#but then he has some damn prophetic dream again and suddenly he’s like. a fucking messenger of the lord or something
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Part Three: Leave A Tender Moment Alone - A Scanlan Fluff Fic
Part one: Tentative Love
Part Two: Small Miracles
Leave a Tender Moment Alone
Scanlan Shorthalt & other Vox Machina Characters Created by Critical Role
Lucy Collins-Shorthalt Created Melissa C. Scraper @whoviancumberbunny
It was their fifth anniversary and Scanlan knew it would likely make his friends mad that he was doing this without asking first. But he had learned this spell from exiled king from another dimension, by the name of Quentin Coldwater. “Damn it, how do the hand motions go again. I remember one of the last hand motions is crossing my fingers and holding my wrist. But it all has to be one smooth motion.” He closes his eyes “This is for my wife.” He mumbles he loved to see her smile he gets the hand motions right and Suddenly Percy and Vax start singing backing harmony for a love song
He grabs his mandolin and thinks back to day they met she was walking few steps behind everyone else because she hadn’t eaten in days and something made him want to look back at her even with sadness in her eyes there was still light around her “I don’t care what consequence it brings I have been a fool for lesser things. You needed me and I needed you too I intend to hold you for the longest time.”
Vex “they are so going to kick his ass later. But it is kind of sweet.” She said “I wonder if she’s told him yet she is pregnant again.”
Kiki “No telling. Grog Lucy keeps telling you not to help daphne get to high spaces she is only three years old.”
They look on top of the book shelf and see giggling half gnome child, who always wore a beret to match her father.
He frowns “it makes her laugh. I like seeing her smile. Most kids are afraid of grog because I am a goliath.” Vex goes over to the book shelf “Daphne go play with my kids okay sweet girl.”
“Okay, Auntie Vexy.” She grabs her bongos off the floor and runs to find the playroom
Pike “Whose idea was it to give her bongos.” She sighs “that’s right. Mine.” It wouldfine if she had the same musical skill as Scanlan. But Daphne was quite adept for three year old.
Meanwhile as Scanlan finishes the song and spell breaks “How the fuck did we end up in the hallway outside your living quarters Shorthalt?” Vax grumbled about to hit him over the head “It is their anniversary isn’t it. We will discuss you shanghaiing us later. You little weasel. Happy Anniversary, Lucy.”
None Quite understood how vax was alive logically he should have died three years before “Thanks, Vax/.go spend time with Kiki.” Percy hated hangovers from magic spells as he went back to the kitchen area to make something to eat.
Lucy “I was thinking about that one time, the first time w made love. Before we rented the room at the inn.”
“Oh when that guy was hitting on you and I used my polymorph spell to make myself a few inches taller than you. It took a while for the spell to wear off. That was the first time in my life I have never needed to use my magic music to convince someone to go to bed with me.”
“that was first time I realized you were willing to protect me. For the few months in Whitestone I always felt like I was not going to find some place to feel safe.” She had never considered the battle with Gabriel them protecting her. She was no fighter. She had always felt blessed that Vox helped in so many ways She he sits next to her “I want you to have this. It is the only thing I have that belonged to my father.” She puts compass on a chain in his hand “I love you Scanlan and gods helo us if either of these twins ends up being like you.”
“Did you say twins?” he places his hand on her stomach after placing the compass around his own neck “Quentin Percival and Elijah Vax’ildan, if they are both boys.”
“They are.” She had had prophetic dreams more like vision of the spirits of her mother and grandmother introducing her to two young boys. Because time wasn’t a straight stream when it came to her dreams
“We’ll need more space.“ she caresses his face to calm him down
“Going into panic mode isn’t going to help. My handsome gnome. You’ve been avoiding Kaylie since she arrived in Whitestone two months ago you know if you don’t speak to her she will just believe whatever her mom may have told her about the man you are.”
The gnome looked down for moment “I Know. But I am just unsure what to say to her.”
“Just tell her the truth. If you had known about her you would have been in her life.” He he looked down at his hand gently placed on her “All I can do is be honest with her.” He laughs when she reaches into his bad of holding takes out his beret.
“You are braver when you have this on.” She put it on his head “Scanlan the revolutionary!” Lucy had Shaun become business partners when she had donated the money to help expand Gilmore’s Glorious Goods. Last time she had gone into town she had crossed paths Kaylie. More like caught the young gnome woman staring at her with Daphne.
He laughed “You always know how to make me smile. You and Daphne are my world. For the longest time I felt alone.” He kissed her “Twins.” He sighed, as he went into town to find Kaylie and when he finally finds her she punches him In the face “If beating me up will make you feel better, I will gladly let you. But I am here to speak honestly with you. I will admit that I don’t remember your mother’s name. I was a selfish asshole before I met my wife.”
“The human with the scars on her neck.” They go to the inn to talk, a after few hours “I am not going to say I forgive you. But thank you for being honest. Why this inn specifically I know there are three in Whitestone.”
“Because every important moment in my life that didn’t happen in front of the other members of Vox Machina, happened here.” It was even because of having family that he drank less when he was spending time on missions with his friends.” Lucy had her reasons she didn’t like alcohol
“What’s the deal with the beret?”
“I wear it when I want to be brave.” He said looking down “You’re welcome in my home. I understand if you never accept the invitation.” His face still stung where the bruises were forming and he knew pike would offer to heal them. But it was Karma for the man he was. He had heard somewhere that it took 20 positive experiences to override one negative one. All he could do was his best to help Kaylie understand that he is not the man he was.
“Why does the kid wear one too?”
“Diedre the hat maker gave it to her as a gift to match mine.” He said grinning, then he winces because the smile had made the bruises hurt
“Geez I am sorry I beat the crap out of you.”
“I deserve it.” He stood up “I need to go it is my anniversary. I will see you around.” went home “Let the bruises heal on their own. She needed to get her frustrations out.” He responded when Pike offered to heal him. Now all they could do was wait and see what Kaylie’s next move would be
“Vax’ildan, Percival I am sorry about casting magic spell on you. Lucy is pregnant with twins and we already decided if they are both male we want to name them Quentin Percival and Elijah Vax’ildan.” He walks into the bedroom and leans against the door “Gods how is someone I only just met so much like me it hurts.” He goes over to Lucy “Thank you for making me talk to her.” And she takes his hands in hers. There was soemthing comforting about how it felt to look as his hand almost disappearing into the gentle caress of lucy’s grip
A few months later the day after the twins are born, Kaylie cautiously enters the house “Hello My name is Kaylie I am Scanlan’s daughter.”
“Welcome to the family. Come say hello to your new brothers.” Pike says as she drags Kaylie over to the bassinettes “It is hard to tell them apart sleeping. Elijah has blue eyes and Quentin has brown eyes.
Scanlan sat in his rocking chair with Daphne asleep in his lap “Before you ask the bruise on my forehead is from tripping over your sister’s bongos.” He looks at them “remember everyone be quiet, Lucy just spent twelve hours giving birth to these little guys. “ he carefully stands up and takes Daphne to put her in her bed. “I think she sees spirits like her mother. she talks to them.”
Pike “whenever I am called upon to pray for someone who is about to go to the clearing, Lucy comes with me to see if the spirits have any messages for the living.” she said , they all wondered how she managed to stay mildly sane when she could clearly view the veil between live and death
To Be Continued…
Saturday, February 4th, 2023
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You see what I love about Desmond Hume is that he is simultaneously absolutely insane and like, the most sane person on the island. Like he’s the craziest fucking dude you’ve ever met, he has so much wild shit going on but he’s also overwhelmingly Just A Normal Guy. He’s one of the few people in the damn show that does not give a SINGLE shit about the drama or the mysteries of the island, my man literally just wants to go home to his girlfriend and take a nap!! But he’s also had like 20 jobs and he’s time travelled (but only in his brain really) and he’s selected to be the fucking Island Prophet or some shit and he’s the singular chosen one who’s immune to electromagnetism but at his core he’s simply a Dude, he’s a damn magic leprechaun but he’s also just kind of a sad loser, You Know???
#desmond hume#lost abc#lost show#when they were like ‘the islands not done with you yet’ and he said ‘well I’m done with the island’ what a power move baby#and I was so worried in like season 5/6 that they were foreshadowing some arc where he CHOSE to go back to the island but he didn’t!!#they LITERALLY had to drag him kicking and screaming away from his wife and son and heavy drug him#and when he woke up he tried to fuckin KILL widmore#but then he has some damn prophetic dream again and suddenly he’s like. a fucking messenger of the lord or something#1/2 the time he could not fucking care less ab the damn island and the other half he’s like I Am Sent By The Island Spirits As Your Guide
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bookposting #22
tender is the night, f. scott fitzgerald: 3.5 stars, i’d say. i really do like his prose style. it…there’s some l-word, i forget which—languid, that’s it. it felt very languid. i was less a fan of the flashback parts, partially because i didn’t like being in dick’s head as much as i liked being in rosemary’s. it also sometimes felt like fitzgerald was kind of wobbling around on the border between “no, obviously dick isn’t meant to be a sympathetic character, he’s a self-destructive asshole” and the, like, not being really sure whether he was extending that “you shouldn’t like him!” to the part where he marries his teenage psychiatric patient. (fortunately the autobiographical resemblance didn’t get that far…?) really what i was mostly thinking by the end was, damn, fscott and zelda, i really wish you’d lived in a time when it was easier to get divorced. but, you know, on the list of books about people just really fucking themselves over, this is one of the better ones. i think i got it because i can’t / couldn’t stop thinking about “patient is the night” from over the garden wall.
the fire next time, james baldwin: 5 stars easy. i really wish i’d read it sooner; i ended up reading it because i bought my roommate a copy for his birthday and wanted to be able to write him a decent further-reading list to go with it. i just was completely awed by the facility with which he was able to touch on so many different things and draw them back together into a whole, and he was such a writer. i don’t know that i can really talk about "down at the cross” right now without just quoting massive passages because it just speaks so completely for itself. read it.
trouble the saints, alaya dawn johnson: three stars? this is kind of hard to talk about because i theoretically like a lot about it. alternate-universe 1930s-1940s where at the age of 10 some people of color gain a power called “the hands” along with occasional semi-prophetic dreams, “the hands” basically give you one superpower like “can see a person’s worst deed by touching them” or “can sense threat to oneself”, protagonist’s power is unfailingly perfect aim, which she uses to kill for the mob. i think maybe it was a marketing issue, because from the blurbs and so forth it seemed to be being sold as much more of a straight up and down fantasy noir, which is absolutely not what you’re getting. it’s extremely character-driven and thematically very concerned with passing, liminality, justice, ancestral trauma. i will say i didn’t care as much for the middle third, i thought dev’s narrative voice was not interesting, especially compared to phyllis or tamara. it’s…i don’t know, i think it’s interesting and it’s definitely something i’d enthusiastically recommend to other people but i just didn’t really click with it. maybe a prose issue, idk, it got kind of dense sometimes in a way that didn’t really work with the plot, imo.
the story of silence, alex myers: rating…i don’t know, i feel like it might be a book that’d improve on rereading, provisional three because i felt a bit disappointed. retelling of the roman de silence, a 13th century french poem about a lord who, due to inheritance law, raises his afab child silence as a boy and which i haven’t yet read (which might be one of the reasons it didn’t click, i couldn’t tell if/where myers was deviating from the story beyond the obvious change to the ending—in the poem, silence ends up married to the king; in the book, silence escapes that fate and the fate of being forcibly externally gendered in general). i think that probably its best strength is as a prose adaptation of the poem, because it definitely has the feel of, like, the better prose adaptations of arthurian poems (which this is, merlin is in it). but on its own i’m less sure; there’s not really a lot of character exploration. i’m gonna donate my copy because it’s a 400-page hardback and i don’t want to pay to send it home, i can get a paperback in the states.
