#its been so long since i did a full forced perspective drawing and i remember why i dont usually do it!
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#marble hornets#tim wright#timothy wright#tim mh#mh#...i couldnt think of a caption that wasnt just 'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH'#anyways. can you tell my favorite entry is 65 :)#virgil arts#went back and forth on whether i wanted this to be day time like in the entry or not#still not 100% on that decision but whatever doing darkness is easier#and making a day time sky look overexposed like itd show up on camera is weirdly difficult for me#idk maybe ill do another couple of entry 65 drawings and actually try that out#also this was meant to be perspective + painting practice so if things look weird dw about it <3#its been so long since i did a full forced perspective drawing and i remember why i dont usually do it!
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Long Nights - part 4
Neil x Reader
Chapter 4: World gone mad
(see chapter 3, 2, 1)
summary: inverted heist calls for inverted training
warnings: 18+, explicit language, gun mention, crackheadery, and possible whiplash
author’s note: Hi, yes, I know, took me ages, but hey, I hope it's worth the wait! 5.2k words, how even--
Anyway.
The song for this part is Bastille - World Gone Mad
Enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?
——————
Tag list: @cxnnienikas @neutron-stars-collision @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @mellifluous-cosmos @wonderwoman292 @buckysgoldenheart @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)
-----
The fact that you knew how to handle guns wasn’t equal to you being very good at it. Or enjoying it, for that matter. Sure, you could more or less hit the target, especially with some useful tips you got from Neil regarding a trigger finger discipline, but still - you’d rather avoid reaching for a pistol altogether.
You put back the weapon you’d been training with and Neil handed you another one. You couldn’t really tell the difference, at least until you checked the magazine. The lack of ammo meant you finally got to the fun bit that Neil teased in The Protagonist’s office and you smiled, looking back at your companion. He grinned at you, the gaze sparkling behind yellow-tinted safety glasses as he pointed at the wall next to the targets you used for practice.
“Just aim and pull the trigger. ” Seeing your nod, he added, “Okay now, be careful, it might feel--”
The bullet whizzed back into the chamber of your pistol and your eyes widened.
“Oh fuck me sideways,” you hissed under your breath.
“-- a bit weird, yeah.” Neil chuckled at the shock painted on your face. “All right?”
“Yeah, just processing.” Trying to blink the consternation away, you asked, “How do you make these? You put it into that...turnstile and voilà?”
Neil shook his head. “No, it’s not that simple. We receive a stash every now and then, we don’t know how to manufacture those,” - he smirked - “at least not yet. I do have a few theories I’m working on in my spare time, but...” hesitating for a moment, he raked a hand through his hair and sent you a nervous smile. “Wouldn’t want to bore you to death, though.”
“Dude, come on, with that smooth and soothing voice of yours? You could read the yellow pages to me and I’d still listen like that--” you mocked a dreamy heart-eyes expression, watching with satisfaction as that remark pushed Neil further into a flustered state.
Apparently, when explicit teasing got a little-to-no reaction now, you could still make him blush with a more wholesome compliment. As you started laughing, he rolled his eyes and scrunched the nose slightly, joining you with a stifled giggle. Grinning, you continued a little softer, “I’m not gonna lie - I probably wouldn’t understand a majority of the physics jargon, but I’d still want to hear all about that.”
A thankful look you got in return made your chest clench painfully, and your mind wandered off to those breaks near the river, and Neil’s animated rants. You knew one thing. Anyone who had ever ridiculed him for his passion for even the nerdiest things could rot in hell, and you’d gladly see to it personally.
A disgruntled huff coming from behind made you both snap out of the moment.
“Oi, lovebirds, I’d appreciate it if you could leave all that to after I prep you for the mission.”
Bottling down your annoyance, you batted your lashes at the commander, who’d just come back with keys to one of the conference rooms near the range.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, you have my full attention now.”
Ives nodded, waving at you to follow him. Meanwhile, Neil’s small smirk let you know that he noticed that faint undertone in your voice, but he said nothing, patiently waiting for the events to unfold.
Another person was waiting for you at the door. You recognized the woman who’d driven you to that abandoned factory on your very first day - you’d never gotten properly introduced, but you remember asking Neil about her once and he called her Wheeler. To be honest, with these guys you never knew if they used their real names, nicknames, codenames, or whatever. Not that you cared, quite used to it in your own line of business. You exchanged a court nod with her and went into the room.
As you sat down at the big table and Ives booted a projector, your eyes bore into the man. Definitely one of those types who enjoyed his beret and the paramilitary structure of the field branch of the organization. Probably a bit too much. You bit back a smug grin.
Those were particularly fun to mess with.
Ives caught your piercing stare and stopped the brief of the location.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you said, propping the chin on your palm, a polite smile on your lips. “It’s fascinating.”
He furrowed his brows, perplexed.
“What is?”
“How your commanding presence literally adds you inches,” you said, using all your willpower to keep a serious face. “I wonder if it works only for your height or--”
Neil’d futile attempts at masking an amused snort with a cough didn’t go unnoticed. Ives shot him daggers and then glared at you. “For fuck’s sake, would you focus?”
Your eyes flared up at the threat in his voice and you pouted, taunting him further.
“Or what, you’re gonna spank me?”
“No, I’m gonna shoot you,” he deadpanned.
You raised a brow.
“Kinky.”
Ives groaned, turning to Neil.
“How you survived this long without choking her is beyond me.”
Neil puffed his cheeks and gestured vaguely, but as he opened the mouth to answer, you chimed in, with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.
“Oh, he very much did so, all right.”
The awkward silence that followed was pretty satisfying.
“Can we keep her?” asked Wheeler casually, leaned back in her chair, fiddling with a bullpen.
Ives gaped at you all, then slumped his shoulders in defeat, sliding a hand through his features. He was so done you could almost hear The Sound of Silence playing in the distance, but apparently, his sense of duty was stronger than the urge to leave you without finishing the briefing, so he just drew a deep breath and continued.
“...anyway…”
You caught Neil’s glance and you couldn’t help but poke the tip of your tongue out at him. The mischievous sparks in his eyes reflected your own as he shook his head, tugging the bottom lip between the teeth. Wheeler’s curious gaze flitted between you two, and as you didn’t feel like drawing too much unnecessary attention to yourself anymore, you focused on the plan that Ives was persistently going through.
Time frames. Blueprints. Entry points. Exit routes (you spotted at least one additional way he left out, but you weren’t sure if you could drag Neil through there, judging by that alley performance, so you didn’t bother to mention it out loud). Everything seemed clear enough. You still had no idea how being inverted would affect the lockpicking, but when you voiced that, Ives promised you some time to figure it out before the mission.
The mission. Huh. It wasn’t that much different from your usual assignments - at least if you forgot about that tiny insignificant detail like moving backwards in time - but something in this paramilitary and/or espionage vibe made your heart beat faster with excitement.
It had been quite a long time since you had company at the job. Working alone had its perks, but you wouldn’t mind a trusted partner in crime having your six for a change.
Another thing that you certainly wouldn’t mind - seeing Neil in tactical gear. Not that either of you would need one, but the image got planted in your head and suddenly you wished you’d had a bottle of water.
You realized that everyone was looking at you expectantly. Shit, was there a question or…?
“I’m good,” you said, shooting in the dark, hoping that would be enough to cover your distracted ass.
Ives squinted, but fortunately, that was an acceptable answer.
“Well, as you two can proceed straight from here - Wheeler, they’re all yours.’
“Okay,” - she smiled and stood up - “we don’t have any turnstiles on-site, but there’s one in the base outside the city, I’ll talk you through the basics on the way.”
So that little daydream cost you a chance to come back home to prepare? Grand. The problem was - you needed your heavy-duty tools, but you’d rather eat rocks than back away in front of Ives. Luckily, he called on Neil to wait for a moment, so that was your chance.
“Umm, Wheeler?” you asked quietly, following her outside.
She glanced at you curiously.
“What’s up?”
“I know I said I’m good, but could we stop by my apartment for a second, please?” An awkward grimace ran through your face. “I gotta pick up my tools. You know, just in case.”
She wasn’t surprised by your request. Moreover, she sent you a knowing smile.
“Sure thing,” she said and winked, and then it was your turn to present a slightly flushed face. “I’ve got you.”
----
You didn’t know what to expect from the whole inversion process.
The first time your brain stuttered was when Wheeler pointed at something she called the proving window, just in time for you to see the three of you coming out on the other side. You caught inverted-you glancing back at your present self; the schooled expression, but with the gaze shining with anticipation.
The second time was when it was you on the other side, looking at your wide-eyed past self. Feeling the incoming headache, you took a deep breath and followed Wheeler and Neil to the stand with oxygen masks.
“How are you feeling?” asked Neil, handing you the equipment.
“Weirdly normal.” You shrugged. “Or maybe not more backwards than usual, if that makes any sense.”
He smiled lightly.
“It’s the airlock. When you see the outside, you’ll get a whole new perspective.”
Wheeler nodded. “What he said. And to recap: you’re inverted, the world is not - all forces will be pushing back on you. Besides gravity.” She double-checked the oxygen bottle secured to your belt. “Just mind things that might be rising instead of falling.”
You furrowed the brows.
“Wait, didn’t Ives mention the rain?”
Neil smirked from behind the mask.
“Afraid of getting wet?”
“Never.” You grinned, meeting the sparkling blue eyes. “Should know that by now.”
Wheeler snorted and shook her head, walking to the panel near the exit.
“You’ll have plenty of time to finish the job before you move far enough to catch up on that. Although, if you ever find yourself in the inverted rain, here’s a tip: pop your collar.”
“Why would you--” Oh. The sole thought of the water going up from the ground to the sky made you nauseous. You swallowed with effort, leveling your breath in the mask. “...right.”
Wheeler opened the door and you almost gasped at the view. The golden rays of sunset (...or was it technically a sunrise now?) flickered on the training grounds’ equipment as the sky painted the scarce pools of muddy water with greyish violets and reddening oranges. Leaves shuffled in the wind, their dance almost satirical with that inverted spin.
Wheeler’s voice stopped your mind from wandering further into the landscape.
“Okay, ready? Ives asked me to remind you not to try any cowboy shit, you need to be in one piece at the end of the training.”
“Yes ma’am,” you mocked a salute and stepped outside, stretching your limbs, readjusting to the reality being slightly off. Neil stood right beside you watching you warming up, ready to take you to the obstacles section.
But as soon as the airlock’s doors closed behind you, you spun around, tapping his shoulder - “Tag, you’re it!” - and without waiting for his reaction, you leaped towards the assault course.
Surely that turned out overly optimistic. You counted on the element of surprise and a head start, but Neil had an experience with running while being inverted, while you… well. You tried.
“B+ for effort,” laughed Neil, catching up on you even before you reached the first obstacle and tapping you back. “But you can do better than that.”
“Just you wait!” you retorted and vaulted over a low hurdle, the mild confusion caused by the dumbfounded senses slowly eased up as you tuned out the brain and let the muscle memory guide your movements. Because hey, in the end? Yes, the natural forces were acting up against you. Yes, Neil had years of inverted training behind him. But you’d been challenging different obstacles your whole life, and courses like this one were your favourite playgrounds.
You caught on him by the next wall, playing dirty and tugging at his leg, pulling him down before he could jump to the other side. The exasperated huff he gave you in protest got lost in the squelch of mud under your feet, the sound more like a suction instead of the much-expected splash. Shuddering with disgust at such abomination, you rushed to the set of monkey bars, hearing Neil following up closely. You gritted your teeth, swinging your body to help yourself get through the part, and that’s when you felt a light tap on your foot.
You glared to your left, where Neil was gaining an advantage over you.
“Damn you and your infinite legs, man! It doesn’t count!”
“Losing looks good on you,” he said, landing and then instantly ducking under your reached out hand.
“Too bad it’s not gonna stick,” you scoffed as you ran after him to jump on one of the parallel logs. Balancing was easy enough, even with inversion; it gave you the perfect opportunity to plan ahead, while Neil had to maintain full focus. “Must say - all that sass definitely makes you like... ten percent hotter.”
But you’d taught him well, apparently, and instead of losing his pace, he only shot you a quick glance accompanied by an arched brow.
“Only ten?”
“Dunno, come over here and let me take a closer look,” you teased, getting a short chuckle in response. “No?” - you sighed - “Alrighty then.” And you leaped to the side straight into Neil, pushing him off the log. He yelped and grabbed you by the shirt, the momentum sending you both straight into the mud. You landed on top of Neil, collapsing into his arms for a moment to catch a breath and to stop laughing.
You leaned back to look him in the eyes.
“Okay, maaaybe fifteen,” you panted, booping his mask as you would do to his nose.
Neil snickered and nodded.
“I’ll take it.”
When your gazes met, his features softened, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear gently. You smiled behind the mask and sat up, straddling his waist. Neil was studying you closely, his hands grazed your sides and rested on your hips. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you leaned over him again and slowly reached out, and--
“Simba…” you choked out with reverence, brushing a muddy thumb across his forehead.
Tears from the held-back laughter threatened to spill any second as you observed Neil blanking out in utter confusion. The five stages of grief ran through his expression and then he closed his eyes and sighed theatrically.
“The fate of the world is in the hands of a complete madwoman.”
...the what now?
You tilted your head, grinning.
“Aren’t you a little dramatic?”
Then, without a warning, Neil shifted under you, rolling you off him and pinning you down.
“Birds of a feather and all that,” he said, clearly enjoying the way you squealed and squirmed as the mud got under your shirt. “You think you got a hang of the inverted movement already?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. Neil realized your intentions a second too late. A handful of mud splashed on his face and you chuckled with satisfaction. “Yeah, now I think I’m ready to go.”
You turned up at the airlock soon after, looking like something that cat dragged in, but beaming widely. Dreaming of a hot shower and a clean set of clothes, you put down the mask and the oxygen container and headed to the turnstile.
Wheeler was waiting for you near the machine, and seeing the state you were in, she just gaped at you both, trying to come up with an adequate question.
As you noticed her quizzical look, you gave her a thumbs up and smiled.
“If you ain't dirty, you ain't here to party! Wooo!” you whooped, throwing your hands up and trotting past her straight into the turnstile.
Right before reverting yourself back to your original state, you heard Wheeler’s hushed question.
“You two all right?”
And then Neil’s answer.
“Don’t worry, we’re good.”
--------
The truck’s engine hummed steadily, which could only mean you were on some sort of highway. At least the container stopped wobbling, so you could practice in peace.
No wobbles meant no excuses, though. You sighed, readjusting your grip on the tools.
Neil had fallen asleep some time ago, after making sure you figured out the locks and hearing your solemn promise that you would follow him soon.
One day after that eventful night, then inverting and going straight back without proper sleep. You knew he was right and you needed at least a nap. But you couldn’t. Not before you were absolutely sure you got it. The usual locks weren’t that bad. The inverted ones were a whole other story.
It’d taken you long enough to crack them in the safety of your own apartment, without the weird physics, ever-present even within the air-locked container. Without the pressure.
The fate of the world.
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
You didn’t even know what was that thing you were supposed to retrieve soon. It was okay, you didn’t need to. It was a quite common situation in your work history. That kind of knowledge could be dangerous, after all.
The pin clicked and you sighed again, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the burning sensation even for a moment.
Besides, you were doing it for Neil. The memory of that panicked look on his face when he’d seen the documents was enough to keep you going.
But did he have to say that?
You had to do it. Not only because you felt responsible for him, in a way. What you’d told the boss was true and you weren’t the only one at fault for Neil not being fully ready for that assignment. He was your friend, wasn’t he? And there was no way you’d leave a friend in need.
You pressed your lips together, forcing yourself to breathe.
Probably a stupid joke, nothing more.
But what if he was being serious? What if that thing out there was really that important? And you were about to fuck everything up because you couldn’t get your shit together fast enough to figure out the bloody inverted mechanism again. And with every minute wasted and not spent on resting there was a higher chance of messing up at the actual location.
Hell of a locksmith you were, huh?
The feedback from the tools came with a final warning like a sobering slap. If you were to continue, they would snap any second now.
You let out a shaky breath and retraced from the lock, hiding your face in the palms.
A gentle touch on your shoulder almost made you flinch. Of course, he had to wake up in the middle of your breakdown.
