’ll check in and see how well the limb is functioning, if the muscles are healing properly. You should be able to head home by that time, if it's healing right. But I’m afraid you're not going to be able to use the actual limb for a while.”

Vaguely, from what felt like far away, she heard Diego curse. The doctor kept talking, throwing around words she could not understand, verbal warfare against her already panicking mind, creating a chasm of stress and fear inside her brain. She wanted to do something, reassure him, ask the doctor what she could do and when - but it was impossible when she herself was drowning in panic.

Where had Diego gone? Why did he feel so far away? He sat beside her, but his hands were fidgeting and his face tight, and she just wanted him to tease her, hug her, promise her that she wasn’t lo-

“-judging by your faces, this isn’t sounding great but I promise, you’re in the best possible case scenario. I mean, you got here at the best time, you’ve had the best working to put you back together. And physical therapy will be a big help, you’ll be recommended some top-tier-”

“-whenwillIbebetter?”

Her words were hardly a breath, leaving right along with the little air in her system, but Diego still heard it. He clutched tight to her tsunami waves for hands and looked pleadingly the doctor’s way. “Can we h-have a moment?”

“I-” his eyes darted between the two, before resigning to an answer. “Sure. A nurse will be in at five, with me. Let me know if anything happens.”

Diego just nodded and watched him leave. The second he was out the door, he turned her way, hands moving from hers to hold her face, brush away the tears quickly slipping down her cheeks. Blearily, she made out his own eyes, swimming with emotions she had not seen from him in a long, long while. “Hey. Hey, it’s - it’s g-g-gonna-”

“-I got shot,” she huffed, struggling to get the words out between sobs. “I got shot, I got - I can’t walk?”

“That’s not -”

“-holy shit, Diego,” she cried, and in an instant his arms were around her, holding her as close as he could to his own trembling figure. She tried to talk, but failed and simply gave into the sobs. Words struggled to make their way through, really indiscernible and lost. Whatever it was, Diego could probably guess the point they were making - and it did not ease the guilt bubbling in his stomach for a second.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” she whispered, sobs turning into quick huffs of breaths caught like she was running out of air. “You - the guy - the way he talked - I’m so fucking-g screwed.”

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s how they do it, don’t they? Make you feel...lucky, like you dodged a -” she stopped to snort, like any of this was funny - “-a bullet, but you’re really screwed.”

“Stop.”

“What if I never walk again?”

His arms stiffened around her - only for a second, but enough for her to notice. It was not a thought only she had had. What more did he know? “I...l-look, you’ve always said it best. Look at the bright side.”

She slipped out of his grasp then, pulling back so he could see her face. Stained with tears and puffy, with red and dark circles alike taking a toll on the previously bright expression. She was scared, and rightfully so.

“I don’t know how to do that,” she mumbled, staring him down as though somehow, she could give him all the fear through her eyes, make him feel all the things she did. And maybe she could, because the longer he looked, the harder it felt to keep his own composure.

“I don’t know how to do that...not with this.”

Diego didn’t say anything to that. All he did was hold her a bit tighter and sigh heavily as he traced circles into her back with shaking hands. In return she used his shoulder as a tissue and openly sobbed, uncaring as to who saw or what repercussions came. As far as she could see, it didn’t matter anyways. Did it?

“What do I do now?”

Her words were soft, kitten mews into the heavy silence. Accented only with another heavy sob.

“I don’t know, Y/N.”

She cried a little harder. His arms couldn’t hold her close enough.

“But I’ll be right there with you. M’not letting you go, not now.”

She sniffled. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? I mean it.”

“I’m a fuck-”

“-shut up,” he murmured, hand finding hers and closing over it. He held it to his own pounding heart. “I’ll be there. That’s that. Okay? W-whatever happens, I will be there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N shut her eyes and leant her head against his dampened shoulder. She let herself focus on the sound of his heartbeat and the steadily beeping machines, somehow a semi-relaxing melody despite the stress behind each. She squeezed his fingers gently.

“O...kay. Okay.”

She felt his lips meet the crown of her hair, then his own head fall against hers. And then it was just nothing more than the two of them. A small duo, amidst the chaos of it all, finding just a moment of peace before things got even worse.

That was not the end of her tears shed that day, far from it. She cried more than she had in years, maybe more than her entire life. She cried when her sister came, when her dad showed up and told her her mother couldn’t get away from work, she bit through her lip trying to hold back the tears when her class’ warm messages of ‘get better’ finally got delivered. The dam was broken; the water dripped freely down her cheeks, waterfalls of emotions held back for too long.