wakenhyrst, michelle paver: two stars. oy. a very boring gothic horror with not enough horror and far too many diary entries from the main character’s terrible father. remarkably unsympathetic treatment of the housemaid who is being, frankly, sexually exploited by said father. also i felt like there were digs being taken at margery kempe, which is less serious but still annoyed me. paver really, really likes doing epistolary/diary-based horror—she did it in dark matter, which i did like—but these ones are just not well-done, the shift back and forth between them and the main character’s perspective doesn’t do much, and the horror—which as far as i can tell is the maybe-real ghost of the father’s sister who he let drown in the fen when they were kids coming back into the house—is just not given enough room to get really settled and also not really successfully integrated with the big spooky 15th century painting that’s also part of the whole thing somehow.
one-way street and other writings, walter benjamin, trans. j.a. underwood: three stars again? i don’t know; i think that a lot of it was very well-written / translated but i was missing the referents to actually engage with it. also i was really, really tired when i read the first two essays. i did like “one-way street,” it felt kind of like invisible cities in a way, and “hashish in marseille” was funny because like dude we’ve all been there, we’ve all been high and unable to stop staring at people’s faces. i think overall the things that i understood i liked but i didn’t understand as much as i wanted to.
the dunwich horror and other stories, h.p. lovecraft: three and a half, four, something in that neighborhood, graded to the lovecraft curve (a curve somehow squamous and rugose!). overall the stories were pretty well-selected—the dunwich horror is definitely one of his best, the thing on the doorstep is very interesting as a story, like, thematically; the dreams in the witch house didn’t work as well for me because it is kind of about a guy double-majoring in math and folklore too hard (and what the fuck is “non-euclidean calculus” anyway, howie), accidentally discovering teleportation, and then getting chased by a witch and and her half gef the mongoose / half vladislav cat familiar in the form of evil shapes, the lurking fear really dropped the ball at the end and is basically a dry run for the rats in the walls; i had no idea what was going on in hypnos, and the outsider is a decent sort of twilight zone-y tomato in the mirror couple of pages. i think really what i found most interesting about this collection is that it made it very clear to me that lovecraft was deeply, deeply obsessive about eugenics. which, i mean, i’d already known he had the ingredients for it (seething, all-consuming racism; classism of the “augh the inbred hillbillies!” type that was very foundational for american eugenics; his personal concern with / fear of hereditary mental illness; interest in what was in the 1920s cutting edge science) but i hadn’t quite put them together until looking at the dunwich horror and the lurking fear and their presentation of rural new englanders, combined with the, you know, his stuff about innsmouth (as always i say: THE FISH PEOPLE DID NOTHING WRONG) and the racist implications therein, which crops up in dunwich and in thing on the doorstep, the way all three are very, very concerned with genealogy / heredity… shouldn’t have taken me that long to figure it out. one thing i did like about the lurking fear was the moment when the narrator, atop the hill where the abandoned house of the ill-fortuned and vanished martense family stands, looks out over the plain and suddenly realizes that the weird earth mounds in the area are all radially emanating from that hill. it’s an actually effective spooky moment! i thought it was gonna be giant mole people! it isn’t, it’s the martense family having somehow managed in 100 years, through some really committed inbreeding, to devolve into weird voiceless subterranean cannibalistic hominids. boo.
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This is a story I wrote in four parts to help me and my friends cope with the loss of Castiel and the end of Supernatural.
Please read CastielXStacie Chapters One and Two and CastielXAllanah Part One before reading this.
CastielXStevie
Alone in her dark bedroom Stevie lay contemplating her latest resurgence of depressive thoughts. She knew there was no truth to them and yet here they were. These poisonous, self-loathing imaginings that she was alone in the world and without love. She clutched her pillow tighter to her as fresh tears fell from her eyes. Why was she like this? Why was she so pathetic? Why would anyone want her around when she was so clearly unworthy of the trouble she caused those around her? Maybe that was the reason none of the ‘Misha’s Angels’ were talking. Could it be they had started another group without her in order to save face and exclude her?
She thought of the last time they all had spoken. All had been lamenting Castiel’s death. All were heartbroken. Stacie seemed to have the strangest reaction to it though. The last thing she said to the group was, “I’ll find a way.” A very Dean-like utterance she thought. But a way to what? Bring Castiel back? The show would have had to keep going. A way to keep the show from ending? It already had. A way to soothe their hearts from the loss of someone so dear? What was in her power other than writing a very powerful, emotionally absorbing, reality-altering fanfic? Nothing. No one could write such a fanfic. The show writers had ripped the hearts from the ‘Misha’s Angels’ chests, puréed them in a blender, then lit the whole thing on fire.
Allanah said she received a message from Stacie asking her to ‘believe’, but what could that mean? Believe in what? As far as Stevie was concerned she had too little energy for belief these days. 2020 was an emotionally exhausting year. The sooner it ended the better. Not that 2021 would necessarily be better, but at least there would be a some leadership from the White House.
Yes, Castiel was dead. The ‘Misha’s Angels’ had abandoned her. Her Scottish boyfriend hadn’t spoken to her in nearly a week, her live-in boyfriend had broken up with her, and she’d had a fight with her girlfriend. She felt truly alone.
She rolled over as the next wave of falsehoods crashed over her. Something moved in the darkness. She held her breath watching the form that hadn’t been there when she turned off the light. Was she imagining things now? It loomed at the foot of her bed, six-feet tall and humanoid in form. A ghost? It turned it’s head to the side.
“FUCK NO!” Stevie screamed, throwing the pillow at it, and tossing her blankets aside to get out of the room as quickly as possible. She grabbed items from her bedside table and hurled them at the shape as she ran for the door. When the items rebounded she suddenly had a shocking realization. A ghost was scary enough but this was an intruder!
She screamed loud and long as her hands found the doorknob and she wrenched the door open.
“Hey!” The figure exclaimed from the Pelting, recoiling from each projectile. He stepped toward her, “Wait.”
She found a book and flung it at the man’s head, which he ducked and deflected with his left hand. She pulled the door shut behind her, holding it closed while trying to think of a way to defend herself. “Call the police,” she thought but then realized in her haste she had left her phone in the bedroom. “Run to the neighbors.” As this thought came to her the door between her and the intruder flung open pulling her in along with it. With all her strength she was no match for him. For just the slightest of moments she was face to face with the intimidating foe. Blue eyes was all she saw before she let out another scream and ran to the kitchen.
“Knife!” She thought, digging through the drawer. “Where were all the fucking knives?!” She shouted. She could hear his footsteps trailing after her. “Skillet,” she took a step toward the pots and pans cupboard but stopped short as the figure entered the kitchen. Her hands darted around for the nearest defense. Brandishing the weapon with two hands, she raised the wooden spoon between them.
The man stopped in the doorway, his hands lifted in surrender. “I mean you no harm.” His voice was low and husky, his trenchcoated frame silhouetted in the dim light from the living room window.
Though only moments passed it could have been years for all Stevie could ascertain. Staring at his form, the way his shoulders slumped, that ever so slight tilt of the head, that almost weight-of-the-world submissive stance...
“Cas?” The name fell from her lips before she could fathom the understanding that for Castiel, a character on a tv show, to be standing here, in her kitchen, was physically impossible. Misha, maybe. He had once been arrested for breaking and entering. But, no, highly unlikely. And Misha dressed as Castiel doing a little B&E? Extremely unlikely; albeit more likely than Castiel, angel of the lord.
His head tilted slightly, “Do I know you?”
Reasoning that as long as he kept his distance she could safely turn the lights on to get a better look at him. Though he squinted in the sudden illumination, it was him, in all his glory. That dark-chestnut hair, those blue eyes, that chiseled jawline, and those damn perfect lips. She felt herself drawn to them even now.
She wasn’t sure if she believed it or not. Heck, this could be a dream. Perhaps she had drifted off without realizing it and now she was having this incredibly vivid and lucid dream. And if it was? With all the self-doubt and negativity that had been filling her thoughts lately why not indulge in such a perfect escape as a Castiel dream.
“What are you doing here?” She asked as calmly and nonchalantly as she could muster.
He relaxed his stature, “Um,” he looked around, “I- I don’t know. I-,” he looked back to her, still holding the spoon, “I don’t even know who you are or where I am.” He said this despite his better judgment. He knew he didn’t know her but there was something so familiar about her. Had he lost his memory again? Had the being in the Empty done this? Could he be sure this wasn’t some trick created by the Empty as a means of torture? Possibly. But this woman... he couldn’t explain it, he felt drawn to her.
Seeing his eyes dart to her ‘weapon’ she put the spoon down, “I’m Stevie. And this is my house.”
His head raised in acknowledgment. “And... have we met before?”
“Only in my dreams.”
“This house, where is it located?” He took a few tentative steps toward the window and peered out.
“Ogden, Utah.”
“Not far from Kansas,” he noted to himself. “Are you some kind of psychic? The dreams are prophetic, I take it?” He turned back to her.
“No, not that I am aware of.”
“What am I doing in your dreams?”
Stevie felt herself blush, “You’re my boyfriend.” A shy smile came to her lips.
Castiel’s eyebrows shot up hearing this. “Oh, uh,” he stuttered, “that’s- ahem. That’s nice,” he trailed off.
Unsure of what to say or do, Stevie fidgeted with the discarded spoon. This dream was unlike any she’d had before. It was scary, and cute, and awkward, and, well, just plain strange. Memorable to say the least, she decided she must write this one down when she wakes.
“How am I here?” Castiel questioned her, although it was also a question for himself. This woman, she couldn’t possibly have an answer but looking at her he felt she could be the answer. The urge to kneel before her and claim his undying devotion was unfathomable and yet undeniably welling in his chest the longer he gazed at her.
Stevie shrugged and offered, “Manifestations of underlying and as yet unanalyzed emotions I’ve been feeling lately? That’s ultimately what all dreams are anyway.”
He furrowed his brow, “You think you are dreaming?”
She nodded slowly.
“This isn’t a dream. I’m real. My name is Castiel, I’m an angel of the lord.”
“A character on a tv show that recently ended,” she interrupted, “One that consumed my life while it was on and now has me mourning the loss with a giant hole in my heart.”
“A tv show?”
“Yes. This is all part of the healing process. Hallucinations and dreams created to confront and deal with the pain left by that loss.”
“And how do you explain my consciousness within your dream? Doesn’t this ‘dream’,” he used air quotes, “seem a little too ‘real’?” He strode to her, grabbing her wrist with his right hand and wrapping his left hand around hers. “Am I not real?”
Damn this dream was vivid. The warmth of his hand surrounding hers, the breath from his lips, the smell of electric musk that wafted over her from his stride across the room. Is it a dream? All of her senses screamed reality but it couldn’t be. Or could it?
“Kiss me.”
“What?”
An odd request for someone you’ve just met, sure, but given the opportunity, she had to take it. “In my dreams we’ve never kissed. If you kiss me, and make it passionate, I’ll believe you’re real. Or I’ll wake up.” (Again, why not take advantage of such a situation as this?)
Castiel lowered his and her hands contemplating her reasoning. Looking deep into her eyes he saw no malice in her proposition and, taking her into his arms, he awkwardly yet gently pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and soft, and pliant to his own, much like her embrace. Her body fit to his as if they were two puzzle pieces, finally rejoined after eons apart. Her left palm rested on his chest while her right arm snaked up and around his neck, her fingers tousled his hair as she tilted her head to offer a better angle. Unable to control the longing any longer his grip on her tightened, his strong arms crushed her to his frame abolishing any space between them. His own head tilted, his tongue flicked across her lips pleading access to which she obliged. The taste of her was sweet and enthralling. Their tongues danced in a sultry tango to the melodic crescendo of their heartbeats.
At last they parted, breathless and dizzy. “Wow,” Stevie sighed breathily.
Castiel, uncertain if he may have overstepped his bounds, released her and stepped back allowing her more room to breathe.
She waited with closed eyes. After a moment she peeked one eye open. He was still standing there, in her kitchen, watching her and waiting. She lifted an arm and pinched it. Still there. She slapped her cheeks a couple of times. Still there.