“Go back to sleep, we still have a few hours left,” you muttered into your hands, trying to collect yourself.
“Not before you talk to me,” said Neil as his fingers slid down your arm. He was crouching right beside you, the blue eyes boring into you with concern. “What is it?”
You sighed and shifted in your seat to face him.
“Wanna make sure I got it, that’s all.”
Neil’s brows knitted together.
“But I saw you open that lock once, why--”
“Once! And that’s exactly the problem!” you fumed and glared at the table. “I can’t crack it again, I--” your voice wavered and you gritted the teeth in frustration. “What if it was a stroke of dumb luck? Should I start praying for another one to happen there?”
Another delicate touch, this time on your knees, was enough to make you look back at Neil. A shade of smile tainted his lips as he searched your gaze.
“Someone used to tell me all the time that if you did it once, you can do it again.”
You hung your head and huffed, “Maybe that someone was full of shit.’
“I know for a fact that she wasn’t,” he chuckled, taking the tools out of your clenched fists and putting them back at the table. “She was utterly brilliant,” he continued, reaching for your cramping, trembling hands and taking them in his, ”and always reminded me to take a break instead of agonizing over a stubborn lock.”
That you did, all right. Your laugh sounded awfully close to a sob. God, if you weren’t exhausted.
Mustering enough strength to look him in the eyes, you squeezed his hands, trying to convey all the gratitude in the gesture. And hide that bit of embarrassment, too.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said and his thumbs brushed over your knuckles. “Scoot over.”
You moved back on the provisional bench, making enough space for him to sit next to you. And so he did, not letting go of your hands even for a second. He started rubbing small circles into them and you grunted softly. Neil gave you a knowing smile and soon enough, his fingers glided between your forearms and fingertips, applying pressure to the tensest places, careful strokes and precise moves bringing a much-needed release. You couldn’t help small groans escaping your mouth, every one of them adding to the self-satisfied grin hiding in the corner of Neil’s mouth. But then, instead of teasing you, his features softened and you caught his glance, warm and sheepish.
“I don’t think I properly thanked you for offering to help me with this mission.”
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” you laughed and winced as Neil’s thumbs worked on your wrists. “Don’t thank me yet, we still need to pull it off first.”
“Well, maybe we already have, from the typical point of view,” - he pondered, lighting up - “seeing that we are moving back--”
“Neil, please, I’m all for discussing it later, but right now it’s about to give me a pounding headache.”
When you met his eyes, you noted with relief that he didn’t mind you cutting him off like that. He knew that you were tired, nothing more.
“Right, sorry.” Then he looked at you with determination, suddenly serious. “Whatever happens… thank you. It means a lot.”
“Of course,” you said quietly as your heart ached with unexpected fondness.
Neil smiled, shaking off the sentimental moment. His hands cupped yours and gave them a light squeeze.
“Now would you please get some rest?”
“Will you tuck me in?” you grinned and batted your lashes at him, earning an amused snort in return.
“I can even sing you a lullaby if that means you’ll fall asleep faster,” he said, standing up and tugging at your hand.
“Ah, I’m afraid I’m gonna crash too fast to properly appreciate it,” you giggled as he kited you all the way to the resting area at the front of the container. “But I’m definitely taking a rain check on that.”
“Sure.” One final brush of his thumb over your fingers and he let go of your hand, smirking. “Now sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
-------
Neil proved to be an excellent companion.
You disabled the alarms simultaneously, paying attention to all the possible silent traps. Forcing the main locks went smoothly, almost surprisingly so. For having something of such importance hidden there, the owners of the place seemed strangely old-fashioned; it shone through the antique decor of the lofty apartment as well as the security choices. Too easy. Tuning out an intrusive thought rattling in the back of your head, you scouted the dark rooms, careful not to leave any traces of your presence.
There.
The office you saw in the photos.
...but they’d redecorated.
“That’s one fancy safe they got there,” you said nonchalantly, eyeing the ornament piece of metal lit by your flashlight, “Too bad it somehow got left out at the briefing.”
Neil’s face dropped when he followed you inside the room.
“Christ, and what now?”
Good question. You’d worked with safes before, hell, you’d cracked a fair share of them using simply manipulation. But never going bloody backwards in time. How would that even work? Was it normal or inverted?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
“I’ve got this.” And that’s how you felt, despite the initial panic. There was a method to it, and you had most of the things you needed with you. Perks of overpreparing. The only issue was-- ... “It might take a while, though.”
Neil nodded.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Keep an eye on the time for me, I gotta focus,” you said, reaching into your backpack and accidentally pulling on the thin tube. Right. “...and maybe on the oxygen levels as well?”
“Will do.”
Your brain switched into the challenge mode, and your fingers tingled to give it a try. Armed with a sound amplifier and a little notepad, you sat down next to the safe and got to work.
Figuring out your way in was meant to be a hit and miss, doubly so with the goddamn inversion. But minute after minute, click by click, you determined the first contact points, and the years of experience took you from there. You scribbled numbers and variations in the notepad, fully focused on the task. Almost there.
Another combination. Inhale. Exhale. Pull.
Gotcha.
“Neil?” you called out in the hushed voice as the beam from the flashlight landed on a small metal box of a peculiar shape.
He was next to you in no time.
“That’s it,” he said, kneeling down. He reached inside and took out the box, then carefully placed it inside his backpack. The blue eyes glimmered in the dim light. “Good job!”
“Thanks,” you smiled and closed the safe. “Now let’s get out of here.”
You gathered and packed all your stuff, double-checking for any leftover signs of your entry.
Then you heard it. A faint, slightly off patter against the huge windows. You froze in place as your mind tried to grasp the view of trickles of rain coming up the glass.
Neil glanced outside, not mindful of the absolutely bonkers scene that wiped any coherent thought from your head. Although judging from how quickly his face lost all the colours, the view he got was even more disturbing.
“Christ…” he uttered, shooting you a panicked look. “We’ve got company.”
You dashed to the window to see for yourself. A group of people was crossing the empty street, moving pretty much normally, and that only meant...
Fuck.
“The owners?”
Neil shook his head. “Impossible. The third party, probably.” With his hand already on the holster, he hesitated, considering the options.
But there were only two: fight or flight. The problem was - the numbers didn’t look good for you to try pushing through the crew downstairs. And as for the second one, your initial exit routes seemed to be cut off already.
Although, there was still one path left. You almost smiled to yourself. He was not going to like it.
“Let’s go through the roofs.”
Neil’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?” he asked, scanning your face for any sign of doubt.
There was none.
“Yes, but we have to leave right now.”
He swallowed with effort and nodded.
As soon as you bolted out of the apartment and rushed up the stairs, the footsteps coming from the lower levels quickened. Time was running out.
You were about to barge outside when Neil grabbed your hand as if he sensed what was going to happen next. The doors opened and you lost the momentum, startled by the view. Heavy showers replaced the drizzle you saw through the window, intensifying the nauseating effect.
The last strands of sanity threatened to leave you, but Neil’s touch was like an anchor, grounding you and keeping you from spiraling further.
“Which way?” he shouted through the hammering, almost deafening rain.
You blinked rapidly and looked around to match the data from the brief to the actual location.
“Over there!”
Wishing you’d had a goddamn collar to pop, you leaped to the side, guiding Neil through your only escape route. You let go of his hand to vault over the vents, and just as your feet touched the surface again, you heard distant yells behind you. Shit.
The high density of the area was working in your favor, but only for so long. There was meant to be a gap between the buildings sooner or later, and one of them was coming right up. The jump was doable, even for Neil - all you needed was speed and a decent launch.
But when your companion noticed the edge of the roof, he slowed down and stopped by a low parapet wall, cursing.
“No fucking way!”
“Yes fucking way, Neil, come on! We don’t have time!” you urged him as the voices behind you grew louder.
He swallowed with effort, too transfixed on the gap. You bit back an impatient groan and grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at you.
“Neil, listen to me. You can do this. All you need is a run-up.”
He didn’t seem convinced. You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your own rising panic in check.
“Do you trust me? Yes or no?”
He met your eyes and his features hardened. There.
“I do.”
And when you opened the mouth again, the first bullet whizzed past you. You flinched, but maintained the eye contact, afraid to lose Neil’s newfound confidence. “Then go first, I’m right behind you.”
Neil nodded and backed away quickly. Watching him jump, your heart skipped a beat, but he landed on the other side without too much trouble. Good. Your turn.
You dashed towards the rim and another bullet missed your legs by a hair’s breadth, hitting the parapet wall right ahead of you. A little close to the top, as you noted, jumping on it to leap across the gap.
But the realization came a moment too late. The wall crumbled under your feet.
Enough for you to not make it to the other side.
Someone screamed.
Was it you?
It didn’t matter.
The world dissolved in a flash of agonizing pain.
And darkness.
----
Static beeping. The smell of disinfectants. And your every particle throbbing in dull pain.
Somebody was having a quiet conversation nearby. The Protagonist… and Neil?
A wave of relief flooded over you. He’d made it.
Grunting, you opened your eyes and squinted, waiting for your sight to readjust to the poor light. Weird. Why would they keep you in such a pitch-black room?
“Gents?” you called out, carefully shifting upwards, wincing. “Would you mind getting the lights?”
The conversation stopped and you heard a gasp.
“Lights? But it’s the middle of the day?” said The Protagonist, but Neil cut him off.
“You’re awake!” Footsteps and a sudden touch on your hand. Neil’s voice trembled slightly, as well as his fingers. “Are you okay?”
You bored into darkness, hoping to see the familiar face.
To see anything.
To see.
(next chapter ->)
#neil tenet#neil tenet x reader#neil x reader#tenet#robert pattinson#neil tenet fanfiction#tenet fanfiction#neil tenet imagine#the protagonist tenet#ives tenet#wheeler tenet#long nights
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I just saw your improvement post! I wanted to know, how long have you been drawing, and when did you see the biggest spike in improvement? Did you progress the most when you first started or later?
heyo anon! thanks for the ask!
to begin, I've been drawing since I was around ten years old (which is well over a decade ago by now) and weirdly enough, I saw the biggest spike, so to speak, in my art style and accuracy in anatomy over quarantine this past year. I think it's probably because (and I know, it sounds super cliche) I started finally using references and studying anatomy and perspective instead of just bullshit drawing the things I saw in my mind.
here's an example:
let's use this example of a male character playing the guitar that I've sketched throughout the years, with the latter two images showing the existing character of Luka Couffaine from the Miraculous Ladybug animated TV show. As you can see, there is quite a large difference between 2012 summer and 2020 winter, but it's mostly in actually being able to get my idea across (i.e. playing the guitar) in a way that doesn't feel choppy. There is color, more "life" to the image (it's kind of a medium shot instead of a weirdly placed full body angle), and it looks like it has a story. Where the 2012 drawing is just an image of someone playing the guitar, the first 2020 drawing clearly has intent in its process, and I think that is the biggest development between the two.
in and of itself, February 2020's Luka Couffaine looks cool as hell, but I just could never feel like that was my "style" and this always made me unhappy. I'd make artwork only to dislike it in the end.
To absolutely nobody's surprise, once I started studying anatomy and actually used references instead of just trying to envision it behind my eyes, I saw an even bigger difference in my art. Because now, not only did my artwork have the creativity and beauty of a story and different "angles," but it also looked like it could actually be a person. Personally, after I started actually studying art—which doesn't mean expensive classes, YouTube videos and online tutorials here on Tumblr all are more than enough and that's what I used—did I actually begin to settle into my style.
here's another example:
let's say for the sake of this argument that the theme of the pictures above is supposed to be "showing off a graphic tee/sweater." While in the 2014 image the character is placed awkwardly and in a way that makes little sense (please don't come at me for that absolutely atrocious and evidently high as fuck Spongebob image), the image on the left shows Harley Quinn showing off her sweater in a more natural pose. The reason for this big difference is because after extensive practice and research, I can finally draw 3/4 faces and bodies accurately.
Now I'm not sure if you wanted advice, but if I could say two things, it would be these:
1) Don't be afraid to use references!! If you're interested in drawing people in the way that I am, then references are your friend. Search up things like "man holding knife" or "woman taking off sweater" or what have you and study the search images to get a good understanding of the pose/scene you want to sketch. If realism isn't your thing, then you do you babe! I'm sure you'll do great regardless, but if realism is something you want to reflect, PLEASE use references! They help tons.
2) Your art style improves the most when you're not forcing and pressuring yourself to get better. Another reason I think I saw such an improvement over the span of a few months is because over quarantine I drew to relax and just have a good time, not because I had expectations to get somewhere specific in my work. I was just drawing for drawing's sake, and the lack of stress and pressure led me to experiment in different ways and finally settle on something that makes me happy.
remember: art is supposed to be fun! Don't make it a chore for yourself by placing unrealistic expectations like learning still life painting overnight. Just keep drawing, study references, and practice as often as you can, and you'll eventually land exactly where you want to.
I hope this helps! <3
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Day 11: Melodrama
WIth Act 4 over, we’ve finished setting up the pins on the Earth Side of this story. We are now roughly one quarter of the way through the full story - and Homestuck is set up more or less in four acts, rather than in six acts as its “official” structure would suggest.
Time to start setting up the pins on the other disc.
https://homestuck.com/story/1942
But first, some more of Andrew’s prose to detail the fallout of the Sovereign Slayer’s activity. He’s been a busy man.
Also, Rose goes off the rails, but we knew that already.
This is the part of the story where Rose becomes an antagonist, in my opinion. More on that later. More after the break.
https://homestuck.com/story/1955
A letter from another version of Earth.
One of the very first things that we learn about Jake is that one of his all time favorite movies is Weekend at Bernie’s, an association that is part of a long list of red-herrings that link Jake up with Lord English, but of which nothing ultimately comes. It’s an association mostly because Bernie is a corpse who is also a puppet (like Doc Scratch, for example).
All that has already been pointed out by a lot of people before me, so moving on.
https://homestuck.com/story/1957
Just missed her.
https://homestuck.com/story/1993
Act 5 off to a great start, and while Karkat is in many ways a parallel to John (via their shared interests), right away, this action compares Karkat to Dave. Their reaction to being misnamed by the command prompt is pretty much identical.
https://homestuck.com/story/1994
Like I said, Karkat is pretty much immediately compared to John in terms of their shared interests, what with his Terrible Taste in Movies and his Amateur Coding.
One thing that stands out as endearing to me that I’ve probably not thought so much about before is Karkat’s practicing with his Sickle in his room. It reminds me of lightsaber wielding kids on early youtube.
https://homestuck.com/story/1995
So let’s break this and the next few pages down. Viewing the narration through the same James-Joycesque lens of “Narration is more or less identical with the characters’ thought processes,” that we have been so far, Karkat seems pretty ambivalent about existing as a troll, going as far as to describe his bad dreams as *terrible.*
Do all Trolls have dreams as bad as Karkat does? Is it a chucklevoodoos thing? Maybe it’s specifically a Karkat thing.
https://homestuck.com/story/1996
Karkat gets distracted instantly by intrusive thoughts and does something else that’s very Johnlike.
https://homestuck.com/story/1998
Aw c’mon. Early Sandler isn’t even that bad. Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve watched this one, maybe it’s worse than I remember it.
https://homestuck.com/story/1999
This section of the story is even more time-agnostic than the rest of the story, and a lot of it is told in past tense prospective action, which says to me that what we’re experiencing here is the various trolls on the meteor at the End of Act 4 collectively remembering what has taken place in the past, while the parts of this segment that are narrated in the present tense are being relayed to us via the characters in the narrative present (which is to say, the events which are being relayed to us in the panel.)
https://homestuck.com/story/2008
I wonder if Troll Will Smith is a Troll Scientologist?
https://homestuck.com/story/2010
I didn’t like the Trolls very much originally. They’re so ornery and pissy with each other all the time, with the exception of Gamzee and Tavros, but on a reread, especially keeping the things in mind that I’m keeping in mind, all of these characters are a lot more tolerable.
Using the cipher that we’ve established from reading the characters as basically attempting to perform what is culturally expected of them in the first four acts, we can immediately decode what is going on between Karkat and his friends - they are trying to be the best trolls they can be, or at least, live up to certain ideals/stereotypes the way that Dave tries to live up to the stereotype of the coolguy, or John emulates the mangrit and fatherliness and so on of his father figures.