Six weeks was a minimum of her being able to properly walk again, and it felt like it was a lifetime. The doctor broke down physical therapy rules, recovery times, prescriptions and all the ways she could be fucked otherwise by this wound, and the nurse pumped her to the brim with all sorts of medicines she couldn’t begin to pronounce. Her sister pretended to cry before leaving and her dad drank through six straight coffees, dumping packet upon packet of Splenda until the garbage can was filled with paper and cardboard cups. The doctor droned on and on, and the nurse kept ‘checking up on her’, and everyone kept wishing her fake sentiments and fake smiles that might as well be placebos, sent to placate her weakening psyche.

It was only hours later, when there was any relief. When they were all gone, and yet for some reason, Diego stayed.

“Don’t’cha have to…” she cleared her throat, trying to speak past the lump in her throat. “Y’know. Fight crime? Play neighbourhood superman tonight?”

Diego shook his head. His grasp on her hand tightened and it was only then when she realised how long he had held on. She had gotten used to the feeling, with her own fingers limp and weak throughout the day, and yet he had traced steady circles into her skin for the entire day and into the night.

“Not tonight.”

“Diego...I’ll be okay.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Just go, I’ll-”

“-m’not leaving,” he grunted, firm and hoarse. He ducked his head so she could not see his expression, but Y/N did not have to see his face to know what he was thinking. “S’all.”

She was exhausted and still weak, and the limbs that did work didn’t seem to want to, but still she tried. Y/N adjusted herself on the hospital bed and laced her fingers properly through his, gripping tighter than she could all day. His head moved at that, but did not lift.

Carefully, she lifted their joined hands to her chapped lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. The lump in her throat grew larger, and she found herself unable to speak more than a ‘thank you’, but maybe it was more than suffice, for the two of them.

Only then did their eyes meet, and his other hand moved to grip tight to theirs. Diego’s lips quivered, but he stayed silent, simply letting go of the breath held back in his own throat. Their faces remained close, separated only by their own hands, but holding onto the matched caring gaze reflected on both of their faces.

There was a feeling of mutual fear, and grief, and shame and loss that ascended the wound - years of pain between the two of them that sped up to meet this moment joyfully. But they did not speak on any of it. Just held tight to one another, even as her hands grew weary and trembling and his gaze grew dark.

She fell asleep looking at him, and feeling finally, the littlest bit of hope.

TAG LIST (let me know if you want to be added or removed) - @asexualmarauder @thatshellfiredean @the-bird-suit @rangotangomango @fandomsandmore394 @thatkidofwarandpeace @antoouu @soul-of-a-traveller @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @artsyle @asuperconfusedgirl @fic-cheesecake @spacenerdpascal @doctorsgirl262

#i need a favour series #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves series

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whentherewerebicycles · 3 years

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i have to wonder if there's an implication that can be drawn the other way around wrt playfulness and stress - not that un-playful individuals experience stress more acutely, but that people who experience stress more acutely become less and less playful. i have intense, disproportionate shame/fear reactions due to Childhood Trauma(tm) and it's inhibiting as fuck - my work with my singing teacher to relax and (though i've never framed it this way) play(!) w/out embarrassment has been (1/3)

one of the most healing things for me... so i think there's this nexus of inhibition & confidence/security & perspective/scale & playfulness & resilience. to be playful you have to be a bit silly and vulnerable and willing to take a risk on doing something "wrong" i.e. not take yourself too seriously, but if you feel chronically unsafe you'll take yourself & everything else too seriously and want to do it "right" so you minimize the perceived risk of harm. going back to my singing teacher (2/3)

the most important thing she did for me was create an explicitly safe, non-judgmental environment where it's not only ok but even desirable to "fuck up" and "look/sound stupid" and to reinforce that message multiple times. so anyway that quote just made me think that "don't take things/yourself too seriously" sits at this interesting intersection between increasing playfulness & coping strategies for emotional damage. sorry to ramble about it in your ask box lol! (3/3)

yes I think this is so so true!! all of this, lol, but especially the part about how acute stress can make it increasingly difficult to be playful. i have written a lot about working through internalized shame here in the past, and especially about the ways that shame causes you to both physically and emotionally shut down parts of yourself. (i actually gave a talk about this subject recently! it was like, a layman’s intro to the neuroscience of shame, with a specific focus on how shame responses affect people’s ability to learn & to connect socially with others in learning spaces.)

i do just want to clarify that the excerpt i posted was from a study that was very narrowly focused on answering the question: “is there a link between playfulness levels and positive/adaptive coping mechanisms in responding to stress?” the study wasn’t designed to answer larger questions about what kinds of life experiences might produce higher levels of playfulness vs. make it difficult to be playful (such as past trauma, not having one’s basic needs for security met, etc.). in the conclusion the authors note that their findings (i.e., that playful people seem to be more able to readily access and use positive coping mechanisms) means that we should be doing more research on how to cultivate playfulness and how to help people unlearn maladaptive coping mechanisms like self-blame. so the point of the study was not to blame individuals or place the responsibility on individual people (“if you could just lighten up, you wouldn’t be so stressed / unhappy / bad at coping!”). it was more like, an attempt to establish that playfulness (as a way of engaging with the world) seems to be associated with all of these positive ways of coping and managing stress, and so we might want to research playfulness more deeply and/or focus on cultivating it in college students.