“Holy Mother of God,” she finally whispered.
Castiel tilted his head.
“You are real!!” She threw herself onto him causing him to stumble back and swing her like dead weight. “You’re real! You’re real! You’re real!” She disentangled herself from him. “I gotta tell my girls!”
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We Survived The Crisis, Babe
You want to know what happened to Hannah and Ethan, you say? Give Ethan some medical attention, you say?
Well, I’m terrible, so no. But here’s some Lex to make up for it.
Some handy links: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
ao3
As always, let me know if you wanna be on the taglist!!
TW: References to child abuse, near-death experiences - stay safe kids
Chapter 4 - Lex
This is not how I wanted it to end.
That was all Lex Foster could think as she knelt on the floor of the Toy Zone stockroom, Sherman Young’s arm wrapped tightly around her neck, constricting her breathing. It was not how she imagined that she was going to die.
Fighting her mother, maybe. Defending Hannah from her drunken wrath. Or saving a small child from the middle of the road. Something heroic, something she would be remembered for. Or, after a nice, long life in California, she would die peacefully in bed with Hannah and Ethan by her side. Instead, it was this.
Dying in the stockroom of a shitty toy store, in a town she had sworn that her life would not end in. A town where the only two people who loved her were likely dead already. She was alone. No one would save her. California would die with her. That’s what she got for wishing.
Only her ashes would ever see the sea.
It was a nice dream while it lasted.
The edges of Lex’s vision began to go black as Sherman squeezed harder. She was strangely calm. It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. It was almost like falling asleep with her eyes open. She refused to close them. She wanted to look death straight in the face.
It was serene in a way, almost beautiful. There was no noise, and Lex could vaguely hear the sounds of seagulls and wind through trees, how the beaches were in the movies. Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad. Then Lex’s oxygen-deprived mind went to her two last regrets.
Her biggest regret, of course, was Hannah. She would never see her little sunshine sister again. Never get to hold her again - God, she’d miss holding Hannah. Hannah had been the only thing worth living for, for such a long time. They needed each other. Lex hoped that she could go on alone. She was strong. And Lex was leaving. And her sister was going to be murdered by the psychotic, toy-worshipping cult that Linda Monroe was leading out in Toy Zone. Hannah wouldn’t be shown any mercy.
Sorry, I couldn’t save you, Banana.
Her other regret was Ethan Green. Funny, dumb, loyal, brave, incredible Ethan Green. Ethan Green, who let her cry on his shoulder and cried on hers. Ethan Green who was really good with anything mechanical. Ethan Green, who, on a day that Lex had a big test, cut school to take care of Hannah when she was sick and Lex’s mom was too drunk to be bothered, knowing full well he would earn a beating for skipping. Ethan Green, who she kissed and smoked and dreamed with. Ethan Green, whom she loved. She’d never had the courage to actually tell him that.
Now, I’ll never get the chance.
If he had stayed with Hannah, as Lex knew he had, the cult would kill him too. There would only be ashes in California.
Suddenly, it hurt a lot more to die. Lex gave up the “facing-death-with-my-eyes-open” shtick and allowed her vision to go dark. She didn’t want to look anymore.
“You aren’t dead yet,” a new voice said. Lex managed to open her eyes and look to her right. A man, with shoulder-length hair and a scruffy beard, dressed in black combat fatigues and what looked like one of those weird floppy artist hats, floated a few feet off the ground. Sherman wasn’t reacting to this intrusion, so Lex figured this was some sort of near-death hallucination.
“Alexandra Foster,” Lex’s near-death hallucination said in an authoritative tone. “My name is General John MacNamara and I’m going to help you through this.”
“Wh-what?” Lex managed to gasp out.
“First, you need to subdue your assailant,” General John MacNamara said, efficiently removing a gun from a holster at his belt. He flipped it around and offered it to Lex, handle first. “I’m authorizing you to use my firearm.”
This was cruelty - Someone offering to save her, to give her a fighting chance to save her family. And it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. And yet Lex found herself raising her arm, desperately stretching for the weapon.
“I can’t reach it,” she choked.
“Yes, you can.” General MacNamara looked Lex directly in the eye. “Your sister has always had the power. Something tells me your friend has it too now. You have it.”
Lex barely had time to process that. Power? What the fuck was this guy talking about.
“Reach into the Black and White. You must manifest this weapon into your reality.”
The Black and White. That was the thing that Hannah always talked about.
Okay, so this definitely was a hallucination. Lex could barely manifest the will to get up in the morning. She could not manifest things from other dimensions. She felt like she would have known that about herself. So why did that statement set every single one of her cells jumping, and not because she was being strangled.
“Look me in the eye, now, Lex,” the general barked. “Become your best self. If Wiggly’s been born, then who knows what will happen. But people are depending on you. It’s time to lead.” General MacNamara’s image began to flicker. “Time is running out. It’s time to make your choice.”
Lex somehow stretched her arm a little farther. Her mind was clear. She could not give up. She would not give up. For Hannah. For Ethan. For herself.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Sherman hissed in her ear.
No the fuck he was not.
Adrenaline rushed through her. Before Lex even knew what she was doing, she dislodged Sherman, twisted and pulled the trigger.
Direct hit.
Sherman stumbled back. “Where did that come from?”
Then he collapsed. Dead.
Lex gasped. The gravity of what she had done began to sink in. She had killed someone. Sure, she had done it in self-defense but she had still killed someone, and she felt horribly guilty.
“Nice shot, Lex.” General MacNamara’s image was definitely beginning to fade now. Still there, but less substantial. Apparently, Lex wasn’t hallucinating. Hallucinations didn’t give people guns. “But we aren’t through yet. The leaders of your world are lost and helpless. You’ve been called to serve.” He spoke louder, now, as if afraid Lex wouldn’t be able to hear. “If you can defeat Wiggly here in Hatchetfield, then he can be defeated anywhere.”
That seemed like a tall order for Superman. But here, it was wildly hopeless. She was Lex Foster - a high school dropout with no prospects and a drug addiction and who was positively not Superman, no matter what weird-ass power she had just discovered. She was being called upon to save the world. What could she possibly do?
Then, she thought of Hannah. Of Ethan, and her resolve hardened.
“What do I have to do?”
“Gather your forces,” General MacNamara said. His image was so faint now that he was almost impossible to see. “There is a warrior of light trapped in a deep sleep. Wake the warrior. Kill the prophet. Save the world.”
Oh, was that all.
General MacNamara gave Lex a salute, then faded into nothingness, leaving her alone in darkness.
Lex stayed on her knees for a few moments, trying to catch her breath and process what had just happened.
Okay. First, a man had appeared while Lex was being strangled in a toy store stockroom and had told her she could manifest things from other dimensions. Then she had actually done that, and shot Sherman Young with an actual bullet. And now she had to gather some forces, kill the prophet, and save the world.
Awesome and totally doable. Except for literally all of that.
First, Lex did not have any forces. The only possible ally that she would have had in Toy Zone was Frank. And he was dead.
Second, the prophet, presumably Linda, had an entire goon squad of crazy people surrounding her, and, going back to problem one, Lex was by herself.
She could have kept going, but this already seemed impossible.
She glanced out the stockroom window to the loading lot at the back. Was it possible that just this morning she was there, with Ethan and Hannah, laughing and dreaming about California. It seemed like a million years ago. She saw Mr. Houston’s car, still in the loading dock, with a bright pink ticket on the windshield and laughed, despite herself. God, had really been this morning that she’d seen…
Holy shit, Mr. Houston.
Maybe Lex wasn’t entirely alone in this mall. Maybe, possibly, in a one-in-a-bazillion chance, she could find Mr. Houston, and he wouldn’t be corrupted by Wiggly. And if she found Mr. Houston, maybe she could find Hannah and Ethan and get out of this mall. Maybe she could save the world. Maybe she’d even make it to California. Maybe she’d just die, but damn if Lex wasn’t going to die fighting.
Lex got to her feet and cocked her new pistol.
General MacNamara had told her to gather her forces. So that was what Lex was going to do.
“Stay alive, you two,” she said to empty air. “I’m coming.”
Taglist:
@hurricanehellion, @asshole-gay-797, @ethngreen, @just-a-side-kick, @theirishhufflepuff, @somegeekychic, @curse-brekker, @unusual-ly, @softotacoo, @believeinasmilinggodtoday, @scorpiotrash468
#black friday#starkid#lex foster#ethan green#hannah foster#sherman young#general macnamara#wiggly#webby#lex foster x ethan green#lex x ethan#tom houston#becky barnes#frank pricely#linda monroe#gary goldstein#we stan a fucking BADASS QUEEN#and thats it on that folks#and she loves ethan and hannah very much#buckle up because its gonna get worse!!#black friday musical#au
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Prophet and Loss
This episode did actually do a few things really well, a couple decently well, and then there was the usual.
That intro is just … horrific. Even knowing from being spoiled that it's only a dream? Just - holy crap, Jensen. That Dean clawed up the walls in his sleep he was so deep into it? Gah. So much no (but in the best way).
In a similar vein, I also found the scenes with the screwed up prophet guy really creepy. The look on the actor's face, the methods of his murders, him creepily stalking the second victim, the Enochian chanting from nowhere? I thought it was a pretty effective piece of horror, so that was great. I mean, Killer Prophet sounds like an awesomely terrible slasher flick, so.
In terms of the acting, I thought all of the scenes with just Sam & Dean were great – in the motel, in the car, at the end. These guys really are just that good at being these characters. I got a genuine sense throughout the episode of Sam holding back his frustration with Dean's chosen path and goodbye speeches until he just sort of falls apart and explodes at the end. I like it when the writers let Sam actually get angry at things instead of just playing peacemaker doormat guy. In an abstract sense, this is a really good place for conflict with Dean not seeing another option and Sam refusing to believe there isn't one and they both sell the moment really well. I had actual emotions and everything!
Unfortunately, the impact of these scenes are a little spoiled by the scripted content of the conversations in a few places. Again, is Dean's plan here really that much more extreme than what he planned to do with the Mark? Are we supposed to read it as some kind of (OOC) machismo thing that instead of insisting that there is literally no other way Dean doesn't try to convince Sam there just isn't time to find another way because Michael isn't that secure? The latter would be a legit argument, whereas insisting there can't be another way is pretty obtuse after they've found another way around just about every hurdle they've faced. I suspect the writers were so focused on trying to get to the emotional payoff of the scene at the end with Sam talking Dean out of it that they just didn't bother to make Dean's rationale make sense, which is lazy. Then there's the car conversation where suddenly we have this random retcon about Dean periodically running off (previously always talked about as a kid as good soldier, obedient Dean) actually also sometimes being John telling him to GTFO (paranoid about monsters around every corner John Winchester). What? and also Why? with a little Huh? thrown in. Even the end conversation – I wouldn't normally mind them trying to throw in something that feels like a take off of RL stuff (Donatello always kept never quit fighting!) except when it's so obviously shoehorned. Donatello not giving up lead to the deaths of two perfectly innocent people, is that really the moral you want to go with here?
Like, I wonder if perhaps the gruesome twosome heard all the fan talk about liking parallels and decided that was something they were good at. Because this episode had the weird obtuse Donatello to Dean one and it also had the twin smarming on about losing his older brother and I just … lost it, had to stop and have the giggles for a minute. I mean, J2 and the other actor were doing their best but that dialogue was laid on so thick in such an absurdly on the nose way – it really only belonged in some kind of straight up parody spoof. Not even to mention that I guess that's what they must have been going for with the whole Nick thing in a way, and I have not found a single thing about that storyline interesting or sympathetic or in any way worth breaking vessel canon for.