But something is way *way* more wrong with Alternia’s role models than Earth’s.
That’s all from a Watsonian perspective. From a Doylist perspective, there are very explicit stereotypes each of these characters is designed around - commonplace annoying internet people from the ‘00s (pronounce that as Naughts).
https://homestuck.com/story/2012
There’s a lot of early installment weirdness in the first bits of Troll Stuff we get where it’s clear that Andrew was riffing and trying to find clear definitions for their relationships - it’s somewhat poorly known these days, I think, but Andrew has said in the past that he hates worldbuilding, and it kind of shows. (Did I mention that Kanaya Sollux friendship back when those two were interacting not long ago? That’s another one of those bits of early installment weirdness).
Anyway, the actual bit of early installment weirdness that I’m drawing attention to is the fact that the Subjugglators are described as being an Obscure Cult here, but later Homestuck Media (and even stuff within Homestuck, honestly) will make them out to be basically the only major aspect of being a Purple Blood.
https://homestuck.com/story/2013
Gamzee’s ignorance and his bliss are pretty much immediately linked to one another.
That said, I’m not going to dive too deep into Gamzee’s inner life. Like a lot of the trolls, in spite of his great relevance, he’s a bit of a joke character, and the joke is on us - whatever is going on inside this lad’s head is a puzzle for most of the comic.
Gamzee has a Freudian excuse in the form of his absent Lusus, which incidentally, is a parallel to Jade - the Nurture is the same, but the Nature is very differently. Unfortunately, when God was handing out Natures, he gave Gamzee one of the really bad ones, so he’s a worthless goddamn piece of shit.
https://homestuck.com/story/2024
Already into the first few troll conversations, and we’re setting up some stuff for later. Gamzee and Terezi’s very first conversation demonstrates the terrible chemistry that the two have together - Gamzee legitimately unsettles Terezi, and there’s just nothing at all she can do to bother him.
https://homestuck.com/story/2025
Sollux is probably so handy with this coding language because of his ability to hear the voices of the imminently deceased - so he can write programs that will execute along a pretty reasonable time frame.
https://homestuck.com/story/2027
Leader is a phrase that ends up being used in conjunction with Karkat a lot, and the concept of leadership is another one of those things that Homestuck Talks About but not a thing that Homestuck Is About, at least in the sense that leadership as a role is part of the comic’s broader commentary on cultural reproduction, the same way that Homestuck’s conversation about gender is, or Homestuck’s conversation about Roles in general.
What do you want to be when you grow up? Karkat wants to be a leader.
As long as Sollux is making his first appearance as a character, I want to take a second to say that as a character, he’s always been pretty tough and enigmatic for me to write, especially in the sense that he‘s frequently referred to melodramatic and sensitive or similar terms by people around him, but he actually doesn’t really seem that way in most cases - he just seems like a guy who wants to his own devices, and is generally pretty non-reactive to other peoples’ bullshit. Maybe he’s melodramatic in the way that Dave is, hyping himself up as a coolguy who is the best there is, but then again, Sollux kind of lives up to his own hype, considering that up until the last possible moment, he wins pretty much every fight he’s in handily, adapts Sburb personally, and has more romantic success than just about everyone else in the comic.
Maybe Karkat’s just projecting.
https://homestuck.com/story/2031
Roleplaying - a concept that I’ve used frequently to refer to the way that John and his chums perform rituals in order to relate to their culture and parents - is made explicit through the language of Flarping, which for the Trolls, serves as a way for them to literally act out the adventures of their long-dead ancestors, although it strikes me that it’s probably a lot more gainful for highbloods like Terezi and Vriska than it is in general for lowbloods like Aradia and Tavros.
I’ll get this out of the way up front instead of commenting it on a drip feed throughout Terezi’s upcoming courtblock roleplay - Terezi is the kind of kid who aspires to be a Cop. Or a lawyer, anyway, which in Alternian Law, is the same thing as a cop. In the wake of 2020′s scads of police brutality, and in general, having grown up into a nasty commie, it’s kind of hard to look at Terezi the same way.
While it’s clear that Terezi is remorseful later on toward her earlier attitudes and behaviors, Terezi is at least ambivalent, and at worst a purely antagonistic force throughout a lot of early Homestuck because of her authoritarian tendencies and her honestly pretty psychopathic behavior. She plays games with her friends’ lives.
https://homestuck.com/story/2047
Terezi adores having power over other people and making them helpless. For Terezi, alienation takes the form of emotional distance from the people that she’s tormenting. It makes it so much easier for her to conceive of them as wicked people who need to die.
https://homestuck.com/story/2055
Nepeta is an adorable girl who deserves all the good things. All of them.
That said, as long as we’re commentating and not glurging, Nepeta’s internet troll stereotype is probably less familiar these days, and I say probably less, but I can’t say for sure - it’s like this really specific thing that existed during the late ‘00s, where you had this highly specific stereotype, which I’ll call the Furry Artist Roleplayer, and I really hope that I’m not talking out of my ass by generalizing anecodtal evidence, but I know people who were pretty much exactly the Nepeta stereotype around the time that Act 5 was being written! Roleplaying in IRCs or on specialty forums with other people, all drawing art of their anthro OCs and writing stories about each other’s characters. That sort of thing still probably exists these days, but if it does, I’m not really part of any communities anymore where it leaks into the mainstream.
https://homestuck.com/story/2058
Okay, yup, Karkat is 100% projecting “Melodrama” on all the people around him. In a literal sense, Melodrama refers to theatrics that are exaggerated and sensationalized in such a way as to appeal to the emotions, often prioritizing spectacle and physical action over deep characterization.
Actually, if we’re taking it in the literal sense of the word, just about every character in Homestuck is pretty melodramatic - I keep talking about the way that they roleplay rituals and associate with symbols even when they fail to structures of power and culture that those rituals and symbols point to - performative participation without any actual substance. That’s practically the definition of Melodrama.
But Karkat is, perhaps, the most Melodramatic of all.
https://homestuck.com/story/2065
Aradia is one of my favorite characters in Homestuck, and possibly my favorite, something I can be up front about.
Our introduction to her is brief, and right out of the gate one thing about her is apparent - her relationship with destruction is central to her characterization.
https://homestuck.com/story/2069
While I was going to wait for the Hemospectrum to come up explicitly, now’s as good a time as any to talk about the fact that Andrew uses Troll society to comment on hierarchy a lot - hierarchy of just all kinds. Ageism is one of those, and Gerontocracy in particular in Alternia. In Alternia, just one of the ways that the oppression of the Hemospectrum manifests is the way that the Empire systematically takes advantage of its children by basically leaving them completely to their own devices. Trolls don’t have family units normally, but the fact that Troll adults are all offworld is not a “natural” part of Troll Society, it’s a decision. And while it’s a decision made by the Empress, it’s still one that, to some extent, benefits adult trolls at the expense of the children, since they’re not around spending energy on raising kids who are expected to raise themselves from the word go.
It’s honestly pretty late, and I’m tuckered out because of the steroids that I’m on, and the cough medicine, so in spite of the comparatively pretty short amount of reading I’ve done tonight, I’m going to call it here.
Cam signing off, Alive and a little High.
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Best Films of 2019 (So Far)
It’s that time of year again! As most of my followers probably know, I’m an avid cinema-goer beyond Star Wars. I also quite enjoy making lists, so what’s better than a combo of the two? Below, I run down my top 10 films of 2019 so far - please note that this list is based on UK cinema release dates, so some of these films were 2018 releases elsewhere.
What are your favourites so far from this year? Let me know in replies/asks!
Honourable mentions: Toy Story 4, Long Shot, Aladdin, Alita: Battle Angel & The Kid Who Would Be King
1. The Favourite, dir. Yorgos Lanthimos
This completely wowed me - it features a trio of magnificently compelling female characters (played by Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone) operating at the court of Queen Anne (Colman is Anne, Weisz and Stone are courtiers), and is focused solely on the shifting sands of the power dynamics between them. The script is savage without sacrificing poignancy, witty without ceasing to be genuine. And while I’ve seen some react to this film as a comedy (and it certainly has laughs, most of which are closely tied to shock), for me it was very clearly a drama about the inscrutable and complicated relationships that exist between women. Specifically, it is about how those relationships run the gamut from sincere affinity to ruthless manipulation. This is an amazing movie, and it also has the best use of an Elton John song in 2019 (sorry, Rocketman!).
2. Midsommar, dir. Ari Aster
I went into this film with reservations, since I wasn’t a huge fan of Hereditary (by the same director), which I found to have extraordinary moments but iffy execution overall. This movie, however, wowed me, and I am still uncertain as to whether this or The Favourite is my top film of 2019 so far (fortunately, this gives me a good excuse to watch Midsommar three or four times in cinemas). While marketed as a freaky cult horror film, the director has described it as a fairy tale, which is the level on which is spoke to me. Midsommar follows Dani (an incredible Florence Pugh), a young woman who has suffered a terrible loss, as she travels with her boyfriend and his friends to a pagan festival in the Swedish countryside. Dani is painfully isolated, and her grief is hers to shoulder alone since her boyfriend is un-receptive and distinctly unprepared to help her. Over the course of the film, destruction and creation are conflated in ways that are frequently beautiful and horrific at the same time - this film spoke to me on a profound level, and the way it ended gave me a sense of incredible catharsis. This won’t be for everyone, for I found it to be a deeply special film and I can’t recommend it enough.
3. One Cut of the Dead, dir. Shinichirou Ueda
While I went into The Favourite with high expectations given the talent involved, I went into this with no expectations whatsoever - and what a treat it was! One Cut of the Dead is easily one of the funniest movies I’ve seen in ears, taking what initially seems like a trite concept (a crew is filming a zombie movie at a desolate location ... only to discover that the zombies are real!) and twisting it in a truly ingenious way. The comedy is often of the broad variety, but it is consistently delightful and always manages to avoid becoming crass - the movie even has some really sweet family dynamics at the centre of it, which gives it some real emotional heft. The success of this film is heavily reliant on a major twist that occurs part-way through, so the best advice I can give you is to stay as far away from spoilers for this one as possible - go in blind, and you will be amply rewarded for your faith.
4. The Farewell, dir. Lulu Wang
I saw this following a wave of festival hype, so while I was excited I was also a bit apprehensive (since I have been burned by the aforementioned festival hype before). Thankfully, my doubts were blown away as this turned out to be just as wonderful as the early reviews had suggested. It’s a personal story about a young Asian-American woman (Awkwafina) struggling to reconcile her heritage with her current situation and values - specifically, she is tested when her grandmother is diagnosed with terminal cancer and the wider family make the decision to hide the truth from her. The Farewell does a fantastic job of generating empathy for all the different perspectives and positions in play, but it’s truly anchored by Awkwafina’s amazingly nuanced and tender performance - basically, anyone who’s ever loved a grandparent should leave this feeling incredibly moved and inspired. The themes of The Farewell are both specific to the Asian-American experience and general to anyone who has struggled with maintaining bonds over a vast distance, whether physical or cultural.
5. Booksmart, dir. Olivia Wilde
God, how I wish I’d had this movie as a teenager! While Booksmart has a cliched premise - two high-achieving teens decide to have one wild night before graduation - it tells the story in an incredibly charming and impressively creative way (I won’t spoil it, but let me just say this - that scene with the Barbies!). As someone who was an awkward nerd with no discernible social life in high school (as you Americans call it), I found this portrayal of that peculiar limbo period very sensitive and thoughtful - it doesn’t mock or shame its heroines for being studious, and it allows them to have limits and step back from situations that make them uncomfortable. It also serves as a beautifully honest portrait of a friendship, depicting the qualities that bring people together in friendship together in the first place, as well as the forces that can break people apart. This is a very accomplished debut from Wilde, and it makes me very excited to see where she goes next as a director.
6. A Private War, dir. Matthew Heineman
This was a very suspenseful and tightly focused film about an extraordinary woman, and the film soars on the strength of Rosamund Pike’s incredible performance as Marie Colvin. She provides piercing insights into the psyche of a person so driven to pursue truth and enact change that she loses all concern for her own wellbeing - it’s simultaneously a portrait of heroism and obsession, and it’s impressive for how it handles the ambiguity inherent in Colvin’s choices. She’s exceptionally brave, but the film is unflinching in depicting the costs of her bravery. It left me feeling inspired to learn more about Colvin’s life and work, and I still need to watch the documentary Under the Wire to get more insight into the real story behind the film.
7. Fighting With My Family, dir. Stephen Merchant
This is the year of Florence Pugh - she killed it in Midsommar, and she is just as fantastic here. If anything, Fighting With My Family and Midsommar make great complements as they serve as fantastic showcases for Pugh’s range as an actor. While her character in Midsommar is fragile and vulnerable, Fighting With My Family is a platform for her strength and comedic skill. As Paige, Pugh is instantly likable and compelling - I don’t give a damn about any form of wrestling, but this film (and Pugh specifically) did a fantastic job of drawing me in and making me root for Paige’s struggle to prove herself as a legitimate force in wrestling. This is a real underdog story, and Pugh did a wonderful job as the Cinderella of the WWE.
8. Apollo 11, dir. Todd Douglas Miller
My dad has always been crazy about the space program, but I hadn’t picked up the bug myself. That changed after I watched this extraordinary documentary, which brought the Apollo 11 mission to vivid life. The footage that’s used for this documentary is extraordinarily crisp, and some moments are vividly powerful - the crew getting into their spacesuits, the swirl of fire surrounding the moment of takeoff, and the journey of the spacecraft towards the moon. It left me feeling moved and touched by human potential, especially when you remember that this all happened 50 years ago when the available technologies were so fragile and primitive. I also loved how the footage was allowed to speak for itself, with no voiceover or exposition - it’s a must-see for anyone who’s ever looked up at the stars and wondered about reaching them.
9. High Life, dir. Claire Denis
This movie is second to only Midsommar in terms of how weird it is. I saw this in a Hungarian cinema while on holiday, which made for a disorientating experience in itself. While the meaning of the film is quite elusive and I’m sure that many people will find viewing it a uniquely frustrating experience, I appreciated how it created a hothouse environment that brought out some of the ugliest aspects of humanity. Robert Pattinson was great as what comes closest to amounting to our protagonist, though he is as inscrutable and inaccessible as the film itself. I can’t quite pin down why I liked this one so much, but I know I did and it made me want to seek out more of Claire Denis’ work.
10. Free Solo, dir. Jimmy Chin & Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi
It’s tragic that most people will only watch this documentary on a TV screen (or, so much worse, a laptop!). I was fortunate enough to see it in its full IMAX glory, and it’s rare to see any film - let alone a documentary - take such full advantage of the format. The woozy spectacle of this film is the real star, though the subject - mountain climber Alex Honnold - is also fascinating with his unnerving detachment from the magnitude of what he is setting out on. It is clearly a necessary detachment for him to be able to achieve what he achieves, but I appreciated how the filmmakers questioned it and explored its impact on his girlfriend. This is a compelling documentary, and is worth watching even if you’re not usually a fan of the genre.
#films#cinema#films 2019#midsommar#florence pugh#the favourite#one cut of the dead#free solo#high life#apollo 11#fighting with my family#a private war#the farewell#booksmart
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RESIDENCY: SECOND CHANCES (AN OPEN HEART FIC): PART TWO
Pairing: MC (Jordynne Holland) X Ethan Ramsey X Bryce Lahela; MC X Bryce; MC X Ethan. Please note that both pairings are present in this fan fiction — off & on, at the same times, and the relationships do ebb & flow. Please keep this in mind. Thank you.
Masterlist: Click Here
Chapter Rating: T (drinking, swearing)
Word Count: 5000+ (its a big one)
Description: Bryce and Jordynne have time together to explore what everything happening between them means, since Ethan is away in the Amazon finding his own answers.
Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Jordynne’s background is my own creation, based loosely off of MC in-game’s personality and provided with more details.
Author’s Note: Well this took much longer than expected! With everything happening in the world, I found it harder and harder to take that personal time for myself to get away and write. But I eventually carved out time for it, and it felt nice to get back into the perspectives of Jordynne, Bryce and Ethan. This fic has a lot of little moments and memories from Book 1 (and fic 1) that can turn into big moments for these characters in the future <3
As always any likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated. If you would like to be added/removed from the tag list please just let me know! I have always had issues with the tag list as well (people not receiving notifications) so if you do receive a notification if you could let me know that would be great! Or if you have any tips for why it wouldn’t be working?