so i think you are absolutely right that when we talk about playfulness it’s important not to think of it as something that something people just “have” or don’t have (detached from any consideration of people’s backgrounds, lived experiences, etc.). and we also want to avoid pathologizing its absence (“if you don’t have a playful attitude then there’s something wrong/flawed/messed up about you that needs to be fixed”). my research is focused on understanding how we can better create learning environments like the one your singing teacher has created for you -- i.e., spaces where people feel more secure and less vulnerable to scathing or hypercritical judgment; where failures and mistakes are encouraged & normalized as a natural, healthy part of the learning experience; where instructors are modeling self-compassion and deliberately not using shame-based methods; and just in general, where students are getting the kind of gentle, compassionate, consistent messaging you describe receiving from your teacher. basically I’m interested in creating classrooms that provide the stability and consistency people need in order to learn adaptive coping mechanisms that will serve them well outside of those learning spaces.

i think these questions are so important because most college instructors are VERY aware that our students come into our classrooms carrying many different kinds of trauma—whether it’s the more extreme forms that we tend to think of when we think about trauma (childhood abuse, sexual assault, trauma experienced by combat veterans or refugees from warzones), or the forms of pervasive lowgrade trauma associated with financial precarity, racialized stress, etc., or even just the “lighter” or harder-to-classify forms of trauma that rachel naomi remen calls “the cultural shadow” (i.e., the toxic dominant culture that many of us grow up immersed in). and anyone who has taught at the college level (or taught any age level) knows that as a teacher you often have to at least temporarily play aspects of counselor / social worker / person adept at navigating university bureaucracy to help keep students in crisis from slipping through the cracks. (that is obviously NOT ideal, as those roles should be filled by trained professionals! but we have all been in those situations, where you are the first line of support for a student in crisis, or sometimes the last line of support because they have slipped through the giant holes in our country’s social safety nets.)

i think there’s been a shift in recent years towards “trauma-informed pedagogy,” but the slightly watered-down version of this approach many instructors receive tends to be very focused on mitigating harm in the classroom (ie, avoiding certain things or framing material in certain ways so as to avoid re-traumatizing students). this work is obviously HUGELY important (and my own research project is v much informed by it!). but i sometimes feel like these approaches are very damage-centered, ie very focused on understanding how students are “damaged” by their experiences and how we can “prevent further damage” in the classroom space. again, wanting to adopt teaching practices that avoid retraumatizing students is a good thing!!! but i think what i am hoping my work can do is suggest that we can and should strive for more than just limiting damage. to put this another way: i’m looking for ways to go beyond asking “how can we avoid re-traumatizing students in our classrooms?” to thinking more broadly about how we (as teachers, mentors, etc) can design learning environments and learning experiences that help students grow into healthier, happier, more emotionally resilient versions of themselves—and hopefully help build a foundation of social-emotional skills that they will take with them into their adult lives.

play is not the sole "answer” or solution! but i think that for me, it’s been one useful way to think about things like trauma-informed teaching, restorative practices, and social-emotional mentoring strategies, in ways that center a more positive, joyful understanding of what happy and emotionally well-adjusted adulthood can look/feel like. does that make sense?? i think about cultivating playfulness as just one angle onto answering these questions, or as one approach or set of strategies that people could have in their toolkits as they think about how we design learning environments. it won’t work for all students or all teachers or all learning environments, and it won’t solve all of the problems in higher ed (or in a culture where traumatic experiences are so prevalent and yet are so often left unacknowledged and untreated). but i think for me at least it’s been one generative way to reimagine some of the common structures and norms that structure higher ed learning environments.

anyway sorry to use your ask as a springboard into a long “thinking aloud” post!! but i really enjoyed reading your thoughts and i feel like it’s prompted me to articulate some thoughts that have just been sort of murkily floating around in my mind for the last couple weeks. i am also so glad for you that you have a space in your own life (and a trusted teacher figure) where you feel secure & can practice and explore being vulnerable, making mistakes, being silly/playful, etc. it sounds like she is a really wonderful teacher, and it’s so cool too that you are able to describe the ways in which that learning space has felt healing or healthy for you.

#long post #to think further #!!#playfulness project #play project #mw #teaching #mentoring #edit to add: i know that trauma-informed pedagogy is also thinking about these things & i don't mean to suggest that this is #the first time anyone has ever thought of this lol #but i think a lot of young instructors especially (or older instructors who don't do a deep dive into trauma-informed practices)#do tend to get that watered-down version that focuses more on damage and less on restorative / reparative practices

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