A few more random things, then. I kind of liked that Rowena and Castiel were both looking into trying to find other things to help, though I'm still annoyed at trying to play like the Book of the Damned is a catchall solveall (what does damnation have to do with archangel possession?). I actually liked the phone conversation between Dean and Castiel – Castiel's complete inability to not immediately spill all the beans and Dean just flat out ignoring him trying to speechify. Considering the close relationship between the victim and the killer and his obvious tattoo with symbols similar to those carved into the victim, I had to wonder about both the existence and the competence of the cops in whatever town this took place in. Like, the killer was just a fucked up human and it was kind of weird a murder investigation didn't get there before the Winchesters. Similarly, since he was just a human being fucked up by outside influence the whole scene of beating on him 'til he killed himself was just … weird. Or was that just me?
Also, what even was that Donatello storyline? Seriously? IIRC, he lost his soul to Amara and then when they tried to have him translate the demon tablet he went evil, so Cas turned him into a vegetable. But now, suddenly, even if there's a spark left they have to try and bring him back and he'll magically not be evil now because …? Did I miss something to explain why he has a magical reset button in his head now? Not to mention that they all suddenly really care about Donatello being *gasp* a vegetable trapped between life and death … when he's been that way since 13x13. These writers really do seem to write as if everything that’s not happening right on screen is in some kind of static limbo they can just ignore or focus on whenever they feel like bothering and ignore when they don’t - souls in the veil, heaven falling, Donatello’s coma, etc.
I remember at the time reading some people really upset that Sam stopped Dean here because of the threat Michael poses. While I kind of get where that's coming from, I've never felt like the Winchesters have any kind of moral imperative to sacrifice literally everything for the world. As such, I'm never going to be bothered by either talking the other out of making a sacrifice play. Especially when it's a case like this where the writers have worked so hard to set up a false dichotomy; either they go with Dean's plan or they take literally no preventative measures until they find another way or Michael bursts free – middle ground, what's that?
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|| 2 Corinthians 5:10 ||
"For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad." - 2 Corinthians 5:10
The story of how Deputy Addison Gully loses herself in the madness of it all.
fandom: far cry 5 / far cry new dawn
warnings: self-harm, implied brainwashing, mental disintegration, post-traumatic stress disorder, scarification, angst.
pairings: none but female deputy/faith seed is heavily implied/referenced.
inspired by something that @athurmorgan was speaking about irt their deputy.
also available on ao3
Gods.
She’d tried so hard she—
If she takes just too deep of a breath she can still smell them; gutted and burning alive out there. Whitehorse, Pratt, Hudson. Gods even Dutch ; this was his bunker.
She’d let them die. She’d killed them all. She did this. She did—
“Do not cry,” the singsong voice comes nearer and nearer, “You truly did the very best you could. If you had but only listened.”
“Stay away from me,” she manages to get out around the tightness in her throat, “You think you’re absolved of tragedy? You let your Brothers die for this. You let Rachel—”
“You forget who it was that pulled those triggers, snake. Rest now. Rest. Awake when you are feeling anew.”
She doesn’t miss the prick of pain in her arm or the buzz in her head.
“Fuck you,” she slurs before succumbing to sleep.
When he does finally release her from the chains on the bed she draws a line down the center of every hall and every room and throws the chalk down beside his scribbling hand.
“Stay on your fucking side and we won’t have any issues.”
“And if I do not?” he asks with vague amusement; like a parent to a child.
She hates him. She hates him. But they already have one dead body and she shudders about the possibilities for getting rid of that.
She won’t kill him. Not yet. She can’t—
“Just. Stay away from me,” she grinds out, stalking away from the communications room to one of the furthest in the bunker, pinning the door closed.
Her hands curled around her head do little to stop the ever-present hum of a hymn she can’t quite remember the words of.
Rachel— Faith— Whoever she was in the end of things; still shows up.
In dreams. In flashes of light. In the mist of tear burdened eyes.
The now ghost sits curled up beside Addison and touches gently at their hand and at their face and begs in fragmented words for forgiveness.
“I could have saved you,” she says, turning to look and soak the image of her former— something in, “I would have torn down the entire valley to save you, you know.”
“I chose my path, Adi,” the image says in soothing tones, “I chose my path.”
She huffs a laugh and slams, perhaps a little too hard, her head back against the wall, “You had your path chosen for you. You weren’t free from the moment he had his psychopathic fingers wrapped around your throat.”
“Do you wish they had been yours instead?”
Addison startles. This ghost. This figure. It’s her own imagination after all. A figment to deal with loss not yet recovered from.
“No,” she says eventually, “Not around your throat.”
“Do you see angels, Deputy?” her bunker mate asks, “Is that who you talk to late in the night? Ghosts and angels and images of the past?”
They don’t talk often. She makes very sure of that. If he enters a room she occupies she moves. And she’s far more in shape than him and can keep the game up for longer.
She’s sure it comes as a surprise when she willingly enters a room with him, clutching two barely heated meals in her hands.
It’s their first real meal together since they entered the damned prison a month before.
“I see— I don’t know what I see,” she all but whispers, scooping up the beans and shoveling them in her mouth. They’re bitter and bland and have awful texture and here she was— stuck with them forever.
He waits in silence. He waits and lets her stew and think and watches her like a hawk. He’s the predator still, even now. Or perhaps. Better put. She is more prey than ever.
“It’s all blurring together,” she admits long after their food is finished and their plates cold.
He’s gone back to reading but looks up with such languid calm movements that it would unnerving if she weren’t so— used to it.
“I see Rachel— Faith. I see Hudson and Whitehorse and Pratt. I see your Brothers. I see me. I see you.”
“It is the burden of Death to see all that she touches.”
“Do you expect me to kill you, Joseph?”
“I expect you to want to try.”
It’s not a real answer. Not really.
It still leaves a sour taste in her mouth as she throws her stained plate in his direction, “Do the washing,” she barks, leaving in a hurry with her proverbial tail tucked between her legs.
A month bleeds into two then three then four.
Faith appears more often than not. Faith now; not Rachel. Not like before, when she could pretend it was still her friend haunting her.
The others she loses in the mess of it all; first their voices go and then their eyes and then their faces. And soon all she sees is specters and horrors that keep her up at night with barely a name left on her lips.
“I don’t remember what they look like anymore,” she quietly admits, curled into the furthest corner of their shared room; lines drawn long forgotten, “I can’t— It’s like they don’t want me to see them anymore. Why would they do that?”
He doesn’t look at her with concern or empathy. He looks instead with the same curious eyes that he always had done; as if she were nothing more than an interesting play thing to him. A toy.
“It’s this place,” she continues, rocking just slightly, “It’s this fucking place. It’s the smell and the taste and the texture of the air. It’s the shadows that move. I hate this place. I hate it.”
“We will leave soon, child,” the calming voice comes, suddenly in front of her.
She doesn't know when he moved. Did he move? Did she? She rocks again. Back and forth. Eyes fluttering shut.
“Soon, child. Soon.”
There were three mirrors in the bunker when they entered.
There are none now. Just shards. Bloodied and broken. Smashed and stepped on and cut into the soles of hands and feet and chest and stomach.
Wrath. Pride. Wrath. Pride.
Carved and crossed out over and over again.
“You carve such ugly sins into yourself,” Not-Rachel speaks from her side, steadying her hand, stopping the sixth or seventh or eighth carving she’s not sure, “Such ugly sins.”
“He was right, you know?” she replies, letting the shard of glass tumble to the floor, shattering on impact, “He was right.”
“Now you see. Now you see what I saw. Go to him. Go to him and he will show you the world you denied yourself for so very long. He will show you a world you never dreamt possible.”
She hums and nods and steps in the broken shards of glass, feeling each pierce through the soles of her worn shoes and into her skin.
Faith, at least, stays and holds her bloodied hand.
God tells you, if I listen to you, it’s good and right, and I can help, and I can save people, and make it right, and everything will be okay.
If I judge as your judge, the judgement is right and just, the judgement is God’s Word.
I see now.
I am so sorry.
If only I had Faith.
Give me a mask, I am afraid, she scribbles, passing off the note to the man beside her.
He reads it once before putting it aside and reaching out, holding his face in her hands and twisting it this way and that.
“Do you believe if they cannot see you, that they will stop their haunting?” he asks, keeping her face held, “You removed your tongue to stop the talking and yet they still come; now you will remove your face?”
She taps the paper again. Insistent. A begging plea.
“Bring me wood and I will fashion you a mask and when it is done, we will emerge as Father and Judge and you will serve under God as I have and through me you will do his bidding.”
She reaches and scribbles out another note.
Thank you, Joseph.
Thank you, Father.
The mask is somehow between heavy and light; weighing like stone in her hands but a feather against her face.
It’s exterior is rough and pitted and if she runs her fingers too fast along the surface her skin catches on barbs and splinters and is left bleeding and raw.
He helps her put it on for the first time; knelt in front of him with her hands pressed up against his hips, eyes begging.
He anoints it too, dipping his own fingers in water and pressing them against the forehead.
She cries. Muted and ugly for her lack of tongue.
She cries and cries and cries; even after he has said his words and disappeared some rooms away.
Faith curling around her does little to quell the ache in her chest.
At first the sun is almost blinding; painful and all encompassing and far too hot.
She is grateful at least, that her mask blocks most of it out.
The Father takes it in stride; chest bare and shoulders flexing.
His people; her people; have awaited their return like the disciples of God and Jesus knelt around the Tomb of Jerusalem.
It’s been two years they say in wondrous adoration, falling to their knees in front of him; in front of her.
“The Prophet has risen,” they sing out in chorus, “The Father has returned to us.”
She turns and watches the image of Faith skip about at her side; white sundress fluttering about in the wind and innocent smile playing about her features.
‘Come on!’ the playful voice cries out, a hand reaching out towards her, ‘ Come play.’
She doesn’t miss the Father watching her watching the ghost. And when she turns to look at him, sees the almost imperceptible nod he gives for her to leave and return as she wishes.
After all, they’re Family now.
As much as he and Faith were. As much as she and Faith are.
So she follows, she reaches out and takes the hand of her former friend and lover; the one she had killed herself and let drown in the mighty river. She reaches out and takes the hand and allows herself the quaint feeling of peace in the wide open fields.
Thank you, Father.
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☄ / 🔮 / 🌐 :)
Gah I had so much fun with these! Again, so sorry I didn’t get around to them sooner, but I hope they were worth waiting for!
☄ - NewsAGoGo
To begin with I need to say that my headcanons for this wonderful lesbian are HEAVILY influenced by @neon-rat‘s NewsAGoGo tag cause that shit is SO GOOD.
- So we got our lesbian scene queen here. She’s had about four thousand different hair cuts and colours and not a single one has ever looked good, but that’s sort of the point. She is CONSTANTLY shaving bits off her head and has most of her scalp tattooed. Frequently seen in a variety of extremely ugly green, yellow or orange trench coats and totally impractical knee length boots, and manages to pull off the ‘I literally wouldn’t recognise good fashion if it punched me in the face’ look brilliantly. This is mostly because of her charisma and confidence in personally loving her own look, and besides, she is a TERRIFYING motherfucker so most runners wouldn’t have the guts to tell her they don’t like her look anyway.
- When I say shes tattooed I mean she is TATTOOED. Most of her body is covered. They aren’t generally big pieces either - a large piece on her upper arm, chest and one thigh, but otherwise covered in tons of smaller pieces, individual from each other and symbolic of vastly different things. Her favourite is probably any of the pieces her girlfriend, DJ Hot Chimp, has given her, and even if Hot Chimp wasn’t genuinely one of the best tattoo artists in the zones she would adore the fact that it’s her girl’s iconic ocean patterns that rest across her rib cage.
- She can be pretty blunt, and it often comes across as rude - she will always speak her mind and totally tends to miss the changes in conversations when people are hurt. She can also get a little heated too when she’s passionate, but also very short when she doesn’t care, so she can be a little intense for many joys to deal with. That’s not, however, to say that she is unkind. If NewsAGoGo is anything, its a good fucking friend. She is fiercely loyal to Doctor Death Defying and her friends at the radio station, and to Hot Chimp, and she easily makes up for anything mean that she may accidentally say in the passion she shows to the people she trusts.