Taglist: @drakewalkerfantasy @owleyes374 @lahelable @mayar-mahdy @paisleylovergirl @nicquix @emilymay100 @octobereighth @llamasgrl @timmagicktoad @lilyofchoices @msjpuddleduck @mfackenthal @paulfwesley @ccolz88-blog @mindlessdreaminxo @jooous @lapisreviewsstuff @choicesarehard @themingdynasty @omgjasminesimone @hopelessly-shipper @binny1985 @perriewinklenerdie @jens-diamondchoices @indiacater @chasingrobbie @writingsbymissy @dimitriwife @tacohead13 @amy-choices @violinet
Previous Updates: Residency — Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen Part Sixteen Part Seventeen Part Eighteen Part Nineteen Part Twenty
Residency: Second Chances -- Part One
Chapter 2
The golden liquor coated her pink lips, turning them shiny. They pursed together, licking the excess off as she lowered the shot glass to the table with a loud bang.
The sound snapped Bryce back to reality — and he swallowed hard as she watched Jordynne throw her head back and laugh.
She was in full force tonight. Her big laugh echoing in the bar. Her perfect, wide smile drawing everyone in. Her wild, blonde hair being thrown over her shoulder.
Sometimes he wondered if she was really from this world.
“Let’s get more!” Her voice was much higher than usual — a good note that she was getting more and more intoxicated.
“C’mon Jordy, let’s pace ourselves.” He suggested, grabbing onto her wrist gently.
“Pace ourselves?! Do I look like a beginner to you? Come on!” She put out her bottom lip at him, looking up at him with giant puppy dog eyes.
It was like a punch to the gut — she could get whatever she wanted with that look. Dammit.
Before he could reply, Jackie came to the table with a tray of more shots and Jordynne greedily grabbed two of them.
“Whoa, Holland’s on a roll tonight,” Jackie said as she slid into the booth, passing out the remaining glasses.
“She’s on something.. that’s for sure,” Sienna said to them, a hand in front of her mouth.
At the sound of the next song coming on, she jumped onto her leather seat in the booth. “This song! This song!!”
He couldn’t even hear it over the crowd. But he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at her excitement.
She crawled over Sienna and jumped out of the booth, landing with surprising dexterity for the amount of liquor she had consumed. “Come on dance with me.” She stretched her tan fingers over to him, “Please.”
“Okay,” He agreed — maybe a little too easily.
He grabbed onto her warm fingers, letting her pull him to the dance floor with surprising strength.
He watched her jump up and down for a moment — her blonde hair flicking around wildly. He let out a laugh, before mimicking her movements — his tan arms raised above his head as they danced recklessly in the crowd.
She joined in with his laugh — flashing her white teeth at him in a brilliant smile. He gulped as she moved closer to him. He could still smell her, even in the old bar — orange blossoms, vanilla, and jasmine. He could get drunk off of that scent.
His heart fluttered as she grabbed onto him casually, pulling him into her to dance more closely. Bryce was suddenly overwhelmed being this close to her — he felt dizzy, and it wasn’t from the liquor.
Jordynne Holland was intoxicating. And addicting.
His dark eyes settled on her mouth, how much closer it was getting to his as she swayed in front of him.
“Jordy...” He breathed out, stepping away from her.
“What?” Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she looked up at him — her green eyes fluttering. She stepped forward and carefully wrapped her arms around his neck. “I just wanna have some fun. You’re fun. You like fun. Remember fun?” Her pink lips stretched into a smile.
He felt his stomach twist and tug and flutter all at once.
Bryce so badly wanted to give in — to crash his lips onto hers, to hold her back. But he didn’t know where all of this was coming from. Things were still so messy — and right now, she was messy. There had to be something that caused it.
“I know — I just —,” He hesitantly put his hands on her waist, steadying her movements, “Are you sure, you’re okay?”
“I’ve never been better Bryce Lahela. Now dance with me.” She replied, tightening her hold on him as she pushed her body up against his.
_____________________________________________________________________
Ethan watched the light through his window dim as the plane flew into a series of clouds — the pages of his book in his lap suddenly becoming harder to read.
Letting out a sigh, he put his head back on his headrest — leaning against it as he looked over his shoulder and out of the window.
He eyed the empty spot next to him — a placeholder for his leather bag this time. He tried hard to not go there — to think about the last time he was at the airport, on an airplane, who was with him. If he started down that road, it would make everything harder.
So he ignored the subtle reminder — repressing the memory and averting his eyes from the empty chair.
“Hi sir,” A brunette flight attendant pulled a cart up near his seat, “Due to the length of the flight you will be provided an in-flight meal. It will be arriving shortly. Would you like a beverage to go with it? Spirits? Wine?” He gestured to the cart.
Ethan swallowed as he eyed it — the little bottles of alcohol clinking together as the flight attendant shifted the cart.
It was tempting. It could be another way to repress memories in the long flight. To calm any gears that started winding.
He cleared his throat, putting on a polite smile, “Can I actually just have a coffee?”
“Of course, sir.” He poured the hot beverage and carefully passed it to him. “I’ll be back with your meal.”
Ethan took a sip and grimaced slightly. It was terrible. And he had to force another thought down as he thought of who else would grin and bear it with him.
But it was just a coffee. He’ll get over this.
He can get over this. He could do this.
_____________________________________________________________________
The slightest crack of one of her eyes caused Jordynne to groan in pain. Her head was pounding — and even the little trickle of light coming through the blinds was killer.
Blinking over and over, she finally was able to open her green eyes fully. She was in her bedroom — how she got there? She wasn’t entirely sure.
The previous night was a blur. She remembered taking an uncertain amount of tequila shots and dancing. So much dancing — her feet were killing her.
Letting out another groan, she shifted onto her side but froze when she felt resistance next to her. Moving her head, her eyebrows raised as she saw Bryce laying next to her — sleeping soundly. He was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt — his arms folded around himself carefully as he slept on top of her white duvet.
Her eyebrows furrowed together — a deep line forming in her forehead. Now that she didn’t remember. Peaking under the duvet, she realized she was still wearing clothes — her boyfriend briefs and shirt were clinging to her body. Her mind started whirling as she attempted to connect the dots.
“Hey,” Bryce’s groggy voice whispered next to her, “You okay?”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek — praying that it was too dark in the room for him to see how embarrassed she looked, “I’m— I’m pretty rough.”
“I would imagine so. You consumed enough tequila to get you, me, and Sienna drunk.”
“Ugh.” She groaned.
“And I’m sure spending two hours on your bathroom floor probably didn’t help.”
“Nooo...” Her face felt hot as it flushed with embarrassment.
He let out a quiet chuckle, “Oh yeah. Held your hair back and everything.”
She wasn’t sure if she had ever hated herself more then that moment. “Ugh, I’m so sorry Bryce.”
“Don’t be — I didn’t mind.” She gulped as she felt his practiced hand rub her shoulder.
“I’m sure that’s not what you signed up for when we decided to go out last night.”
“I mean, I went to hang out with you. And we did hang out..” His voice trailed off for a moment, “I just didn’t imagine it would be on your bathroom floor with your head hanging off your toilet.”
“Haha,” She hesitated for a moment, “Did we — Did I say anything? Or... I dunno, try anything?”
“Oh yeah,” He let out a little chuckle again, “Drunk Jordy is chaaaatty. And handsy.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t — we didn’t do anything. You just tried to kiss me a couple of times.” He mumbled a little.
“I’m sorry.” She apologized again.
“People have done crazier things then try to kiss someone while drunk on Tequila.” He reassured.
“I know, I— But we never—“
He interrupted her, “S’okay Jordy.”
“Thanks for staying with me.” She whispered. And she meant it. As complicated as it was, she was glad Bryce was there. He was always there for her.
She felt the bed shift as he turned on his side to face her, “What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t take care of you?”
“I live in a house full of doctors.” She could feel how close his face was to hers.
“Ha — right.” She could see his sheepish smile in the dim light. “I just needed to know you were okay.”
There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” She lied — a little too easily.
“I just — I haven’t seen you like that before. You were drinking hard. Did something happen?”
She shook her head against the pillow, “I just wanted to let loose. Celebrate surviving my first week back. I just went a little bit too hard.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“Yeah.” She did her best to hide the lie, suppressing the memory of Ethan walking away in the parkade, “So what to do I gotta do to convince you to drag my ass out for some breakfast?”
“No convincing necessary.”
_______________________________________________________________________
He fell into a routine a lot easier than he thought he would. The repetition was nice — satisfying after the continuous curve balls life had thrown at him over the past year.
There was still chaos here — it was still a medical crisis. But it wasn’t anything that Ethan couldn’t handle.
He spent most of his days in their temporary clinic — diagnosing cases. In the evenings he would spend time with other team leaders, discussing measurements and tactics for preventing further cases. During their free time, he would usually see himself to his room — avoiding the socialization hours around the campfire. He rarely spoke to his colleagues in Boston, why would he do it in the Amazon.
One of the local doctors had told him his Portuguese was improving. A compliment that Ethan heartily took as he was teaching himself from the little pocketbook in his messenger bag and repetition with the locals.
Most nights by the time his head hit the pillow he was too exhausted to think. For the gears to start winding. For memories and thoughts to resurface from the far depths of his mind. And if they did — he forced them away. Closing his eyes with knitted brows, until sleep overcame him. And then he would wake up to do it all over again.
_______________________________________________________________________
“Wow, it’s been a while since I was in here,” Jordynne smirked as she stepped into a familiar supply closet.
Bryce had texted her during her break — asking to meet her there. She didn’t have to ask which one he meant — she knew. The supply closet from the first day they met. From where she had dropped all of her usual guards and kissed a stranger.
The smirk fell off of her face when she saw Bryce’s expression. It was serious — his usual megawatt smile was nowhere in sight. “Wh—what’s going on?”
He took a steadying breath before he spoke, “Jordynne, when did you know?”
“Know what?” Her eyebrows furrowed.
“That Ethan was gone. That he was leaving again.”
Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. She didn’t know what to say.
He let out a sigh — taking her silence as an answer. “Is that why you got like that? At Donahue’s? You literally drunk enough to make yourself sick.”
“I— I was upset.” She explained, stepping a little closer to him, “I didn’t know what else to do — I just didn’t want to deal with it.”
“Have you dealt with it?” He asked back, his voice sharp, “You lied to me. I asked you what was really going on. And you lied.” His brown eyes stared deeply into her green eyes — studying her.
“I— I can’t talk to you about him, Bryce.” She wrapped her arms around her torso, folding in on herself. “I know you tell me I can but I— I just can’t.” Her eyes dropped down to her shoes.
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t fair!” She raised her voice, her jaw clenched tightly, “Bryce, every time something bad happens with Ethan I run to you. When I didn’t want to admit to myself how I felt about him, I went to you. When he rejected me, when he quit, when he flew to a different continent literally just to get away from me. I keep boomeranging back to you Bryce. And it’s not fair.”
The small space of the supply closet turned quiet as they both thought.
Jordynne broke the silence as she finally looked back up at him, her voice croaking out, “So no I don’t want to talk to you about Ethan. Because it reminds me of what an atrocious person I am.”
“You’re not a bad person Jordynne.” Bryce shook his head at her, reaching a tan hand out and brushing a piece of her hair away.
She closed her eyes at his touch, doing her best to not lean into it, “I am Bryce. I have been to you.“
“I think... I think that you’re human. And things got complicated. And that I decided it was worth the complication — your feelings and relationship with Ramsey included.” He used a knuckle to raise her chin, putting her attention back on him, “But I need you, to be honest with me. Is there something between us? Or did I just invent that?”
“No.. of course there is Bryce. But I... but there’s something between Ethan and I too. Or there was.” She grabbed onto his hand, holding onto it as she took a deep breath. “You’re one of my best friends Bryce. And you’re more than that. And that’s why I need to say this. I think we should stop the “more” between us. For now. Until I — until I can figure how to stop complicating everything. And I can’t do that if we ...”
“Okay.” He said, interrupting her with his honey voice. He was nodding at her — his dark eyes focusing on her as he placed his steady hands on her shoulders.
She let out the breath she was holding, staring up at him in disbelief, “Okay? Just like that. Why are you so agreeable?”
“Puppy dog remember?” He gave her a half-smile, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looked down for a moment. “I’d thought you would’ve figured out by now I’m not going anywhere, Jordy.”
_____________________________________________________________________
Ethan hesitated for a moment — looking at the group of people sitting and chatting by the fire. He could join them — if he wanted.
Shaking his head, he plopped himself down on a stool on the edge of the campsite. Tucked away, and out of sight.
He pulled out the pocket-sized translation book from his chest pocket and started thumbing through it in the dim light from nearby lanterns.
“May I?” A voice asked from behind him.
Ethan stifled the sigh that almost escaped him. Straining his neck, he turned to see Dr. Adébáyọ̀ standing sheepishly, waiting for his response next to the empty stool beside him. He grunted in response, closing his book and slipping it back into his pocket.
The pair sat in silence for a moment, staring off at the distant campfire and taking sips of their drinks from their steel water bottles.
“Do you mind me asking why you came here, Dr. Ramsey?” The other doctor's voice broke the silence.
Ethan furrowed his brows, “Why?”
“I’m curious.” He shrugged, looking over to him.
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“But satisfaction brought it back.” The man retorted quickly. “Humor me.”
Ethan remained silent — keeping his eyes on the lid of his water bottle.
“Okay — I’ll go first. I came here to practice, of course. Help with research. But I came here for selfish reasons too.” Dr. Adébáyọ̀ settled into his seat as he spoke. “My family emigrated from Nigeria when I was 8. We lived in the UK, Canada, America. We traveled all over the world. But never South America. My father died last Spring. He always wanted to come here. So I signed up for him. It’s sentimental but — I’m glad I did.” He smiled up at the night sky that was glittering with white stars.
“I’m sorry about your father.” Ethan finally replied, looking over at his comrade.
“Me too,” He nodded, a sad smile on his face. “So are you going to tell me why the Ethan Ramsey left his fancy office in Edenbrook for tents in the Amazon?”
The Ethan Ramsey.
He hated that.
He hid his white-knuckled fists at his sides. “I am a diagnostician. I came to diagnose and treat Malaria and other ailments.” He used his practiced voice.
“And that’s it? You are a doctor and nothing else. What are you running from?”
Ethan remained silent for a long moment. He had been avoiding thinking about it this entire time. Why he had flown all the way out here. Abandoned his regular life to sit in a tent all day in the Amazon.
Out of sight, out of mind.
But he could feel his stomach twisting — a gnawing.
“Not what.”
“Hmm?” The other man was so shocked at him speaking, he barely heard him.
“Not what. Whom— whom I’m running from.” He let out a heavy sigh.
“I see. And this person... They are family?” Dr. Adébáyọ̀ asked with a raised brow.
He shook his head.
“Ah, I see. Matters of the heart.” He span around on his stool, so he was facing him more, “You are not together anymore?”
“We — we never got the chance to be together in the first place. Not really. She — we’re coworkers.” He admitted.
“That could be complicated.”
“And when I get back I’ll be her boss.”
“That’s more complicated.”
“Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper as he admitted this all out loud.
“What are you going to do? Coming here is doing what?” He questioned — his eyebrows furrowed as he studied Ramsey in the dim light.
“Delaying the inevitable.” He took a swig from his water bottle, gulping it down, “I’ll have to face her eventually.”
“And when you do?”
He avoided the question, “I just keep thinking to myself what if things were different. If she worked at a different hospital, if we met at a conference instead...”
“Do you want to hear something that was told to me? The universe sends us exactly what we need, right when we need it.”
Ethan let out a sad laugh, remembering Teresa saying the same words to him. “A patient told me the same thing once.”
“And is she? What you need, right when you needed it?”
Ethan thought to the past year. He couldn’t have handled Delores without her. She helped him process and navigate the Naveen situation. Hell, she saved the man too.
She grounded him — brought him back down to Earth. Yet had never had more ups and downs in his life before meeting Jordynne Holland.
He couldn’t have planned for any of it. But he wouldn’t take it back either.
“She — she’s everything I need that I never knew I wanted.“
“It sounds like you have an answer.”
“I don’t — because I’m not what she needs.” Ethan hung his head back for a moment, pursing his lips as he looked up at the inky black sky.
_______________________________________________________________________
She had forgotten how easy it was with Bryce Lahela.
How contagious his smile was. How infectious his laughter was. How easy it was to fall for him.
She was starting to remember why it had been so easy to make out with him in that closet after only knowing him for a few hours. What those early days were like — sneaking away together, watching movies in bed, remembering each other’s burger orders. Before she had made a mess of things.
The entire group was laid out on a couple spread out blankets at the park across the street from the apartment. They had packed some snacks and music — and were all basking in the sun, enjoying each other’s company.
Jordynne was sitting with her knees to her chest — smiling down at the blanket as she listened to Bryce’s warm chuckle reverberate through her. He was sprawled next to her, teasing Sienna about Danny.
Jackie, Elijah, and Aurora were in the blanket next to them — arguing over who has the best taste in music as they passed the speaker around.
She knew what she and Bryce had decided. And they had honored that over the past month. They were still friends — after everything the pair had gone through in the last year, she felt like she could always rely on that fact. They still hung out altogether, and a few times alone too. But sometimes she would catch herself staring at him a little too long, or laughing at his joke a little harder than anyone else.
The tune of an ice cream truck nearby snapped her back to reality as her friends buzzed with childlike excitement. “Ooo! Let’s get some for dessert!” Sienna jumped up, a wide smile on her face.
“Good idea,” Bryce stretched his arms behind him to push himself up, the hem of his shirt pulling up just enough that beginnings of his tan abs were revealed. Jordynne bit her lip as she watched him get up, “What does everyone want?”
“Chocolate!” Elijah said eagerly, his eyebrows raising up on his forehead.
“Gotta go classic — vanilla please Lahela.” Jackie gave him an unusually warm smile as she looked up at him.
“Got it. Mint chocolate chip Jordy?” He asked, looking down at her expectantly.
“Um, yeah. Thanks.” She blinked in surprise at him knowing before a small smile spread across her face. Bryce Lahela knew her way too well.
Once they had returned with their frozen treats, the group sat together in a circle. Eating fast as the treats started melting over their fingers on the sunny summer day. Bryce had sat next to her again — his bare knee touching hers as they sat crossed legged. It was comforting. And maybe a little distracting.
Jordynne dared a glance at him, to only find him already looking at her. Her breath caught a little as he let out a little chuckle.
“Oh, you gotta little’,” He pointed his finger at his mouth, indicating she had something on her own, “Here I’ll get it.
He reached forward, his hand moving up to her face — his thumb gently swiped at the corner of her mouth, wiping away the melted ice cream. Jordynne unconsciously parted her lips as his thumb traced the curve of them. Their eyes finding each other during the few seconds — holding each other’s gaze.
Sienna coughed awkwardly — breaking the moment.
“You get it?” Jordynne asked, blinking herself back to reality.
He smiled sheepishly at her, “Yeah, I did.” Her eyes fell to the ground before his did, her face flushing a deep pink.
Sienna grabbed onto Jordynne’s shoulder, turning her attention, “Hey Jordynne, I need to wash my hands. Come with me?”
“Oh,” She tried to hide the surprise on her face, “Sure.” She followed Sienna’s quick march to the public restrooms across the park.
“Uhhh, so I thought you guys were gonna cool it?” She asked with one eyebrow raised as they entered the restrooms.
“What? We are — nothings happened.” She shrugged in reply as she headed to the sink.
“Suuuuuure,” The word dragged on with a tone of disbelief, “You looked like you were about two seconds away from sucking each other’s face.”
She shook her head, “We’re just friends right now Sienna.”
“Mhmmm.” Her friend sounded like she still didn’t believe her.
“I mean it.”
She watched as Sienna turned on her heel and headed into one of the dark green stalls. “I’m just saying friends don’t look at each other like that.”
“You should talk. Aren’t you and Danny “just friends”?” She retorted. She grinned a little when she got no reply.
As she waited, Jordynne pulled out her phone from her back pocket. Her thumbs swiped over her keyboard quickly as she replied to the lengthy group chat between Kenzie, Carter and Jason. God, she missed them.
She started scrolling aimlessly through pictogram, liking photos of friends and scenery back home. Her homesickness was starting to become intolerable.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she scrolled passed a photo quickly — not quite believing what she saw. Scrolling back up, she felt a pang in her chest as she realized she saw it right.
It was Ethan.
The World Health Organization had posted it — whom she followed long before he volunteered with them and flown off to a different continent. He was in the corner of a white tent — his mouth pressed in a firm line as he listened to the slightly out of focus patient sat in front of him.
He looked more rugged — his stubble darker and longer than she had ever seen it. His skin had a golden tinge to it from spending time in the Brazilian sun. It was weird to see him out of his usual button-up shirt and jacket — he was wearing a soft henley instead, showing off the lines of his neck and shoulders.
She swallowed her feelings down as she realized the most important thing about the photo. He looked fine. His usual Ethan Ramsey self. He wasn’t torn up about leaving. He clearly didn’t look like he was having sleepless nights, worrying about what happened to them, what was going to happen to them.
Not that she was doing that anymore.
Well, not as often. She was trying.
Jordynne blinked away at the tears welling in her green eyes — staring up at the tacky fluorescent lighting in the public restroom.
“Hey — you okay?”
She felt Sienna’s warm fingers grab onto her wrist gently. Her coffee coloured eyes were filled with worry.
Jordynne mustered on a smile, squeezing her eyes shut to get rid of any lingering tears. “Oh, yeah yeah. I’m fine.” She reassured — sliding her phone back into her back pocket quickly, “Just my allergies with all the pollen.”
Sienna looked up at Jordynne, her eyebrows still meeting in the middle a bit from concern, “Okay.. you good to head back to the others?”
“Of course. Everything’s good.” She lied through her teeth, forcing a smile onto her face a lot easier then she thought she could.
_____________________________________________________________________
A couple of days off in the nearby port town did Ethan a lot more good than he had expected. Santarem was gorgeous — it had been a long time since he had been able to visit somewhere new as just that, a visitor. Not a doctor — he had no busy conferences or meetings or lectures to attend. And there were definitely no tents for taking RPDs for Malaria — thankfully he got to take a break from that.
He could barely remember the last time he had just gone somewhere to enjoy being there.
That’s why when he saw the sign for motorcycle rentals, he had marched straight towards the shop.
Now he was riding along the coastline — the wind wiping around him as the fine machine purred down the road. The green leather jacket he had purchased was still a little tight — it needed to be broken in. But he had liked the way he felt in. How he felt on the bike.
A little jolt of pain went through his face — and Ethan realized it was because he was smiling. So wide that it was hurting.
Pulling over on to the side of the road, he used the toe of his boot to put up the kickstand. Maneuvering around a few rocks he made his way to the shoreline.
He stood there for a moment — putting his hands into his jeans’ pockets and soaking in the Amazon river in all its glory.
Pulling out his phone he took a photo of the scenic view of the river. He hadn’t touched the device since he came to South America — airplane mode staying on constantly to stop any reminders of Boston to come creeping in. Then he twisted around and took a picture of his rented motorbike. The only photos of his trip so far — and they were moments he would want to remember.
Without the wind wiping around him, he felt hot in his leather jacket. Shrugging it off, he laid it out onto the sand and sat on it — his arms resting on his knees as he looked out at the water.
And then it hit him.
Miami.
Sitting on that beach with Jordynne — sharing the tiny space of his tuxedo jacket. Closing his eyes he could still remember the feeling and weight of her resting her head against his shoulder. Or the way her green eyes had stared into his — trying so desperately to read him, to see if he was feeling the same things as her on that quiet beach.
Snapping his eyes open again, he let out a loud sigh — his eyebrows furrowing in anger with himself. He had been enjoying himself — finally, he had a moment of solace and he let that memory creep in to ruin it.
Why had it taken him so long to find that solace? Over a month of being here — away from all of it, Boston, the hospital, Naveen, her. And still, he was battling it. Constantly — every day.
His body twisted with want, and anguish and frustration.
It — they — she had so much power over him still. Even 3200 miles away in a different timezone, a different continent. And that’s what scared him the most. It terrified him.
Ethan took a hard swallow, trying to stop the emotion that was climbing up his throat making it harder to breathe.
Part 3
#open heart#open heart fic#open heart fanfiction#choices#choices open heart#choices oh#choices fanfic#choices fanfiction#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey fanfiction#ethan ramsey x mc#mc x ethan ramsey#bryce lahela#bryce lahela x mc#mc x bryce lahela
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STAR WARS Episode 8 - The Last Jedi
Only read after watching The Mandalorian s2 e8
Imagine a Lucasfilm Story Group that has actually worked as a group since 2015. Chuck Wendig’s draft of the first Aftermath novel has been roundly mocked and pulped before ever being committed to print. This isn’t about that, though. This is the germination of the story seed that is planted in The Mandalorian, so join me as we explore one of the possibilities that could have happened within the Star Wars universe: What If Grogu (the Child/Baby Yoda) first appeared in TLJ?
Ahch-To, the steps. Luke Skywalker regards his guest Rey with a quizzical expression, telling her simply but firmly “I can’t take that, but there is a place for it somewhere...” and the two move inside Luke’s little hut. Passing by a large levitating pod, Rey (and the audience) experiences mental flashes of meeting Finn. Smash-cut to Finn himself waking up in the recovery suit in the med-bay. Finn/Rose/whatever sub-plot (this post isn’t about fixing THAT car-crash, let it marinate) ensues, does what it does. This timeline’s Rian Johnson, however, is co-existing with LFL’s Story Group and especially Dave Filoni. They’ve cooked up one hell of an A-plot, and it continues thusly:
Rey never sees what is in the pod, and begins to wonder if Luke is messing with her or starting to go a little peculiar from isolation, on account of how he talks to it. In fact, something is starting to make her feel slightly more at ease. Maybe even a little guilty when Luke’s mood turns sombre and he says, “I know. About Han, and Ben...” We maybe even get a little nostalgia-boost by Luke opting to use the training remote and blast-shield helmet to start training Rey. It’s like poetry, it rhymes.
All through this time, Luke has not withdrawn himself from the Force out of shame. He has always kept himself open to it, learning from the spirits of his teachers. The night that Rey decides to leave and try to aid the Resistance (or to confront Kylo Ren for her own reasons) is the night that Luke receives a visitation from two very unexpected spirits.
That’s right, y’all. The first Force ghost appearance of a non-Force-sensitive character in the Saga. Padmé and Anakin show up to give Luke the news that some strange, dark figure has attempted to kill Leia by shooting at her private chamber on the Resistance flagship, only for Luke to not understand why they don’t know the attacker’s name. “You don’t need to hide it, to protect him. You know, as well as I do, that it was Ben!” Anakin shares a concerned look with the spirit of his wife, and the next thing he says would absolutely blow the cinema audience out of every single seat in the house. “Luke? Son, listen to me. Who is this Ben?”
That’s right. Anakin Skywalker, the former Sith Lord Darth Vader, has absolutely no idea that our sequel trilogy’s Vader-like antagonist (his own grandson) even exists. Even as the Force ghosts watching over Luke and Leia and their families for all this time, both Padmé and Anakin explain that from their perspective, something is bending the Force itself around Ben Solo, pulling him away from not only the Light side, but also from its Dark side. “The boy, Ben Solo, is living his entire life surrounded by a wound in the Force. This wound, it’s very subtly, slowly eating him!”
Luke is still in shock from hearing the ghosts of his parents telling him what is happening to Kylo Ren. Rey is trying to keep him out but the villain is urged by his twisted Master, the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Their telepathic communication is picked up on by Luke, who all at once sees what has truly become of his nephew. Ben Solo appears to his uncle, surrounded by tendrils that look like animated cracks in a pane of window glass. This is the wound in the Force, and its presence is felt most strongly by the eldest living Force-sensitive on the island of Ahch-To. A short cry splits the cracked and bleeding image of Kylo Ren and Rey wakes with a sudden start. Luke is frowning as he looks toward the floating cradle, then he makes his decision. We (and Rey) are about to meet the 100 % physical in-camera puppet. Cast and crew are made to sign an infinite supply of Non-Disclosure Agreements, Rian Johnson is talked into only letting Mark Hamill, Daisy Ridley and the puppeteers onto the sets while everybody else is shooting their things.
The cradle pod swings back its protective lid slowly, and there he is making his debut before an audience that paid full movie theater (remember those?) ticket prices. Exuding full fucking “Gizmo in the box on the coffee table” energy, the Child glances sleepily between Rey and Luke. This is why the legendary Jedi Master left the civilized New Republic, he tells Rey. The massacre of his first generation of Jedi students, the betrayal by his nephew, all of it would have been for nothing if he couldn’t save one very important life. Rey is sworn to protect the Child, who is old enough now to speak his own name. “Grogu? Is that what he said?” “One of his protectors told me it’s his name, right before telling me how I looked just like my father. We had a pretty good laugh about that...”
Leia/Poe/Holdo subplot, and [THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH WILL ONLY INCITE SHOUTY BEARDO YOUTUBERS TO SCISSOR THE HEADS OFF ACTION FIGURES THEY BUY WITH THEIR OWN MONEY, THEREFORE IT IS CENSORED TO SHIELD THE AUTHOR FROM PROSECUTION]
Before the Holdo manoeuvre, the Hyperspace Karen or whatever you want to call it, Rey acts out the plan that she and Luke have concocted in secret so that Chewbacca in the Millennium Falcon can safely evacuate both Luke and Grogu. Rey hasn’t been told about the wound in the Force that swirls around Kylo Ren, but for some reason she can now see the same churning mass of tiny cracks in reality, and they spread out behind the Supreme Leader Snoke in much the same manner that Palpatine’s throne sat before the spiderweb-looking window of his tower on the Death Star. This is it, we think. Snoke is the wound in the Force drawing Ben away from his true self. Even as the lightsabre that Rey brought with her ignites and strikes Snoke dead, the audience is thinking along with Rey that the wound is going to close up.
IT GETS BIGGER. AND IT FUCKING CONSUMES SNOKE’S BISECTED CORPSE LIKE A SHADOW VERSION OF THE THING FROM THE 1982 MOVIE
So no. Rey sees it happen, but Kylo remains completely oblivious as he takes up leadership of the First Order. Something about the way he accuses Rey of the murder makes us think he really believes it too. As Rey narrowly escapes, haunted by the sight of the living animalistic wrongness that ate Supreme Leader Snoke, General Hux is rather confused. “Forgive me, ah, Supreme Leader. But you are the first Supreme Leader of the First Order. There was never a previous holder of that position, my Lord.” I know! Right!?
The Resistance’s last ships have limped along the supply line to the long-abandoned old Rebel holdout on the silicate world of Crait. The wreckage of Snoke’s flagship the Supremacy, hangs in space, permanently suspended in the wake of the Holdo manoeuvre. From the epicentre, a single pinprick of darkness begins to expand hungrily to devour the light from the hyperspace explosion. The great wound left in the Force crawls across the destroyed vessel, the thinnest tendril of its immense darker-than-space form now separated from Kylo Ren. Or, so it would seem, anyway... Reunited with Rey, Luke gives her an understanding nod when she informs him of how the lightsabre of his father was literally ripped in half by the destruction of Snoke’s flagship. Some of the elder members of the Resistance don’t have the slightest clue what Rey’s mysterious words mean. As far as they know, Kylo Ren has been the brutal enforcer of the First Order, only recently declaring himself the first Supreme Leader of the faction. Finn and Rose both speak up in defense of Rey, both of them surprised to hear that Leia also knew of Snoke’s death and the destruction of the flagship by her erstwhile friend, Amilyn Holdo.
Nobody can agree what happened, because a large subset of Resistance personnel share vague, half-formed memories of things as Luke, Rey or Leia tells them. No droids, or Chewbacca, share their recollections, and uneasy looks pass between members of the post-war generation and the Skywalker twins. It’s a quirk of the Force! Every sentient born after the death of Emperor Palpatine, the unfortunately waylaid Maz Kanata informs them via hologram, possesses a significantly higher potential for Force abilities than the generation who grew up on the fringes of the rise of the Empire, the clamp-down on Jedi and suspected Jedi.