- Before they settled either with or near Doctor D in the radio station, News, Hot Chimp, Cherri and Pony all ran together - it only lasted for about six months once they escaped the City, but it was probably the most fun any of them had. They were some of the earliest killjoys to get out, so the rules of the Zones were much less defined, meaning that setting fire to buildings for the sake of it and driving fast enough to crash every single car they found was fine - the precious nature of these things really weren’t set out or apparent, and the desire for chaos which plagues any runner fresh out of the City went uncontrolled in them.
🔮 - The Phoenix Witch
AH! My absolutely favourite character in the universe! Resident Goth Deity!
- She isn’t called the Phoenix Witch for no reason. The woman has mad power. Raising the dead and making random shit vanish type power. Mostly she takes this very seriously - a nasty side effect of prophetic visions is that she can see the role she, and others, need to play in the big picture, and so her somewhat controversial choices to raise, or not raise joys from the dead plays on her conscience a lot. It’s not clear where she got her power from other than the fact that it took her years of practise to gain it, and that the more powerful she becomes the less she seems to actually be seen.
- This then means that very few living runners have actually seen her. In the earlier days it was more common - she seemed to actually conform to the idea that having a physical form means that you had to exist somewhere at all times, so seeing her around the zones was rare, but possible. Many of those ‘joys who did see her wandering across the land however were ghosted, and those who do claim to have seen her in the later years tend to say that she can just appear at will, and so this lack of knowledge and sightings of her, paired with the frequent stories of the impossible things she can just do really gained her her status as big fucking mythical cryptid across the zones.
- Know I included this in my last Phoenix Witch headcanon post but it’s a headcanon I am willing to Die for - She is Doctor Death Defying’s twin. They were raised together and although they don’t see each other very often cause like. crazy zone happenings. they are still incredibly close and look out for each other. They also fuck around and indirectly make each other’s lives extremely difficult on purpose to piss the other one off because even if your sister is essentially a deity you can still make sure that she wakes up to her least favourite song playing on the radio once every week, and even if your brother is the most revered killjoy in the zones you can give him weird fucking intense dreams that fully convince him that yes, he is in fact a large marsupial, at two in the morning.
- Her ability to shape shift was something that kind of just happened. very suddenly. She was kind of just sitting there one day, thinking about how inconvenient it was to be a human person with like arms and legs and a torso, when suddenly she just wasn’t anymore. It was pretty surprising to say the least, to no longer have to exist in corporeal form, but both personally and practically it was pretty awesome, and after some practise she worked out how to change into a raven, which while also looking totally rad allowed her to go and sit outside Doctor D’s radio station at ungodly hours of the morning and shriek really loud before making a quick get away.
🌐 - One of my OCs
Okay lets talk Grenade. My fucking weird dumbass bitch oc. Love her.
- She has never lived in the Battery - she’s originally from around London, but when shit Went Down in the UK her family moved as far as they could - into the area that later became the zones. Her mother moved into the City in the early days but Grenade’s apprehension to follow proved pretty fucking lucky after Better Living started dropping bombs on the zones and their true nature was revealed. During this time she spent a while running with this group of aggressive dudes and trying to convince herself that she was totally straight™, but she quickly realised that this group were actually pretty awful morally, and left, later realising that girls exist and reassessing her entire world view.
- She is pretty covered in tattoos (notice the running theme in my headcanons for most female killjoys, I’m gay sue me), with her favourite being either the snake around her forearm or the large floral pieces over her hips and thighs. Her time being a general nuisance to Dracs has proved a little detrimental to the larger pieces on her body - a particularly violent run in left most of her chest piece totally unrecognisable, but the scarring itself still has meaning to her so it doesn’t bother her too much.
- She is often seen running around under the full moon, titties out, praising the Goddess. Just cause you live in the desert doesn’t mean you can’t still do your crazy witch shit and Grenade is definitely extremely spiritual. Due to this she also makes charms for runners she meets - getting her hands on actual supplies for spell bags is hard, but she makes do with what she can find and invests a lot of time into sigil magic to make up for it.
- Her and Lithium (@neon-rat’s OC) were the first members of their group, and met shortly after Better Living stopped dropping pig bombs when the two of them ended up trying to kill the same annoying SCARECROW agent together. They got on amazingly mostly because they are both fucking batshit crazy, so the idea of spending three weeks hiding in the City and just repetitively stealing all the fruit from the previously mentioned SCARECROW agent’s house before setting it on fire was one that made perfect sense to them both. They were originally gonna call their group Dykes! but realised that DOGS, or ‘Damn, Occult Girls are Sexy’ is funnier, and sounds like it should stand for something way cooler than it does.
#skkjdkjfd#the rest of these asks should be out by the end of the day#once again: i am a dumb bitch and should not casually queue ask posts months in advance and assume i'll have time for them#headcanons#mcr#killjoys#danger days#my chemical romance#my writing#phoenix witch#newsagogo#grenade#asks#long post#d slur /
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Sleep Talking - Mcpricely (Part Two)
Part One
Link on ao3
Feeling the sun’s morning rays tickle his face, Kevin rolled out of this bed. He realized what time it was and quickly got up for his morning coffee.
Coffee was what got him through the days since the whole… Mission President situation. That coffee maker has given him much joy, more than his old self could ever do.
Connor was wary of his footsteps toward the kitchen; The creaky hallways has given people away plenty of times. Still in his pajamas, he clutched his phone. Finally deciding on give his position away, he greeted Kevin. When he felt the light hit his face, he slammed the phone back into his pocket.
“Hey, Kevin.”
“Connor.” Kevin took another sip of his coffee. “How are you?”
“Tired,” he sighed, moving over to the table, “What about you?”
“I had some really good sleep last night. Some of the best I've had in weeks.”
‘It sure was good alright.’ Connor held in a laugh: “Yeah… That's good.”
Kevin may have been sleepy, but Connor was never good at hiding things. “What's so funny?”
Connor immediately fixed himself. “Nothing! Did I laugh? Why would I laugh?”
‘Connor, you are shit at hiding shit.’
Kevin took a long sip of his cup before uttering: “Are you hiding something?”
Connor burst out laughing. “I’m not! Besides, what could I be hiding?”
Kevin was about to say something before someone yelled: “Elder McKinley!” They both perked up at the shout. Connor quickly got up, putting his phone on the table and ran outside the hut to see what was happening.
As he ran out the kitchen, Kevin eyes darted from the phone to the redhead, thinking ‘He has a nice ass.’ He put the mug on the counter, taking the phone and locking himself in the hut’s bathroom.
Sitting on top of the toilet lid, he turned Connor’s phone on, sliding the lock pin out.
‘Why Connor doesn’t use a passcode, I don’t know.’ The first thing that appeared on the screen was a video. A video of him in his bed.
Confused, he tapped the play button. But he quickly regretted that when he realized what was coming from the video; The moans of someone thrusting in mid-air.
“Yes! Connor McKinley! You sexy motherfucker!” And that was where the video abruptly ended.
His mind went blank as he tried to piece what happened.
‘Connor was recording someone. They were having a wet dream. It was about Connor-’
He gasped internally. Kevin suddenly thought back to last night. The red, seductive lightning around him and Connor, who had that red feather boa resting on his shoulders. Next thing he knew, the latter was slipping his fingers into Kevin’s pants and the next thing he knew he woke up with that sticky feeling between his legs.
‘ I was the one having the wet dream.’
He had to take care of himself before he left that bathroom.
----
Leaving the bathroom, Kevin was quickly confronted by Connor, who looked very frantic.
“Kevin, have you seen my phone?” The weight in his back pocket suddenly felt heavier.
Not knowing whether to be mad, Kevin slipped the sleek metal into his hand. “So you were hiding something!”
Connor’s anxiety deepened further, wiping the nonexistent sweat on his forehead. “Whatever do you mean Elder Price?”
“Ha! See! You call me Elder when you lie!”
“Pfft! No, I don’t! I don’t lie. That’s Arnold's thing.” He crossed his arms in annoyance.
“Then if you don’t lie, then you’d tell me why you recorded me last night?”
Connor’s soul had left his body at that second. “Uh…. uh…. I just… thought it was funny, so I was gonna show you in this morning then delete it… then you said my name” He blushed at that last part.
“But you still kept it though,” Kevin smirked, catching Connor in his trap.
“I-i don’t know why… I was shocked.” ‘I have no fucking explanation of this. What the fuck am I gonna do?’
Kevin laughed as his arms snaked around McKinley’s small waist. “You've been caught in your lie.”
“What do you want me to say?” He nervously asked, feeling the younger lean into his touch.
His hands moved up from latter’s waist to his shoulders. “You don’t have to say anything.” He suddenly pulled Connor into a kiss.
The feeling he felt sprout through his body was indescribable. A strong taste of coffee flooded his mouth, but didn’t mind; Kevin’s lips felt like heaven. A heaven he was told he’d be denied if he didn’t turn it off.
‘Well fuck that!’ He couldn’t believe what he was doing.
But then, Kevin broke away, panting: “How was that?”
“I don’t know,” he smirked, “how about you do that again?”
Kevin didn’t waste a second before slamming his lips on Connor’s once more, pushing the latter up against the door. Their passion melted together as it got more heated. They both could easily feel each other’s growing hard-ons. Damn! He was so happy they didn’t wear those horrid temple garments anymore. Kevin’s hands traveled down his waist and back, stopping right at the curve of the younger’s ass.
The two were enjoying themselves so much that they’d didn’t notice a certain prophet enter the hallway.
“Whoa, there friend.”
Kevin broke away once more, a thin line of saliva connecting them. He wasn’t happy at all. “Arnold,” he growled.
“In the Church of Arnold, it’s forbidden to turn it off, but maybe don’t do it in the hallway where everyone can see you.” He smiled and walked away.
Kevin wasn’t smiling, even as Connor was laughing his ass off. The former dragged him to their shared room, locking the door and pushing Connor on his bed.
As he crawled on top of him, Connor shouted: “Wait!”
“What?”
“Let’s push the beds together; We’ll get more space.” If that lustful look in Connor’s eyes couldn't make the older any harder than he already was, then he didn’t know what could.
After the quick move of pushing the beds together, both Connor and Kevin decided they’d never turn it off ever again.
Bonus
Tangled in their bedsheets, Connor sleepily laid his head on Kevin’s bare chest. He felt a fuzzy feeling swell in his heart. Feelings of content, satisfaction, relief rolling off his shoulders, no longer having anything to hide.
“Kev?” The older hummed in response, half asleep as he cradled Connor against him.
“I love you.” He brought himself up to kiss him, a lot more chaste compared to their most recent ones.
“I love you too, Connor.”
All of this felt like a dream to him and now he was wondering what his life would be like had Kevin never been assigned to Uganda. Probably turning it off, saddened by their inability to convert anyone. But then perfect Mormon boy Kevin Price came and ruined everything.
And he couldn’t have been happier.
He thought back to that fuzzy feeling and the last thought he heard before falling asleep was: ‘Is this what real love is?’
#book of mormon#the book of mormon#mcpricely#elder price x elder mckinley#elder price#elder mckinley#smut#bom#mcpriceley#kevin price#fluff
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Submitted by @magicalmonsterhero
-“Damn, Joey’s really upset about this,” Henry remarked. “Then again, if I found out someone was kidnapping Drew World guests and turning them into ink monsters, I’d be furious too.”
“You’d think Drew would have been the one behind it,” commented ____. “At least that lunatic didn’t try and use any of the park workers. Or anyone here, for that matter.”
“Now I’m really glad Joey said no when ____ suggested we help out there,” Wally agreed. “Never thought I’d say it, but I feel a lot safer working in the studio.”
-“It’s impossible to have more than one on-model instance of a character at a time,” Alice said. “Their soul gets split between different bodies, with one being in proper shape while the others…not so much.”