It would seem that this Force baby boom did not extend to First Order space (being mostly disaffected ex-Imperials, their families would be more careful to weed out any aberrations in the bloodline and try not to be of interest to the Emperor) as only Kylo Ren, their rightful Supreme Leader and master of the Knights of Ren demonstrates any ability to touch the Force. That voice that only he can hear in the presence of Darth Vader’s ruined helmet tells him, its tone and pitch and cadence shifting (starting as the booming bass rumble of Vader’s synthesized voice before being joined by the harsh rasp of Snoke. The low, menacing tone of Maul and the cackling, wheezing Palpatine.) Power is the only thing worth holding onto. Let the past die, kill it if you have to. Cut out the weakness that keeps you bound to things like family...
“This is not going to go the way you think.”
Driven on by the maddening chorus of voices, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has now managed to track his hated Resistance opposition to the deserted world of Crait. Ships entering the vicinity of the mysterious hyperspace blackout are slowly consumed, vanishing into the great wound and becoming officially non-existent. Alone against his crazed nephew, the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker steps out onto the crystalline plain before the bulkhead doors of the former Rebel base. He cannot be hit by the guns of the lumbering walkers that his errant nephew orders to fire on him. Kylo’s attempts to telekinetically barrage Luke with the salted earth of Crait simply do not phase the man. As he calmly reminds Kylo: “The Rebellion is reborn today. The war is just beginning. And I will not be the last Jedi.” Kylo Ren’s dangerously unstable lightsabre blade harmlessly passes over Luke as he ducks out of its reach. Finally, the angry young man seizes his moment and lashes out at Luke’s midsection. Nothing?
The Jedi Master nods his head slowly, the camera pulling back to reveal him sat in a meditative posture atop a flat-headed rock just off the shore of his home island on Ahch-To. Focusing his will through the Force, Luke appears not only in front of Kylo Ren, but also between Leia and Rey inside the base. The two of them in turn are surrounded by a loose semi-circle of the younger, more Force-sensitive recruits of the Resistance including Finn and Rose Tico. All of them, opening their conscious selves to the Force, are helping to shoulder the burden that Luke has taken on. Proudly, Luke slowly rises from his seat and sends a mocking salute to Kylo. “See ya ‘round, kid...”
The last supplies are loaded onto what few Resistance carriers and short-range fighters they have left, as well as the famous Millennium Falcon. Rey and Grogu both agree that their first priority is to properly re-establish contact with Luke Skywalker. Furious, Kylo retreats to his ship-board meditation chamber, pounding his gloved fists into the ashes surrounding the remnants of Vader’s helmet. Cursing the scavenger girl seems to spark some interest in the bizarre otherworldly whispers, the flash-image of Rey in the dark young man’s thoughts prompting the inner voice to remark, “We shall be re-united soon enough. Yes, you will see what new powers I possess in time, sister...”
SMASH TO END CREDITS!
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Reader x Jihyun Kim {MysMes} - Letters to Heal a Broken Heart
Title: Letters to Heal a Broken Heart
Fandom: Mystic Messenger
Character: Jihyun Kim
Genre: bittersweet? romance
Warnings: spoilers for his good ending!
Intended Gender Audience: Neutral Audience
Word Count: 2040 words
POV: second person
Other comments: no smut but im proud of this! please note that everything with the push back is a letter! i think its pretty clear, but i wanted to make sure it’s understood <3
Written by: @mythiica
Req:
Dear –
I’ll admit, it feels a bit strange writing a letter for you, but my therapist recommended it. He told me to explain my emotions with words, saying it would help me become more confident.
See, the reasoning behind it, at least from what I remember, is that there is no pressure to think quickly. Writing allows a flow, a sense of movement between the words before you pick which one you wish to use. Talking is different because it follows a completely contrasting rhythm. To keep a conversation going, you have to speak rather quickly so the person stays engaged in the topic.
It’s all really interesting, and my therapist has given me a book over the fundamentals of other practices like this. I read half of it on the plane to Japan.
To clarify, I’m writing this from my hotel room in Tokyo. I landed a few hours ago and the jet lag has yet to hit me, so I decided to take advantage of this time to write.
I think you’d like it here – the sakura are in full bloom and I have three days dedicated to photographing the sea of pinks as they ripple in the wind. Until now, I’ve only seen pictures of the famous parks, and I never thought that I would be able to witness them in person.
I didn’t think I’d
I never conside
Ah, I should mention, I’m not allowed to erase or cross out sentences I start. Another confidence booster? It’s a bit sillier, but it’s meant to force me to say what is on my mind, rather than letting it fester. I’ll try again:
During my years under Mint Eye, my vision was narrowed, and I had only one duty. However, I am learning to broaden my horizons and expand my mind to encompass everything. The urge to explore bubbles in my chest, waiting for the moment to come out. There are so many chances to do anything, and I’ve got all the time to do all of it.
I’ve also realized that I went over my word limit. I have to stick to 300 words or under. Confidence booster #3! Express yourself with less words. Take a guess of how many times I’ve opened the thesaurus, looking for better synonyms for words? At least seven times in the past five minutes. It’s crazy!
For now, I’ll sign this off and try better next time.
よりご多幸を祈って
Jihyun Kim
PS, I’m practicing my Japanese! That says best wishes… I think.
नमस्कार
Hello and greetings from India! I took a long nap on the plane, and forgot to write. Although I’m only passing through, I ate some delicious food (that I should really try to replicate for you). India is absolutely beautiful – from the sunrises to the bustling markets to the colorful fabrics hung at every corner. I’ll inhale the air and smell six things at once, albeit, not all of them are the best, but I embrace it nonetheless.
More about what I’ve been doing: funnily enough, my phone died on the bus ride, but I made a new friend named Sunmi, and she was kind enough to lend me her charging cable. Instead of ending the interaction there, we spoke for a few hours at least. I learned she was traveling with her friends on a photography excursion. She gave me all the information, and I’d like to look into it when I have wifi again.
You wouldn’t believe what they’ve seen! Last year they went to Antarctica through South America. She got to pet a penguin! Apparently the company also takes people to Greenland and New Zealand – some places I’ve been dreaming of visiting since I was a young boy.
I’ll use my last 100 words to mention that… I’ve gotten a bit homesick. I miss the RFA – well, the people from the RFA minus…
Don’t tell Jumin about the company though, he’ll insist on flying me around with his private jet. I want to experience for myself. Saeyoung is somehow messaging me when I don’t have service? I don’t… understand. Anyways, I also saw Zen landed a huge international role (someone had a magazine on the plane). Otherwise, I hope Jaehee and Yoosung are well. And Elizabeth the 3rd of course. Send them my wishes.
I didn’t forget about you though! The keychain you gave me reminds me of home every day. It might have lost an eye, but I found a button and stitched it on. And I also wanted to ask you–
Ah, I’m over again.
Next time.
Jihyun Kim
Iyi günler! I am in Turkey now and actually writing this on a boat. The sun is setting over the horizon, making the sky change colors with every passing minute. It’s breathtaking, but I wish you were here with me. The other passengers and I take turns standing at the front of the boat, and I sometimes linger, trying to take pictures.
Good news! My vision is getting better. I’ve been taking some Greek herbal remedies, and the seem to be helping. Either that, or they have a wonderful placebo effect. Has that ever happened to you? To think something is working, but you’re just imagining things?
I apologize, maybe that stirred bad memories for you.
Back to Turkey: I stepped out of my comfort zone and spent a night camping. Honestly? I was terrified of doing so, but now I want to do it every night. It is the perfect temperature for hiking, even though I am a bit sunburned.
So many people have been commenting on my hair. Good things mostly, and I started styling it with a bit of gel to keep it out of my eyes. It feels good to look people directly rather than through a curtain.
What are you up to? Hosting anymore parties? I imagine that you are keeping busy, as always of course. My therapist said it would be best to wait messaging you until I return home. I nearly called you a week ago, but I didn’t want to break my vow. It’s like lying to myself, and I know better than that now.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming.
Sending love,
J
I’m genuinely angry, but writing to you always calms me. Someone stole my bag – I luckily didn’t have much in it, but your keychain… can you make me a new one please? Now that I don’t have it, it’s almost like I’ve lost a part of you. It hurts a lot, but then I wonder if I am being silly. It’s just a keychain.
Otherwise, France is nice. I didn’t want to go to Paris, so instead I traveled through the countryside to visit a few wineries.
Yes, I did… drink a bit, but I wasn’t impaired when my bag was stolen!
You would laugh at me if I told you what happened, so I will save the story for another time. Before coming to France, I went through Germany and visited some of the most beautiful castles I’ve ever seen. They all looked like they could be straight from a fantasy movie set, and I was convinced one – Neuschwanstein Castle – actually was.
I’ve barely written anything despite so much happening.
I got a haircut (finally), because it was becoming a hassle to tie it back at night.
One evening, I fed some stray cats and they followed me home.
And a drunk (?) tried to play cards with me. But he didn’t have cards. He was dealing an imaginary deck.
Other stories will have to wait until I see you again, and I feel better now. It’s okay to be upset, but it won’t hinder my trip any more.
Je t'aime,
Jihyun
Alaska doesn’t have a night.
That’s not exactly true, but it’s basically true. The hotel has special curtains that block the light, and it is only dark for a few hours.
It has been many miles since I last wrote, but I was caught up in visiting show after event after party after exhibit through America. Their art has given me a new perspective on point of view and emotions, so I hope that the ten camera chips I’ve filled with photographs will be able to convey the same sense of awe.
I’ve also been mistaken for an idol? Like – multiple times. Interesting to say the least, maybe I’ll say yes to the next person that asks. What should my stage name be? I’ll spare you the embarrassment and not share my ideas. They are all very silly and no one would believe me if I told them my name was Cam Ra. Do you get it? It’s bad, I know.
I’ll be returning home soon, unless I get distracted or impulsive and go down to California and Hawaii before coming back. I want to – it doesn’t feel right to return just yet. But that doesn’t mean anything about you!
Really, I think about you and everyone else each day.
Have you met new people? We’ll exchange so many stories…
See you soon,
J K
You pace around, waiting for the last guest on the list to appear. The party started an hour ago, but he still has not arrived. Then again, it has been three months since anyone heard a whisper from V, and you start to lose hope. Swallowing hard, you remind yourself that V is having a wonderful time exploring the world and finding himself.
Taking a handful of your dress, you turn and head through the doors to the main room. Jumin tries to pull Saeyoung away from Longcat, Yoosung explains his most recent surgeries to a group of nurses from his work place, and Jaehee receives many compliments for her majestic cake.
Everyone is happy and has moved on.
You hope V has too.
Maybe all the wishing and praying finally paid off, because you hear his familiar voice calling out behind you. It’s a long shot, but you turn around nonetheless, thinking it is a different guest.
Instead, you see Jihyun, wearing the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen, running towards you. He’s carrying a folder filled with papers, but that doesn’t stop him from embracing you. He smells rugged, like his voyage has transformed him, but you rather like it.
“Jihyun!” You melt against his hug. “You’re.. Here… you’re here!”
Your squealing draws everyone’s attention, but he focuses on you and only you. “Of course I’m here. I missed you more than I can verbalize.”
His stance is open, welcoming, and confident, much different from two years ago. He is a different person now, brave and proud. Jihyun offers you the folder. It is strange to gift something in the middle of a party, but you accept it anyways, happy he has returned.
Jihyun’s heart races as he explains. “I wrote you letters every time I went somewhere new. These are just a few of them, really I have so many. But each shows something I’ve learned.” He takes a breath and laces his fingers with yours. “This is sudden, and I’m sure you will need time to think about it, but I’m trying something new: asking without being afraid. Over the past two years, I’ve… longed for you. Art has shown me the power of friendship, joy, perseverance, and most importantly, dedication. I want to dedicate my art to you, if you’ll stand by my side.”
You can’t find the words to express yourself because you are so awestruck. He truly has changed, but he has embraced himself and his life. Tears start to roll down your cheeks from the overwhelming surge of emotions. Jihyun brushes them away and presses his forehead to yours.
“I still have much to learn, but I want to do it all with you.”
“I’d like that a lot, Jihyun,” you whisper, captivated by his intense gaze.
“And I can finally say this without fear–”
You tip your head up, and Jihyun kisses you the next moment. His lips are chapped and the warmth radiating from his skin envelops you. He doesn’t need words to communicate it, because you understand perfectly what he is trying to say.
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5, 8, 20, 37 for the writer asks?
from this list
5. Share one of your strengths.
Plotting. Give me a niblet of an idea and I can plot the hell out of it into a full blown story, possibly a series! lol I love plotting, actually. I just wish writing was as easy in the end! :)
8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.
Oh wow. Let me see here ... Not exactly short, but this comes from Destiny’s Hand, the ME2 story for ShepShep, chapter called “Look Good for Dead” where Jane goes to see Wrex.
(also going under cut because this got loooooong! lol
“You humans,” he muttered as he walked back over to retake his seat. “Always trying to hide what can be so clearly seen.”
Jane remained where she was for a minute or two before following suit. She didn’t bother to ask him what he meant – that was clear enough. Instead, she opted to pick at one of his earlier comments. “So, you think I’m with Cerberus too?”
The krogan leader shrugged. “You have their ship; you have their people – does it really matter beyond that?”
The ‘chair,’ such as it was, allowed Jane to sit in a manner where she could draw one knee up to her chest so she could rest her arms against it as she eyed him. “You don’t care, then?”
“I have concerns,” he admitted, “but I know you.” His deep, reverberating chuckle started again. “No other human ever stood up to me like you did on Virmire.”
Jane blinked, startled by that remark. “Really?”
The krogan’s head bobbed once before his eyes narrowed and he gave her a menacing look. This lasted only a moment or two, however, until he sat back and laughed again. “See? You aren’t intimidated.”
Jane opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it just as quickly when she realized she didn’t have a response. He couldn’t be serious, could he? “Wrex …?”
He watched her closely as she struggled. “You don’t see it, do you?” he asked.
“See what?”
Head still shaking, he said, “You wound me, Shepard. Then again, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you intimidated by anyone.”
Jane blinked again. “I’m … not sure that I ever have been,” she replied. Frowning, she stared over at him for a moment. “Though, I seem to recall you giving a good effort the day we met on the Citadel.”
This time the krogan leader’s laughter was open and loud, a barking echo throughout the room. “You see what I mean?” He sighed and sat back. “That’s how I know you are you. You don’t back down from anyone. And, if rumors are to be believed, you headbutt like a true krogan.”
Jane gasped, her eyes widening. “You heard about that?”
“Shaman told me himself.” He gave her a toothy grin. “You’re the first human to impress him that much.”
Why am I so proud of it? I fucking LOVE WREX and writing him is such a challenge at times, but this chapter ended up coming so easily to me, I couldn’t believe it. I could ‘snippet’ the whole damned chapter for you I’m that proud of it, and that’s saying something because I’m so proud of that whole series, let alone the story itself.
I remember going into that chapter feeling intimidated at the thought of writing his voice. I stared at a blank page for almost TWO WEEKS before I finally started writing it. And once I started, once those first words were down .. the rest just flowed. And the dialogue - omg, dialogue isn’t always easy for me. Sometimes it is, but most of the time it’s like pulling teeth. Still, occasionally I hit a Zen zone, and that chapter was one of them. The relationship between Jane and Wrex in it is just ... it’s beautiful.
Here’s another snippet from that chapter - none of them can be short because one thing just flows into another into another, and I just ... AAAHHHHH!!!
Lifting her head, she turned to find him watching her intently. “Just say the word, Shepard,” he rumbled, “and I’ll send a squad of Urdnot warriors to shake some sense back into him.”
Jane sat still as a mouse; her eyes wide. “Wrex …?” His name escaped as a bare whisper.
He folded his arms across his broad expanse of a chest and nodded once firmly. “Don’t think I won’t do it, either.”
A hesitant smile twitched at the left corner of her lips even as a few tears leaked from her eyes. Sniffling softly, she murmured his name again, this time in appreciation.
His expression shifted to a scowl. “I’m trying to help you here, Shepard!”
Laughter managed to work its way into the mix as Jane swiped her hands across her face. “I know you are, you bellowing bulk, and I can’t thank you enough for it!” she shouted right back at him. Lowering her hands, she returned the scowl as best she could, nodding at him once. “I … appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”
Wrex moved his hands to her shoulders. “You don’t want him back?”