“An’ that copy of Alice was usin’ our clones to keep herself stable,” added Barley. “If she ever got ‘er hands on Alice, she’d prob'ly try and absorb the rest of ‘er soul and take ‘er place.”
“But if everyone here is a creation of the machine, then who or what are the Prophet and the Projectionist supposed to be?”
-Glee club/A Capella group AU
Let’s see what I can do.
Joey had opened Drew World less than a month ago and already it was plagued with scandal. Some sick fuck had been kidnapping Drew World guests and turning them into inky abominations, resembling the beloved characters from Joey Drew Studios. Joey was absolutely livid about this. At the moment, he was on a call to the police department in his office. Even in the music department, his yells were clearly audible. It was break time and a good portion of the studio employees were gathered in Sammy’s office to have lunch.
“Damn, Joey’s really upset about this,” Henry remarked. “Then again, if I found out someone was kidnapping Drew World guests and turning them into ink monsters, I’d be furious too.”
“You’d think Drew would have been the one behind it,” commented Sammy. “At least that lunatic didn’t try and use any of the park workers. Or anyone here, for that matter.”
“Now I’m really glad Joey said no when Susie suggested we help out there,” Wally agreed. “Never thought I’d say it, but I feel a lot safer working in the studio.”
“Crowds make me nervous anyway.” Norman rumbled, shrugging slightly. A moment or so later, the yelling from Joey’s office stopped. They all listened as stomping footsteps made their way down to the music department. Joey stormed into Sammy’s office.
“Sammy, I need a cigarette.” He muttered.
“Weren’t you quitting?” Henry asked.
“Yes, I am. But not today.” Joey slumped into a chair opposite Wally. Sammy dug out a cigarette and handed it to Joey, who lit it with a match and took a satisfied drag.
“This has been a shitty week.” The studio head sighed.
“Have the cops caught the guy?” Wally asked.
“Not yet,” Joey said. “Although they keep telling me they’re days away from making an arrest. I’m starting to think I might have to institute some…security measures.”
“Is that why you asked for my blood last week?” Norman raised an eyebrow. “Because I ain’t givin’ up my soul for this, much as I’d like to see this guy caught.”
“No soul required.” Joey waved a hand in a comforting gesture. “I just need a mindless bruiser for this.” The character of the Projectionist wasn’t a particularly violent individual, but he’d have to be in this situation. Joey would get started on that tomorrow.
“Well, at least the toons are doing well.” Henry pointed out.
“This whole thing has Alice spooked, though.” Susie stuck her head in, not one to be left out of the conversation. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to go comfort her.”
“Thank you for that, Susie.” Joey smiled tiredly towards her. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Well aren’t you a charmer?” Susie snorted. “Anyway, I’m heading over to the park with Allison.”
“Stay safe.” The men in the office chorused as she left. Joey took another drag from his cigarette. One way or another, there would be an end to this. Even if he had to catch the culprit himself.
.
.
Henry had seen a lot of things since he’d arrived at the old studio. He’d thought he’d seen it all. Then the elevator crashed and when he woke up, be was being tended to by an on-model version of Alice Angel. Behind her were on-model versions of the Butcher Gang. Edgar was helpfully holding the bandages, passing them to Alice every so often.
“What on Earth?” Henry mumbled.
“Looks who’s back in the land of the living!” Charley grinned and folded his arms.
“We were getting worried about you.” Alice smiled a tad nervously.
“Didn’t you drop me down the elevator?” Henry asked, moving so he was sitting up properly.
“Oh no, that was the other Alice.” Alice shook her head. “I would never do something like that!”
“How are there multiple versions of you? And why doesn’t she look like you?” Part of Henry wondered if this was some sort of dream, brought on by the fall. But he could feel Alice’s hands as she wound the bandages around him. They were cool to the touch, and a bit rubbery.
“It’s impossible to have more than one on-model instance of a character at a time,” Alice said. “Their soul gets split between different bodies, with one being in proper shape while the others…not so much.”
“An’ that copy of Alice was usin’ our clones to keep herself stable,” added Barley. “If she ever got ‘er hands on Alice, she’d prob'ly try and absorb the rest of ‘er soul and take ‘er place.”
“But if everyone here is a creation of the machine, then who or what are the Prophet and the Projectionist supposed to be?” Henry asked.
“Well, we think part of Sammy and Norman’s souls broke off and got resurrected as those…things,” Alice explained. “Joey’s been trying to stabilize them, but they only have soul fragments so there’s not a lot we can actually do.”
“Wait…Joey? Joey’s here?” Henry immediately sat up straight at that.
“Papa Drew’s been hiding, just like us,” Edgar said. “We can’t get caught by the others or they’ll absorb us.”
“Except Bendy went chasing after the other me.” Alice huffed. “He’s going to get himself hurt! I just know it!”
“Hey, it’s not your fault.” Charley put a hand on her shoulder. “We all told him that she didn’t take the real Boris.”
“Bendy’s always been a hardhead.” Barley agreed. “Never listens to anyone.” Henry’s mind was reeling. He could hardly believe this. He’d been so sure Joey had been the strange Bendy creature chasing him. He shook his head, trying to calm his mind.
“We should probably get him back.” Henry got to his feet, wincing a little bit.
“We can’t just take you to get Bendy back!” Alice shook her head. “It’s too dangerous!”
“I’m already in danger.” Henry smiled wearily. “Now let’s go get my son back.”
.
.
“I look so stupid,” Sammy muttered, adjusting his tie for what felt like the millionth time. He wasn’t even sure how Joey had convinced him to do this. Joey had started a glee club freshman year and had recruited a surprising amount of people to join. Half of them weren’t even musically inclined. Hell, they were all pretty sure Thomas didn’t even go to their school. Sammy wasn’t technically a part of the glee club, but he’d been roped into their regional performance because Grant was out sick and the two of them had similar vocal ranges.
“You look lovely!” Joey slapped his back.
“I look so stupid,” Sammy repeated, running a hand through his long hair.
“Tie your hair back.” Susie handed him a hair tie. “You need to look nice for performance.”
“Fine fine.” Sammy sighed and took the tie, tying his hair back with one deft motion.
“Hold still, Wally!” Allison said. She was currently trying to tame Wally’s mop of curls, with very little success. Everyone was in the dressing room backstage, trying to get their appearances in order. Joey had, naturally, shown up already dressed to the nines and perfectly in order. Of all of them, Wally was the one most in need of a makeover, which Allison had taken upon herself.
“Maybe leave the hair,” Susie suggested. “We have to go on in ten minutes.”
“Alright, everyone!” Joey clapped his hands together. “This is it! This is the culmination of all our hard work!”
“Thanks again for doing this,” Henry whispered to Sammy. “This means a lot to Joey.”
“Yeah yeah. I know.” Sammy shrugged slightly, trying to hide the flush that was entering his cheeks.
“Ink Machine? You’re on.” An organizer stuck his head into the dressing room.
“Right! Thank you!” Joey gave him a big grin.
“Remind me why we’re called Ink Machine again?” Wally asked, taking a hair tie from Susie and forcing his hair into a ponytail.
“Because Joey likes drawing,” Thomas said flatly.
“That makes no sense!” Wally insisted as they left the dressing room.
“It doesn’t have to.” Shawn said brightly.
“I stopped questioning it a long time ago.” Norman slapped the smaller boy’s back. “You’d do well to do the same,” Wally grumbled to himself but didn’t bring it up again as they headed to the stage. Sammy found himself suddenly struck with a sense of terror. He’d never actually sung in front of people besides the glee club. He abruptly stopped moving, unable to force his legs to go forward.
“You can do it.” Susie put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “We’re here for you.” Then she joined the others onstage. Sammy forced himself onto the stage, taking his place beside Thomas. This was it. Then they began to sing.
#bendy and the ink machine#fanfiction#submission#wally franks#henry#sammy lawrence#norman polk#alice angel#barley#edgar#charley#the butcher gang#joey drew#susie campbell#allison pendle#thomas connor#shawn flynn
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tonight on spontaneous media thoughts with a-flyleaf, some rambles on Paranoia Agent because yours truly just went and binged another old anime maybe two people and a paperclip have ever heard of!
so a few weeks ago I somehow got into the mini habit of watching videos on the side while drawing, splitting my desktop between art on one half and youtube on the other. somehow the videos of choice ended up being anime reviews, because I... I don’t know, really. :V I’ve watched like 5 anime now, this one included, and wasn’t particularly planning on adding any more to that little lineup. (keep meaning to check out cowboy beepboop but EH.) the lack of investment helps with the “wait did I just miss something” multitasking mood I guess...?
anyway it was a short-lived habit if only because I ran out of stuff that needed drawing aka Image Comic Process but I digress. Paranoia Agent first came to my attention indirectly through... something completely different! \o/
in entirely unrelated circumstances, stumbled upon this article a few days ago and the “realistic portrayal” example caught my attention. a brief comment dig later and the name was identified, and it... features a weird cartoon dog? the wikipedia premise intrigued me but it ended up on my hypothetical neverending list of stuff to check out.
I mention the review thing because, while procrastinating on everything earlier today, I found this video and it immediately caught my attention. and hey, looks like the whole dub is up on youtube, only 13 episodes so might as well!
...not that I’d. necessarily recommend the youtube dub upload. it lacks subtitles for the writing which is actually pretty damn essential.
go watch that review if you haven’t already, because it sums up the show better than I ever could and talks about what hooked me: a basis in psychology and experimental art.
AND NOW FOR MY ACTUAL THOUGHTS ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ (to be formatted in bullet points later probably, again tfw mobile) edit 11/21: done, plus some additional thoughts after reading a few reviews/analyses around the web
it practically starts with a bang via baseball bat, and imo the first four episodes are the strongest of the series. in addition to the clever toying with art style as the video describes, we’re introduced to an ensemble cast of not necessarily likable but no less complex characters, and I always appreciate it when media doesn’t seem to be hitting you over the head (harhar) with LIKE THIS PERSON DAMMIT.
while I don’t have dissociative identity disorder and thus can’t speak to accuracy in its portrayal or weirdness in the subplot’s resolution, episode four three* also had one of the first examples I’ve seen of a character with “multiple personalities” that didn’t lean on the tired but one of them... is a MURDERER schtick.
*I initially got the numbering messed up here; the episode with the character who has DID is third, not fourth.
the entire series explores the idea of fiction and reality - no, this is neither the time nor place for the Shipping Debacle(TM), moreso in how fiction is a form of escapism both destructive yet necessary in just about everyone’s lives. the experimental elements play with this well, forcing the viewer to think about why the art is changing the way it does.
until around the end of episode 4*, it’s relatively clear when we’re getting a glimpse into a character’s psyche vs seeing what’s actually going on. and then the next installment hits, and it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if a lot of people bail at this point. it’s not bad necessarily, but the line between fantasy and reality isn’t just blurred - save for a few quick cuts, said line is utterly trampled. symbolism runs rampant and it can be tricky to figure out exactly what’s Actually going on, if anything at all - more on this later.