Jane shrugged. “I do, but I want him back because he wants to be back,” she explained. “Forcing him back doesn’t help either of us.” She sighed, her smile curving just a tick more up on the left side. “But I appreciate that you want to help me. I really do.”
“Bah!” His scowl deepened and he yanked his arms away, turning to stalk across the room. When he returned a couple of minutes later, he had two more cups of Ryncol in his hand. “You have done more to help me and the krogan than anyone else ever has,” he insisted. “And rumor has it, the Reapers are going to try again.”
Jane stiffened, her eyes focused on the pouring liquid even as dread filled the pit of her stomach. “You – you heard about that, too?”
“Common sense,” he said as he handed one cup to her. “We might have defeated Sovereign, but he was only one. A scout. Scouts are sent ahead of the main forces to report back what they find. Since Sovereign won’t be reporting back, logic says those who sent him have to follow.” Glittering eyes, as if anticipating the fight, focused on her. “If we’re going to have to face more of those bastards and find a way to win, we need you leading the way.”
Jane’s breath caught in her lungs as the full impact of his words hit her. He believes me! “Wrex …”
The war leader sighed again, shaking his head. “And if you’re going to do that, you need to have your head on right,” he bellowed, cutting her off again. “That means you and your husband back together so you can focus on more important things …”
Jane’s lips twitched. “Like saving the krogan?” she asked.
“Impudent pup!” His scowl faded in the next second and he chuckled. Lifting his cup, he amended, “Maybe helping the krogan save the galaxy. Again.”
Jane’s lips formed a full-fledged grin now. “I see.” Her eyes dropped to the cup in her hand. “So … what are we drinking to this time?”
“You really don’t want me to send a squad or two after him?”
A bittersweet ache worked its way through Jane. “No,” she managed after a long moment, “I really don’t. But … thank you.” She lifted her head to find him nodding once at her. “Really, Wrex. No one has ever offered –.”
He swiped his free hand between them. “And it’s doubtful you’ll ever get that kind of an offer again,” he groused. “Especially, if you don’t quit the mushy stuff!”
Her head slanted slightly to the left, Jane asked, “Would it get you off Tuchanka and back into the fight?”
“Hah!”
Jane lifted her cup, eyeing it closely. There appeared to be about the same amount of liquid in it as before. Pulling together her last threads of bravery, she raised it in his direction. “To … Clan Urdnot,” she said, smiling, “and their leader.”
Wrex lifted his, knocking it against hers. “To Commander Shepard,” he corrected, “who at heart is Clan Urdnot.”
See what I mean???
20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.
Home alone, no cats or kids, music playing, a pot of hot tea that STAYS hot as long as I need it and all the time in the world to just sit and write ....
Or, alternatively, a notebook and pen and wherever I get an idea. I’m not picky. :P Seriously, I can write almost anywhere. I’ve learned to tune things out or listen to music on my phone if I have to drown it out. I’ve had more luck sitting in McAlister’s on lunch and writing most of a chapter than at home sometimes. (not of late, though, sadly)
37. Talk about your current wips.
I KNOW WHY YOU ASKED THIS ONE! HAHAHAHA
Okay, so ... I have a LOT of WIPs at the moment, and I just had a couple more Shepards end up on my doorstep, putting me at a solid #100 on my spreadsheet. Beyond that, I have a number of Dragon Age WIPs, plus some original fics going. One of these days, I’ll finish something! lol Too many ideas, not enough time!!!
So ... a specific WIP ... Hmm ... Well, let me just say that the Biotic Pinball Wizard group - collection of WIPs over there, I swear! lol - is one of the most interesting ones I’ve come up with. Writing the Reaper War from a perspective of being on Earth?! What was I thinking???? (oh, that’s right, Anderson’s little visits in game inspired me :P ) I’m really enjoying the challenge. Funny enough, this one isn’t as plotted through as most of my fics are. There just wasn’t enough time, plus it’s so complex, I’ve relied a lot on my inspiration throughout Nano this year to help expand it - and it’s coming along quite nicely, to be honest. I have a number of chapters partly/mostly written. I have been able to flesh out some plot points that desperately needed it, plus develop the antagonist side of things (beyond just the Reapers). Characters are falling into place. Honestly, while more challenging than I originally intended for this year’s Nano to be, it’s been well worth it and I look forward to continuing with the story even beyond Monday’s finishing point! Having Shepard, Kaidan, James and Kandra together as my core group of personalities has worked really well, too.
#Fic Writer Questions meme#ladya writes#on writing#thank you so much for asking!!!#jedirangerpenguin
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Headcanon - Cam’s Thoughts on Emet-Selch and Emet-Selch’s on Cam
Obviously all spoilers for ShB and 5.3! Read at your own risk.
Also, wow, this is 5 pages long. I knew it felt like it took a long time to write >_>
TL;DR - after 5.3, Cam is like “WHEEEE I’M FREEEEE” and running around happily being a dork and feeling good about everything for the first time since the Empire invaded Eorzea (he was somewhere between 20 and 25 then; he’s 35 now). And Emet-Selch is like, “Oh, fine. :shrug.”
Cam’s thoughts on Emet-Selch and the events of ShB and 5.3 are the first 3/4s; scroll down about 3/4s for my take on Emet-Selch’s perspective.
Emet-Selch/Hades (canon, Unsundered Ascian from the Source, founder of the Garlean and Allagan Empires, and member of the Amaurotine Convocation; likely thousands of years old) - Prior to arriving in the Tempest and defeating both Emet-Selch under his true name and, later, Elidibus (though Elidibus never revealed his true name--it’s possible he no longer remembered it), Cam’s feelings toward Emet-Selch were incredibly straightforward--he wanted an excuse to punch him in the face and be done with him. Despite Emet-Selch’s willingness to aid the Scions in the First, including bringing Y’shtola back from her second self-imposed exile in the Lifestream, Cam saw absolutely no reason to trust him. Emet-Selch showed up when it was convenient to him, took the minimum action possible to ‘prove’ his good intentions towards the Scions, and dropped just enough information to unsettle the Scions but not to truly help them. It’s not hard to catch on to manipulation that obvious, and Cam had had enough experience with manipulation by the time he arrived in the First to call a spade (or an Ascian) a spade. If Lyse had been summoned to the First instead of Y’shtola and Urianger, Cam, Alisaie, and Lyse would have attacked and subdued Emet-Selch the instant he showed up; in retrospect, as is often the case, Cam regrets not listening to himself and choosing instead to assume Y’shtola and Urianger had more of the knowledge and expertise required to make decisions surrounding near-arcanic entities.
Still, some of Emet-Selch’s behavior did genuinely unsettle Cam. Cam might have expected Elidibus to approach him and try to make a deal with him, offer him support, or direct him towards a course of action--that’s what Elidibus seems to do, after all. But Emet-Selch was something new; he didn’t seem to fully be engaged in playing the part of the Ascian manipulator. He repeatedly invited Cam to engage with him, despite a surface veneer of disinterest and contempt, without any clear motivation for doing so. He didn’t seem to be seeking friendship or to ingratiate himself to Cam; whenever Cam *did* choose to take Emet-Selch’s invitation to talk privately, Emet-Selch would quickly push him away again, dismissing anything Cam had to say or simply pulling back into apparent boredom and apathy. Eventually Cam decided this must be another manipulation technique--something intended to keep Cam unbalanced and to play on any curiosity he might have about Ascians generally or Emet-Selch specifically. By the time they reached Mt. Gulg, Cam had largely decided not to engage with Emet-Selch; Emet-Selch’s asking whether Cam remembered Amaurot and hinting at his own memories of it and grief at its loss earlier had actually managed to get under Cam’s skin, and he wasn’t interested in letting the Ascian relate to him individually any longer. Being offered a chance at ascension and survival of all future Calamities at the cost of standing aside to let whole worlds die wasn’t something Cam wanted to hear more about.
Mt. Gulg sealed Cam’s belief that he should have trusted himself and attacked Emet-Selch when the Ascian first revealed himself. It also left Cam as angry at himself and the other Scions, and as determined to go off on his own and somehow finish *everything,* as he has ever been. Cam’s not a lone wolf or someone who believes he has to do things himself to protect others or preserve his ego; in fact, he’s more apt to think he *can’t* do things entirely on his own and doubt his abilities unless he has more scholarly or politically-savvy support at his side. Urianger and the Exarch’s secret plans, the Exarch’s being taken prisoner, and Cam’s own imminent full transformation into a Lightwarden, though, meant Cam felt the end coming. If he was going to end up as a monster, something that could never again be part of the world(s) he cared about, then he wanted to end it on his own terms. And that meant rescuing the Exarch, pushing aside the Scions (especially Urianger, who, once again, had kept secrets and been complicit in enabling others’ possibly unnecessary sacrifices), and destroying Emet-Selch. And then finding some way to imprison himself so that others would have the opportunity to kill him before he could do harm.
The Scions and the Crystarium’s residents as a whole brought him up short, of course, and checked his desire to dive headfirst into self-destruction. As he worked together with the other Scions to reach the Tempest, Cam’s anger began to give way to similarly uncharacteristic despair and distancing of himself from his friends--internally, in large part, though he did also begin holding himself physically apart from them whenever he was able to, always keeping a small ways ahead of the group or off to the side, often out of sight ‘scouting.’ Rescue the Exarch, destroy Emet-Selch, find some way to imprison the Lightwarden he would then become--Cam had stopped seeing anything beyond that. It would save his friends and possibly the First--or at least give them time to save themselves. And that was all Cam could hope for.
Reaching the Tempest and the recreated Amaurot made those feelings more intense, rather than less so. While the other Scions felt the sense of loss associated with being Sundered and close to reminders of Amaurot, Cam felt it with an almost crippling sharpness--enough so that he assumed it had to be related to his growing aether hunger and impending transformation and largely just tried to force himself through it rather than stop to examine it. Hythlodaeus’ revelation that Ardbert and Cam originated from the same Amaurotine--and one Hythlodaeus had once known well--didn’t really register around all of that pain. (Ardbert, on the other hand, did pay close attention to the news and drew his own conclusions from it, leading to his offering to Rejoin with Cam later.)
When Cam and the Scions finally confronted Emet-Selch and learned the full story of Amaurot and its fall, Cam still really didn’t have much emotional energy left to care. He’d fought people twisted by grief and the desire to re-create and relive the past before; this was just more of the same on a larger scale.
Only after Rejoining with Ardbert, surviving the fight, and having time to recover back in the Source did Cam actually start to think about who Emet-Selch and the Ascians were (or had been) and about the way Emet-Selch had related to him and how Cam himself had felt around the remembered city of Amaurot. He tentatively concluded that Emet-Selch--or, more accurately, Hades--had been testing Cam the whole time, both wanting and not wanting him to be whomever Hades and Hythlodaeus had once known. Maybe being able to contain the Light of all of the Lightwardens combined would somehow have convinced Hades that Cam was enough that person to be seen *as* a person and brought directly into the Ascians’ plans as an equal. Cam also suspects that Emet-Selch’s final reveal of his true name was a last-ditch attempt to see if Cam would suddenly “wake up” to being his Amaurotine ancestor if Emet-Selch revealed a name and form that person would have been certain to know.
In any case, Cam was relieved to have failed all of those tests. Whoever his soul (and Ardbert’s) might have been in the ancient past, those people had died long ago and passed their aether down to others who went on to live their own lives and be their own people. Escaping transforming into a world-devouring monster was good; escaping the attempts of ancient demi-gods to awaken a fellow demi-god in Cam and erase the significance of his own life and existence was *also* good. Cam was mostly left feeling frustration and regret that Emet-Selch, whether due to being Tempered or due to jaded bitterness (or both), couldn’t bring himself to just *tell* Cam about the person he saw in Cam and was trying to prod him into being. If you hold grief in for millennia and feel it’s impossible to share your memories and your sorrow with anyone else, of *course* it’s going to destroy you. Cam would have been happy to listen, as long as it didn’t come with the expectation of being or becoming the person he was hearing about.
Prior to Elidibus’ reemergence in Ardbert’s body, Cam hadn’t really talked about any of this with Cid, the Scions, or any other friends or family members. Following his first fight with Elidibus in Ardbert’s body in the Tempest and Hythlodaeus’ revealing the Convocation’s memory stones--including the stone of Azem, created by Hades out of love for his friend--, Cam felt resignation creep back in. Though he’d been given the stone, he didn’t use it; it was obvious to him, though, that he would almost certainly be forced to use it to defeat Elidibus. Which meant that the fate he thought he’d escaped--his existence being erased to give way to something inhuman and immortal--was still impending. In a way, Hades was going to win and get what he wanted even in death.
Contrary to Cam’s expectations, though, the final fight with Elidibus as the Warrior of Light incarnate and finally being forced to draw on the stone of Azem and play into Hades’ plans for him *lifted* those fears from Cam entirely. When the moment came when Cam finally had to draw on Azem’s stone to survive the Void, it didn’t overwrite his own personality or memories or change his feelings towards his family and friends or towards the Ascians he had fought for so long. Instead, he only felt a conviction that who he was and the path he was walking and continued to walk were in keeping with the path walked before and that whatever the past had been, it would stay in the past and do no more than help him continue to assert the right to forge his own way forward. Even feeling Azem’s voice within him was no stranger than speaking in Ardbert’s voice immediately after their Rejoining.
And whatever or whoever it was that appeared to lend Cam the power he needed to return from the Void and defeat Elidibus--whether it was Hades’ own stored version of a previous self, like his re-creation of Hythlodaeus, or the actual soul of Hades, lingering before finally passing into the Lifestream--it *did* significantly change Cam’s feelings about Hades. Together with Hades’ final request to remember Amaurot and the lives of those who had come before (but not to re-create and *become* them), Hades’ shade in its final appearance felt different from the Ascian Cam had hated. Instead of saving Cam *as* Azem, Hades brought Cam back to finish the fight as himself.
Following Elidibus’ defeat and the Scions’ triumphant return to the Source, Cam has had time to ask Cid, Y’shtola, and Urianger about Tempering and how and when its effect ends upon a soul’s physical death. They’ve all told him that no one, scientific researcher or arcane researcher/scholar, knows for certain, but Tempering does seem to end when a soul passes into the Lifestream and returns again. This has left Cam uncertain--was the Hades he’s now seen twice after the Ascian’s physical death finally free of Tempering? Even before returning to the Lifestream? Or was the specter that saved him from the Void the memory of a younger Hades--someone who still had some faith in his friends and in the future and some ability to change?
Regardless, defeating the last (to his knowledge) of the Unsundered Ascians *and* the incarnation of the Warrior of Light in primal form; freeing Elidibus to remember, grieve, and move on; putting Ardbert’s physical existence finally to rest; realizing that he would never actually have to *become* Azem; and receiving Hades’ blessing, from whatever version of the man it was given, have left Cam almost euphoric with relief. He’s survived, as himself, everything he’s most feared--the threat of ascension, whether as primal, Lightwarden, or Amaurotine--and everyone invested in pushing him towards any of those transformations is gone--and gone having accepted Cam’s existence as himself. Of course, having defeated the Warrior of Light as a primal concept doesn’t ensure that that primal can’t be resummoned and reembodied--but, psychologically, having defeated it, Cam *feels* as though that threat is gone.
Still riding the high of finally feeling secure in his own continued existence, Cam actually feels gratitude towards Hades--and towards Azem, whomever he may have been. He’s added the Tempest to the places he visits every year to honor people he knows and cared about who have fallen, and has begun very tentatively (and always with accompaniment, in case he *does* run into any threats of being overwritten) working with Azem’s memory stone and exploring the Tempest for records of the lives of the Convocation. He’s also talked with G’raha about whether the other memory stones’ records might still exist within the Crystal Tower in the First. None of these have been things he’s pursued urgently, but he is open to learning more about Amaurot, Hades, Elidibus, Azem, and the Convocation in a way he wasn’t before. They seem very securely like people in the past now, people it would be safe to learn about and who, like Ardbert and the First’s Warriors of Light, might have a story worth hearing and one different from the tale told either by common memory or by themselves.