*e: this time I actually do mean the fourth episode.
on the topic of symbolism, there’s definitely something symbolic going on with the crows/ravens (death?) and to some extent color (namely gold/yellow, green, and red) but I haven’t quite put my finger on it.
you know that thing the video says about Lil Slugger being a manifestation of mass hysteria and destructive escapism? (if you don’t, what are you waiting for >:V it’s about 10 minutes long if you skip the spoilery part.) turns out, he really truly is, and it’s not just metaphors.
spoilers ahead; I’d recommend going in blind but use your best judgment, I know I might not have been so intrigued if not for reading the entire wikipedia plot synopsis in advance. why do I keep getting into media by knowing the Big Reveals first.
on one hand, I really like Lil Slugger being both symbolic and a literal supernatural threat. what I’m much less sold on, however, is how the less explained aspects are incorporated, namely towards the end. (big spoiler warning again, last chance!)
so what exactly DID happen to Harumi with the weird clownish smile makeup? what’s all this prophetic babbling from an old dude who really likes chalk (and whose ramblings admittedly might’ve made more sense if I could actually read his stuff), and how does he know it? what’s the deal with the otaku dude and his magical talking figurines? who knows! who cares, I guess. it’s all in the name of thematic significance - or to put it ironically, ~it’s media~
I can respect that as an artistic direction but it can feel a bit stranger than necessary, and I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending. so, what, suddenly chief’s 2d dream world is an actual real place he goes to? the “darkness closing in” is an actual black blob? holy shit, I really must emphasize the otaku dude’s weird voodoo sculptures and bascially everything else about him. th... the ex-“good cop” is now a wannabe superhero?? you do have to read between the lines to an extent to really Get the characters at times, which I actually like, but imo this was pushing it.
actually even before the climactic sequence I was... less than thrilled with the wife’s monologue. for the most part the show is good about not talking down to the viewer, obligatory exposition sprinkles aside, but just in case you weren’t sure what the themes were yet, here they are ft. odd visual echoing that doesn’t seem particularly relevant to the speaker’s state of mind!
there’s a bit more thematic narm towards the finale, especially from local sidekick-turned-video game hero, but at that point I was too busy wondering what the hell was going on to be too bothered.
e: several analyses and a rewatch later, the end of Harumi’s episode seems less nonsensical. it still doesn’t quite explain when she found the time to throw on all that makeup, but as with many other aspects of the series I was left baffled by at first (up to and including weird old math man), it makes much more sense thematically. Paranoia Agent is not a show meant to be taken at face value and trying to understand it all literally is an exercise in futility - not for everyone, but if you are willing to reconsider how you’re parsing it, it’s worthwhile.
...I’m still confused by otaku dude’s figurines, though >:V
/endspoilers (for now)
DESPITE the spoiler-loaded nitpicking above, overall I found it a solid watch - and the irony of bingeing it to procrastinate on school isn’t lost on me, especially after an all-too-relatable vignette featuring a student in the throes of quadratic equations.
while it definitely includes some darker themes, up to and including an episode about three internet friends meeting up to carry out a sort of suicide pact (which again probably would’ve been clearer if the version I watched had subtitles for text), the tone never feels particularly hopeless. it deals with the self-detrimental effects of overindulging in escapism, sure, but isn’t exactly MEDIA IS BAD TECHNOLOGY IS SCARY THE NEW GENERATION SUCKS. (one character has a similar attitude but it’s based more in nostalgia than hatred of the modern.)
reality sucks but you gotta face it and own up to your fuckups, pal, sorry! but rest and respite are important, too, lest you end up like the animation monkey whose very animation becomes rougher as the sleep deprivation really kicks in.
yes, monkey. not literally but definitely in design (no sameface \o/) and arguably behavior. there were a few comedic moments throughout the show, albeit often dark and/or satirically based so YMMV on how much they actually lighten the mood. for what it’s worth, the episode with the aforementioned suicide pact was probably the overall funniest.
overall I would recommend it as a good thought-provoking series, although if you’re having trouble at the fifth episode I won’t blame you for not sticking it to the end. personally, I kept watching because A) I wanted to see just how the murderous baseball kid mystery turned out & B) the art and symbolism shenanigans up to that point, definitely including the intro, had already given me a few Ideas(TM) and I wanted to see what else was in store. worth it? sure, but don’t expect too many explanations on the supernatural parts.
okay one more spoilery detour - and it’s a VERY BIG spoiler that I am actually going to encourage you not to read if you plan on watching. seriously. (e: format isn’t a mistake, I think it works better connected in paragraphs.)
sooo after skimming the plot synopsis and watching that entire review video, I already knew the thing about Maromi being based on a dead dog and Lil Slugger being the mystery assailant. what I did not expect was even that being a lie, in a way that I won’t specify because I’ve said too much already. and while I question the use of what I’m guessing was pms of all things, I actually really liked that twist.
HOWEVER. given that it all comes back to Tsukiko, she was fucking robbed in the character arc department. I get that she’s quiet and secretive so we don’t get any real details on her past until last second, which imo was a really forced reveal (seriously what is WITH those anime girls and their magic prophetic video game), and again I do like how she pretty much has a victim complex and that basically causes everything.
what I don’t like is that we needed cop superhero dude to lay it all out for her in terms of Big Realization Moments. everything only really gets “resolved” because she finally comes to terms with & takes responsibility for her mistake, but what leads her to this action? guys yell at her for fucking up and everyone gets consumed by inexplicable black ooze? EHHHHHHH I don’t buy it.
the chief’s mini-arc with his wife, which unfortunately was more told than shown (sensibly, so we could get Slugger’s reactions to the story, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy with it), was predictable but IMO believable. I definitely don’t think every story has to have clearly-defined protagonist/antagonist characters, especially with the “antagonist” here being a man vs society type of setup, but the end sequence seemed confused on who the real “hero” was supposed to be.
Ikari got the Big Moments of realizing he couldn’t live a lie forever, of smashing his dream world. Tsukiko... gets to go back in time and hug her dog, I guess? where was her moment, however subtle, of realizing she actually doesn’t NEED this little pink dog to save and protect her from reality. if that was supposed to be conveyed when her younger self started making stuff up it... lost me, unfortunately. as far as I registered it went straight for the dog and apology.
e: and you know, after all the aforementioned reading, I’m still inclined to agree with my initial thoughts - HOWEVER. this is a show that lives, breathes, thrives on thematic significance. character development and miniature arcs happen, absolutely, but they’re not the focal point. I can appreciate the ending’s direction much more if I kick conventional thoughts on character progression to the curb.
oh, and the intro? with everyone laughing with chaotic and/or destructive backgrounds while the random mysterious old people get a fancy restaurant and the goddamn moon? guessing the latter is because ~universal themes~ or something but the formal setting after a series of Heck is a moment of fridge logic - the woman’s homeless. she’s probably no stranger to more ravaged settings.
e: oh yeah, and something else I noticed about the intro - everyone is laughing, yes, but Tsukiko’s doesn’t seem... real. everyone else (minus Lil Slugger I guess but his eyes aren’t shown) has the characteristic squint of a genuine smile, but she’s wide-eyed as ever. maybe foreshadowing how she’s the one behind all this...? hrmm.
alrighty no more spoilers For Real This Time, just some miscellaneous notes that didn’t really fit elsewhere
one side character has the same voice as my favorite character from Urasawa’s Monster so that was neat. turns out detective #2 also shares actors with Monster’s protagonist, which took me longer to catch onto but was VERY amusing once noticed.
there’s no overt fanservice, minus like one or two questionable angles that aren’t even in the spotlight. a couple episodes have some Unfortunate Closeups but they’re entirely in service of the story; you’re definitely not supposed to be comfortable with it.
WHERE ARE THE OFF CROSSOVERS.
e: actually, for various spoilery reasons, I would not be the least bit surprised if this influenced OFF to some extent. but that’s another ramble for another time.
#THIS GOT REALLY LONG but I gotta dump Media Thoughts sooner or later#’’what about psmd’’ I told myself earlier I was gonna save that for break since I think I’m nearing the endgame#and also mainly Procrastination Motivation. theoretically. look how that turned out I love irony V:#.rtf#suicide mention -#Paranoia Agent#dream island obsessional tag
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two blogs, part 8
“feeling pleased with myself because I own multiple vegetables AND a jam right now”
Just like me, the hobbits are thinking of their next meal:
OF HERBS AND STEWED RABBIT
I’m jazzed because I think my boy Faramir is gonna be in this one. The Shigeo to Boromir’s Ritsu. Anyway, there is supposed to be food and water for the scavenging in the place where our heroes are going! They have to go through Ithilien to get to Cirith Ungol, which we all must agree has a much more pleasant and scavenge-able sound than blasted hell-plains of ultra-despair. So they set off on their way! It says "a single red light burned high up in the Towers of the Teeth,” which is kind of ominous considering I don’t remember those being mentioned, ever. Maybe it’s because I was practically asleep last chapter.
Our heroes find their hearts much lightened to see trees again, and they realize that they’ve come so far south that it’s already spring here. Mm I want to figure out what the actual latitude difference is between the Shire and Cirith Ungol. Hold on a sec. It’s a north-south distance of about 800 miles (nice going guys!!), which is about the same as Boston to Charleston, SC, or from London to Madrid. In ANY case, it’s spring in Ithilien, and “Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.” What a great phrase! really good aesthetic. Tolkien goes in an amazing amount of detail about exactly which kinds of plants there are--one assumes this is Sam POV again, because Frodo probably knows the names of about 12 kinds of plants. Gollum breathes in the strong perfume of the flowers and chokes, which is another relateable Gollum feeling.
We also observe that even in this beautiful land there are signs of the Enemy; apparently orcs just go around carving random shit on trees, which is kinda endearing. The text describes it as “evil runes,” but come on it’s probably mostly “Yalbakh is a wanker.” “7th company rulez.”
Sam had been giving earnest thought to food as they marched. Now that the despair of the impassable Gate was behind him, he did not feel so inclined as his master to take no thought for their livelihood beyond the end of their errand; and anyway it seemed wiser to him to save the waybread of the Elves for worse times ahead.
My logistics son. He asks Gollum very politely to catch something hobbits can eat; while Gollum is out hunting, Sam just stares at Frodo’s Beautiful Chiselled Sleeping Face and mutters “I love him.” Gaaaaayyyy. Then he starts thinking of how to cook the rabbits Gollum has brought back. Hobbits learn to cook before they learn to read! This delights me greatly. I want to live in a culture that prioritizes having everyone able to cook! Gollum comes back with water and realizes Sam is going to cook the rabbits. Horror of horrors!! This is one of the cute... ish.... Sam and Smeagol interactions, because there’s barely any threats of maiming at all! Just good old fashioned cultural misunderstandings. Sam tries to get Smeagol to find him some herbs or root vegetables, by which Smeagol is Bewildered. What the fuck is taters, precious?? He huffs himself away into the forest somewhere, indignant.
Sam and his master sat just within the fern-brake and ate their stew from the pans, sharing the old fork and spoon. They allowed themselves half a piece of the Elvish waybread each. It seemed a feast.
::3
A little later Sam realizes his fire is smoking, and that someone in the forest is sloppily imitating bird calls. He hurries to Frodo’s side, and they hear some people who sound like they’re discussing Gollum. You’d think Gollum would be the stealthiest, the least likely to be spotted, but I’m guessing the Gondorians (Gondorrim?) have seen him before.
‘Nay! Not Elves,' said the fourth, the tallest, and as it appeared the chief among them. 'Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days. And Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so 'tis said.'
'Meaning we're not, I take you,' said Sam. 'Thank you kindly. And when you've finished discussing us, perhaps you'll say who you are, and why you can't let two tired travellers rest.'
At least we still have Sam to be passive-aggressive to gently bewildered humans who may or may not be about to kill him. But Captain Faramir has no choice to believe that they’re from his brother’s company when they share his own prophetic dream with him. Faramir goes, I guess, somewhere, leaving two men to guard the hobbits. The guards turn out to know some kind of elven language! How exciting! Frodo realizes they must be Dunedain. Awww haha and one of them is named Mablung. Faramir’s men are here to harass a company of Haradrim who apparently serve Sauron. It’s a good thing Faramir is captain, Mablung intimates; he leads a charmed life! Nothing unlucky can possibly happen to him! ...well, depending on whether you count his brother dying unlucky. But I guess Frodo and Sam don’t actually know Boromir is dead. Faramir... might, actually? Just now, Faramir is coming back in pursuit of some guy, and--yep--he’s shot him dead full of arrows.
It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace.
::( Same. Nobody wonders whether orcs are really evil at heart, though. Wonder, damn you! The battle ends and Sam goes to sleep immediately. Okay.
THE WINDOW ON THE WEST
When Sam wakes up, everyone is sitting in a circle for story time, I mean, watching Faramir interrogate Frodo. Faramir is like, trying to trick Frodo into... admitting he killed Boromir? Maybe? Frodo is just shocked to find out that Boromir is dead, but Sam is having none of this rudeness.
'See here, Captain! ' He planted himself squarely in front of Faramir his hands on his hips, and a look on his face as if he was addressing a young hobbit who had offered him what he called ‘sauce' when questioned about visits to the orchard.
SAUCE. FARAMIR, YOUNG HOBBIT. No I’ll bet Sam is actually a good bit older than Faramir. Also Faramir’s men are kind of delighted to see him being told off by this 3-foot-tall super indignant guy. But Faramir tells Sam off right back and then goes right on, though he’s marginally more polite to Frodo. He tells about finding Boromir’s body in the funeral boat. Frodo fears that this means everyone else is dead too ::( ::( “Will you not put aside your doubt of me and let me go?” says Frodo. “I am weary, and full of grief, and afraid. But I have a deed to do, or to attempt, before I too am slain.” TFW honestly. Our heroes walk with Faramir to a safehouse nearby (actually ten miles away, a long distance for short legs!) and he makes an incredibly good guess at why it sounds like Frodo and Boromir weren’t BFFs. He totally understands that Frodo can’t say any more:
'Alas! it is a crooked fate that seals your lips who saw him last, and holds from me that which I long to know: what was in his heart and thought in his latest hours.’
I love that thing where... there is something someone Absolutely Cannot Say, and everyone knows they’re talking in code and they’re in trouble over that thing. It’s not that common? Right now I can only remember it happening in Full Metal “hostage situations everywhere” Alchemist. Anyway it’s my jam. Faramir talks wistfully about how warlike Boromir always was, and how Faramir just wants to see the White Tree bloom and to see Minas Tirith at peace. I am just CONSTANTLY thinking to myself “Faramir is going to die!” and then I remember he actually survives and is happy and I’m just, utterly astonished. This happens like 3 times a minute. It’s incredibly stupid.
They get to the safehouse, which is Very Beautiful. Faramir’s men prepare some food. “Sam, not used to being waited on, looked with some surprise at the tall man who bowed, holding a basin of water before him.” [begins chanting] Wait on Sam! Wait on Sam! After eating Faramir comes to question Frodo some more, but, like, friendly. Frodo wants to please him so he talks about how Valiant Boromir was. For some reason this is kind of heartbreaking to me. That feel when you are trying hard to remind yourself that you are not safe and never will be again, that you cannot trust anyone... Also when Faramir is talking there’s this sense that Gondor is slowly dying. Maybe that’s why I absolutely can’t believe Faramir survives this trilogy. Rohan is still young and strong though, so that’s good! Gondor’s history is just too long. It’s tired. The civilization is too old and is overdue to crumble.
‘As the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts.’
Faramir does not love war, and he doesn’t want to be a warrior. He’s a good man and I like him. These harsh days make everyone wary and sharp. Sam accidentally gets going on the subject of Galadriel and reveals that Isildur’s Bane is the Ring, and Faramir gets a Weird Look on his face. “A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality! Ha!” But don’t worry, my dears, he’s only quoting some nasty thing his father said to him, I think. He doesn’t want to even see the Ring. He’s a stronger man than his brother. Go to sleep, my good friends, and have no fear he’ll try to take it from you. Frodo suddenly blurts out exactly what their errand is... and then faints. Faramir carries him gently to bed.
#hey gogol I wrote approximately 16 entire lines in cantos 2-4 today#I'm Winning#the game of... attempt to do something#blog of the rings
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Suzani reads AF: Chapter 3 - In The Mountains
All the other chapters:
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Bee Stings
Chapter 2 - The Silver Touch
I’m reading AF and liveblogging my response. This is partly because RH’s books are so densely woven that I want to make sure I catch every detail I can on the first read. I pounded most of the other RotE books, and discovered an insane amount of details on my second and third read-throughs that I completely missed the first time. I’m also inventing reasons to slow down because i want to savor the fuck out of this book.
I will not be responding to any comments on these posts until I’ve finished the book - to save myself from spoilers.
And I just wrote a bunch of junk so that you could turn away before the spoilers in case you made it here by accident.
Spoilers ahead. Read at your own risk
Predictions based on chapter title:
We’re in the mountains. -_-
Preface text:
I don’t get this one. I don’t enjoy it either. Well ... I *get* it. Someone’s watching serpents hatch and capturing while an Other watches. I don’t like this at all. It’s bad news bears. AND it’s being done by a White wearing green and gold, colors we just learned were associated with Withywoods. Is it Beloved being so sinister? Is it Bee herself? Is it someone from a very long time ago? Is it metaphorical? Will Amber win over the keepers of the blue and gold dragons only to be turned on by Heeby and Rapskal? Is it a metaphor about how enslaving other will only lead to them turning on you and consuming them? The whole thing feels very ominous and I don’t want Heeby to eat Beloved. Or Beloved to enslave serpents.
Bee wakes up:
You know, the first time I read a Bee-narrated chapter, I was angry and stressed about it. This wasn’t the Fitz book I was looking for! When the messenger turned our to be not Beloved, I was furious! I had skipped over RWC to go straight to the Fitz and the Fool books after Tawny man because I was so intoxicated with the OTP. The slow-downs and re-reads have forced me to appreciate the series from a perspective that incorporated more than just skimming the passages until I got to the next occurrence of the OTP being in the same room together. I’m really glad this change happened for me, for a few reasons. It allowed me a greater appreciation of what a true master of the craft Hobb is. It also allowed me to fall in love with all these other characters! Mostly Lant and Bee, but the rest of them too.
So I was really happy when this book opened with a scene of badass, 8-year-old Bee clobbering her kidnappers in the face with a club, and never ever giving up. She’s amazing. She’s inspiring. And give me another story of any genre where the true hero is a magic 8 year old girl ... and it’s as cool as this?
Dwalia and Alaria’s character progression:
Dwalia’s coming across as more desperate and petty and cruel than she even did in the first chapter. I wonder where this is going to end up ... The closer we draw to her character, the worse of a person she is revealed to be. And Alaria is suddenly a threat, when before she might have been a character Bee could have turned into an ally. A petty, cruel threat. Dwalia is a person who hold the power of intimidation on those around her, and the people around haven’t yet figured out that there are more of them than her. AND we learn that Dwalia was perhaps in love with the Pale Woman, and this all was a revenge trip. This makes her even more dangerous, I think. I love the detail of her just assuming that the values of another culture (regarding Chalced and Kerf’s family) don’t matter, and she can manipulate any situation to get her way.
New names
Symphe. Who is Symphe? Are they one of the four? Symphe might be french, but it popped up in an old english dictionary as part of a root word for the harmonious implications in the word ‘symphony’, and the ‘sym’ aspect as a root for the work ‘sympathy’. So ... someone often in agreement with others? Someone passive? A supporter? And then .... is it possible that Symphe picked the luriks she picked to accompany Dwalia to attempt to turn her away from Bee? Is it possible that Symphe is on ‘our’ side?
Also, this is a good time to bring up that the word ‘Kerf’ means ‘cut’.
Ilistore! The Pale Woman finally has a name! And uh-oh, some heavy implications with this one ... Ilistore sounds not unlike ‘illusion’ or ‘illusory’, which would make sense, as she used the Skill to blind people a lot. But what it really sounds like is ‘Alastair’ or ‘Alaster’ - which mean ‘defender of mankind’, ‘avenger of evil deeds’, 'he who does not forget', 'avenger', 'persecutor', 'tormenter’, 'one who suffers from divine vengeance'. So ... what if she was the actual right White Prophet after all? Obvi a sociopathic evil bitch, but ... what if she was also ... right?
Prillkop
Oh man. I wanted so much for this dude to have been a bad guy luring Beloved back to Clerres instead of a good guy who’s probably dead now.
Bee’s Treasures
In addition to Per’s hat and Molly’s candle, she now has Lady Thyme’s shawl. Taken of necessity, but still portentous? But Dwalia get the item that was Fitz’s. That’s probably not good, whatever it was.
Bee’s First Kill
Reppin’s slow death reminds me of the first time I read the scene in Assassin’s Quest where Fitz has to listen to a very young man cry in the road until he dies of the slow poison he had given him. The difference is, Fitz is somewhat tormented by the experience, even though it was the only way to save himself. Bee regrets, but with Nighteyes encouraging her, knew she did what she had to survive.
Reppin, Alaria and Vindeliar
God, these three are like watching middle school social dynamics play out in front of my eyes. Fucking ow. I really hope Vindeliar makes it out of this in one piece. It’s not his fault he’s been used like this and treated so badly.
Important Plot Points
I think (for now) that Symphe, Coultrie and Capra are all of the Four. Confirmation that Whites (at least Beloved) have multiple catalysts.
Hoo boy! So ... the Unexpected Sun’s victory is supposed to be absolute, and the recapturing of Beloved proves (to the Servants) that Fitz was not the Unexpected Sun. The reasoning for this is a key to understanding the way they think: victory is the destruction of their opponents. To lose any one aspect of a conflict is to negate any success. This is very different from Beloved’s approach of ‘one little ant at a time’. It shows their paranoia. It shows as well that they see themselves as in battle against something.
Beloved’s catalysts: an assassin (Fitz), a nine-fingered slave boy (Wintrow, who Amber completely missed out on any contact with until everything was over), a ship’s captain (could be Wintrow again ... could be Althea? even though she wasn’t technically a captain. I don’t think it’s Kennit, although it would make complete sense if it was given his historical significance. Wouldn’t it be a damn laugh if it was Grag?), a spoiled girl (Malta, duh), a noble bastard (Fitzy Fitz. Or ... Chade?)
Vindeliar had, or has a sister.
Beloved probably didn’t escape, but was deliberately released. Seems likely. He was a fucking mess, not a Shawshank.
DUDE! The White that Beloved one was is TOTALLY singing through time at Bee! Is she also trying to manipulate Kerf? Did she push him to do what he did? It’s basically because of him that they go through the pillar as they do. When he says “Darker than Death” .... what does he mean? The blood? Bee?
“So, I had that.” THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE SO FAR!
Dreams
Alaria dreams the destroyer (currently being assumed by me to be Fitz) brings foul fumes and death. An acorn (currently being assumed by me to be Bee) is taken inside what I assume is Clerres and becomes the destroyer. Bee mentions the dream from Fool’s Assasin with the puppet with an acorn head, being wielded by what I had assumed was Beloved. I’m going to go back and look at that one again - I had a hard time with it the first time around bc, much like the dream in the beginning of this chapter, it implied that Beloved was a Bad Guy. Reppin dreams that destruction comes (and for her, it does sooner than others.) Vindeliar dreams what seems to be poiting us to the same concept - Bee is brought to Clerres, is ‘opened’ or ‘crushed’ and that triggers a big destruction.
You know, when Hobb really pushes me to expect a certain outcome of a situation, i just don’t know if I believe her.
Bee holds a torch under a wasps nest at a crossroads (could be where they are now, with Dwalia being the wasp’s nest.) I like this theory because it ties in beautifully with Kerf’s assertion that killing for no reason will harm Bee if she does it, but won’t harm Dwalia if she does it, by comparing Dwalia to a wasp. As Nighteyes said in Fool’s Errand of Fitz.
A scarred girl weeps with Nettle while they hold a baby. Is the scarred girl Nettle’s unborn baby, changed from her contact with Tintaglia? Is Bee the scarred girl, and the baby her niece? Will be she back home in time for Nettle’s child to be born? A man burns porridge, (no idea on this one) the wolfpack (the Farseers?)howls in despair. The blackness of the destruction is acid, and brings down dragons, destroying their wings.
**There is a thing that only Bee can do!**
And at the end of it all, Bee cries out to her father. Because she loves and needs him --- but will it be a Skill call?
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