On Hades’ part, he *did* see Azem in Cam, and Cam was correct--that drove his hot-and-cold opening up to and pulling away from Cam. After the Sundering, Hades had run into shards of Azem several times. Hades approached his first encounter with a shard with some hope that the shard might remember being Azem and remember Hades; discovering that the only thing the shard had in common with Azem was his tendency towards not listening, making friends with and helping everyone and his brother, and undermining other people’s plans, Hades’ bitterness and resentment towards any future shards he might encounter solidified. Meeting any of these shards felt like meeting a stick figure drawing of a lost sibling; just enough of the broad strokes there to suggest the person Hades missed, but none of the substance and detail that had made that person someone who had been part of Hades, in the way a close sibling is part of someone. Eventually, Hades disengaged from anything to do with shards of Azem and deliberately kept himself from learning anything about them; the other Ascians could do what they wanted with them.
Irritated by Elidibus’ insistence on pulling him back into the struggle to force the Rejoining, Hades was more irritated by having to work again with a shard of Azem--with *many* shards of Azem, essentially, since Cam was partially Rejoined many times over. And especially since Cam was the closest any shard had yet come to looking like Azem, even down to having the Amaurotine’s mask markings as facial tattoos--and clearly had no clue about the significance of either those markings or his appearance. (It was also incredibly irritating that someone *not* an Ascian could pull a shard of one of the Convocation members across the rift between worlds; Hades wouldn’t have admitted it to himself or anyone else, but *that* degree of ownership/influence over Azem was something he considered appropriate only if *he* had it.)
Watching Cam, Hades had to deal again with the hope that maybe this time a shard would *remember* something. Along with his appearance, Cam’s behavior was incredibly similar to the Convocation member’s, to the degree that Hades kept initiating conversations with Cam to test this and then withdrawing when Cam’s answers sounded uncannily like Azem but showed no self-awareness of that fact.
Cam was also correct that, had he been able to contain the Light without transforming, Hades *had* promised himself that he’d see that as a sign the man was worth working with and had the potential to become Azem in full, even if he seemed worthless at the moment. Cam’s failure increased Hades’ disgust and anger--not just at Cam, but at himself for allowing himself to hope at all. Still, Hades would have the satisfaction of using the twisted remnants of Azem to destroy the First and hasten the eventual full reincarnation of Azem.
Again, Cam denied him that pleasure when Cam showed up in the Tempest still in human form and still in (fading but there) control of himself, with the same barely-human barely-sentient friends by his side. Hades still gave him one last chance, exposing him to the fall of Amaurot and then showing one of his true forms and sharing his true name with Cam, moments after the man’s soul suddenly became even *more* like Azem’s.
Nothing.
But Cam still won. And the weight of Tempering and the long fight could finally be set down.
Whether Cam was Azem or not, Hades had to accept that Cam was carrying on the legacy that Azem had begun--and that Hades no longer had the power to deny him the right to claim and walk that path. Whether the version of Hades that appeared in the fight against Elidibus was a memory or Hades’ actual lingering soul, Hades had accepted, before fading entirely, that the only way to honor Azem’s past existence was to allow Cam to continue his own.
#ffxiv#Final Fantasy XIV#ff14#Final Fantasy 14#headcanon#camille delane#warrior of light#wol#emet-selch#azem#14th convocation member#the convocation#elidibus#hades#shadowbringers#shadowbringers spoilers#5.3#5.3 spoilers#spoilers
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Summary:
After leaving the Web's domain, Martin and Jon both get a little lost in their own heads.
Or: Time to put the apocalypse on hold again for another Web-related navel-gazing session.
This is part of a series, but can be read as a standalone. (Part 1: tumblr // AO3)
Full text & content warnings under the cut.
CW: canon-typical spiders & arachnophobia; substance abuse (cigarette smoking & nicotine dependence); self-loathing re: addiction and obsessive-compulsive behavior; rejection sensitive dysphoria rearing its ugly head; internalized ableism & victim blaming; brief instance of (very passive) suicidal ideation; Web-typical paranoia; spoilers up to and including MAG 172.
“Yeah, screw this place,” Martin says. “Never liked the theatre anyway.”
And with that, he turns and makes a beeline for the nearest exit. Jon stands there for a moment, outstretched hand still lingering where he had offered it to Martin. A familiar gloom settles over him, stealing the air from his lungs – a sharp twinge in his chest, a cold weight dropping into his gut, a hard lump in his throat – all because of the merest hint of rejection.
Don’t take it personally, he scolds himself. Martin probably just… didn’t notice his hand. He was distracted. He's unsettled, he’s frightened, he needs to be away from here. It’s fine. Jon is just being self-centered. Again.
But as he trails Martin, several steps behind, he gets lost in his own head.
It's concerning, this pattern of Jon getting so absorbed in statements that Martin cannot reach him - and it isn't fair to Martin, left adrift and alienated in a nightmare realm that Jon brought into existence, all so Jon can take a moment to bask in the terror. Yes, Jon hates it. He hates how the fear and agony are filtered through him, even though he's become so accustomed to it - so much so that he fears eventually growing numb to it all, losing that last human spark he still curls himself around with possessive, protective fervor. Even more, though, he hates that alien thing in his head that likes it, that forces him to like it, that insists all of this is right and good and natural.
It's destroying him, it's destroying everyone around him, and he wants all of it to just stop. Except, there's a loud part of him that doesn't. He wants nothing more than to choke the life out of it.
He wishes he could go back to a time when he didn't want or need this, when he wasn't comforted by this thing hollowing him out like a tunneling worm. When did things go so wrong? Did it start when he was a child, when he found the book? Was the point of no return much later, when he became the Archivist? Or was he always doomed to be this, born with self-destruction and impulsivity encoded into his DNA, impossible to separate from himself and still remain himself?
Precisely how much of the statement did Martin overhear? Was it enough to draw the parallels that Jon himself is outlining now?
Jon never has time to process a statement while he’s in the midst of recording it. The human part of him is shelved so the Archive can go about its impartial curation without the interference of Jon's feverish running commentary. Once the trance wears off, though, Jon has time to think. To ruminate, as Martin says. To record his supplemental and dutifully file it away in the Archive, because the knowledge is not complete without Jon's lived experience to bring it to life.
FRANCIS: Please. Let me go. Just let me go.
THE SPIDER: Oh, Francis. It’s such a shame that I couldn’t do such a thing even if I wanted to. The man in the audience saw to that. I am no more free than you are, little puppet.
Not for the first time, Jon wonders about the significance of the statements he’s been channeling since the end of the world. How does the subject – victim, the still-human part of him admonishes – get selected? Does the Eye direct his focus, like choosing from a menu? Is it the choice of the Entity whose domain they're passing through? Or is it just chance – whatever instance of terror gets Beheld in that fraction of a second before the tape recorder clicks on to demand its offering?
He can’t shake the feeling that the Web did have a hand in selecting the particular show he was set to narrate just now, if only because it felt so perfectly tailored and pointed.
FRANCIS: Please. Please god, not again. I don’t want it to happen again.
THE SPIDER: Then walk away, Francis, just turn and leave. All that is required is a little bit of willpower. You have a little bit of willpower, don’t you?
Free will again, of course. Choice versus control. That thorny, sticky weed of a question that took up residence in his mind and spread its roots through every part of him, feeding and growing and seeding more iterations of itself with every passing moment of doubt. He's been over this, he's been over this; why can't he just let it go?
“Jon, we’ve been over this," Basira told him. "The key is to not force people to feed you their trauma. You know – just don’t do it?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No, it is. Or I put you down.”
Jon remembers how, the first time he tried to quit smoking, it was framed in exactly that way: Just stop. At the time, it had seemed so simple that when he found he couldn’t manage it, he felt like an abject failure. Beyond that, though, it was like having a sinkhole open beneath his feet. Long-suppressed doubts about his own will and self-control were dredged up to the surface, where they've stayed front-and-center ever since.
He’s always had an obsessive streak, always had trouble letting go, always had difficulties with impulse control. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when just one cigarette ultimately led to an on-again, off-again addiction that he struggled with right up until the end of the world. Whether it’s nicotine or insatiable curiosity, he’s always been predisposed to fixation, hasn't he? And Beholding, well - it easily overshadowed the rest. It evolved so smoothly from routine to habit to dependence to basic sustenance, and now it’s such an intrinsic part of who he is that he doesn’t know who he would be without it.
Why didn't he see the warning signs? Or did he see them and opt to ignore them, to barrel on ahead through every red flag and concerned intervention attempt in his haste to do, to see, to know, to experience?
THE SPIDER: I want what you want, deep, deep down in the hidden bit of you you’ve tried so hard to kill. You can’t wait for the dance to conclude.
FRANCIS: I don’t want that anymore. It’s different now. I’m different now. I’ve worked so hard.
THE SPIDER: I don’t care.
Jon doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. But he does. But he doesn’t.
It’s complicated.
Jonathan Sims, human, feels nothing but despair and shame. The entire world has become a looping nightmare with no end in sight, and it’s his fault – all because, like a moth to a flame, he’s never known when to just stop. In the back of his mind burns that incessant what-if: Would it have been better had he never woken up from the coma? With his death, the others would have been free to quit; he never would have fed on his victims; he never would have opened the door. How much better would the world have been without him in it?
The Archivist, on the other hand, feels every stab of fear and pain as any human would, but along with that torment comes a perverse satisfaction in it all. Can he legitimately call himself a victim if he himself is complicit in his trauma? A steady diet of terror is what sustains him now, even as it eats away at him from the inside out. He is dependent on that which destroys him, and he hates it, and he likes it, and he needs it, and he dreads it, and he’s tired.
Meanwhile, the Archive feels only detached fascination and a deep conviction that everything is exactly as it should be. This is the role it was born to serve. This is the world in which it was so carefully engineered to thrive. This is the whole of its definition and the whole of its being and the whole of its nature, and it will record and catalog and curate and preserve every single moment for as long as it survives. Nothing lasts forever, but the Archive spares no thought for the inevitable end of its existence. There’s so much to See here, now.
The fear consumes him. The fear feeds him. The fear just is, and the Archive is here to witness and preserve every motion and every perspective and every detail.
“When has your guilt, or your sadness, or your hand-wringing ever actually stopped you from doing what it wants?” Helen said with a wicked grin.
“ I have not been taking statements.”
"You’ve sworn off other people’s trauma for now, because you’re caught. Because continuing would endanger you. But other than that, when has your discomfort ever actually stopped you walking the path of the Beholding?”
"I… I don’t know.”
Jonathan Sims can kick and scream all he wants, thrashing impotently in the corners of this shared mind. His cries will be drowned out by a cacophonous litany of horror and dread, and the Archive will pay him no mind. It has more interesting things to concern itself with than the useless self-loathing of the original owner of this vessel, still so stubbornly refusing to embrace the role for which he was so carefully groomed.
Jon has always made everything so difficult, hasn't he? Incapable of sitting still, of shutting up, of listening, of just slowing down and stopping for once. Always pushing, pushing, pushing, even when he knew the outcome would only hurt. Anything to keep moving, to secure that heady little rush that rewarded him whenever he happened upon something new and untapped. Voracious for anything to stave off the boredom and channel his restless energy.
He wants to stop. He can't stop. He did stop. He tried. He put so much distance between himself and that toxic thing to which he was beholden, and it found him again anyway. Jonah Magnus -
It does not matter. Jon's consent was never necessary. He will submit regardless. He always has.
FRANCIS only has a desire, an itch in their bones that flows into them, drip by oily drip, down the glistening strands that suspend them, guide them, hold them…. They don’t want to want it, but…
Pause for laughter.
He doesn’t want it. Except that he does.
He doesn’t want to want it. But he does anyway.
It’s horrible, but it feels right.
“Can the Web control another avatar, one that serves another power?” Jon asked, desperate and ashamed.
Pause for Helen’s laughter.
“Make them do things they don’t want to, make them – feed –”
Pause for Helen’s laughter.
“Oh, perhaps,” Helen said, delighted to watch him squirm. “Perhaps not. Would that make life easier for you? Are you so sure you didn’t want to?”
Pause for Helen’s laughter.
He did want to. Jonathan Sims may not have wanted to, but the Archivist? The Archivist would have continued hunting and preying, and he would have cycled through as many rationalizations as needed to continue the routine. But the Archivist is Jon is the Archivist; there's no use in distancing himself from accountability.
How had Jon lost himself so quickly, so easily?
When he woke up after the Unknowing, he was terrified. He didn’t know what he was becoming versus what he had already become, or the extent to which he was beyond the point of no return. Georgie had been right, when she told him that he needed people in his life to remind him of his humanity – and now he needed that more than ever.
But none of them had wasted any time in labeling him a monster.
Jon doesn’t blame them, of course. Tim was dead, Daisy was gone, Martin was Lonely, Melanie was being consumed by the Slaughter, and Basira had been left to pick up the pieces by herself. Everyone had changed; everyone had been through trauma; everyone was coping alone; everyone was afraid and angry in the face of being trapped and manipulated and exploited.
And so, so much of it was Jon’s fault, all because he couldn't just stop.
“Jon, focus,” Basira said. “Are you getting any sense of anything? Can you See anything?”
“No, I’m just seeing what you’re seeing. Still a bit weak from my trip up north, to be honest.”
“Sorry we couldn’t stop for a snack,” Melanie snapped.
Basira had laughed, then, and Jon had wanted to be angry, but all he felt was icy guilt wrapped in a layer of dull hunger.
Basira valued practicality. She simply didn't have the luxury for anything else. Jon was dangerous, and maybe a day would come when he could no longer be suffered to live, but until then, he could also be an asset. Basira asked him to Know and See when it would help their goals; she prompted him to Ask questions when they needed to interrogate someone; she wanted him at full power whenever they were heading into danger. She, like Tim, thought they would all be better off if Jon acted more like Gertrude – until he did, and they both saw the all-too-human monstrosity inherent in Gertrude’s flavor of utilitarianism.
“She got the job done,” Jon said, “and she didn’t care about the cost.”
“But I thought you did.”
He did, didn't he? When had that changed?
“I had to know, Basira.”
It's a poor excuse.
“It wasn’t right.”
No, it wasn't.
“You could have stopped me. But you wanted to know as well, didn’t you?”
She did want to know. Most people did. And that was what he was for, now, wasn’t it? The others could reap whatever benefits Jon could manage to wrest from his new inhuman existence, and all the while they could remain insulated, assured of their own moral high ground and their own humanity when compared to him.
Except that's a cop-out, isn't it? He would have hunted for statements regardless of whether it had any strategic benefit, taken over by instinct and hunger and need. No one is responsible for his actions except for himself.
Jon couldn't blame the others for how they treated him back then. But sometimes, a distant part of his mind would rail against the unfairness of it all, the double standards, the unclear and inconsistent demands. He was expected to be the Archivist - to sacrifice his humanity - whenever it was convenient, and then shamed back into submission the moment that power was no longer of immediate use. Too human and he wasn’t useful enough; too monstrous and he was an unacceptable risk. He was carving off pieces of himself to fit a mold that changed by the hour, until eventually he couldn’t recognize himself anymore.
And always there was that wrenching pang somewhere deep inside him whenever he failed to meet those expectations. It had been there since he was a child, and it had only gotten worse in recent years. He couldn’t justify his continued existence if he couldn’t prove himself useful, and now, being useful meant... well, drowning.
Excuses, excuses. He could have just stopped. He had choices, and at every watershed moment he chose to continue digging. If he had hit rock bottom, would he have stopped? Would he have even noticed?
“You knew, didn’t you? You knew the sorts of things she did, and you let her.”
“No,” Basira said. “Not exactly. I thought… it’s not that simple.”
"It never is. But that doesn’t make it okay.”
“None of us are who we were, Jon.”
It was cruel of him to put her on the spot like that, he knows. Basira had a much deeper bond with Daisy; of course she would be more willing to see and acknowledge the complexities of Daisy’s struggle. It’s… normal, to see the people you love in a rosier light than the people you distrust. Likewise, Martin still holds a grudge against Daisy for how she treated him in her interrogation, for what she did to Jon. Sometimes Martin's fingers will brush against the scar on Jon's throat and just for a moment, Jon will see a quiet, protective fury in Martin's eyes. He cannot understand how almost overnight, Jon came to see Daisy as a friend. Martin wonders sometimes whether it was just another clever way Jon had found to hurt himself, to punish himself, to put himself in danger.
But Martin didn’t get to spend much time with Daisy after the Buried. He didn’t get to see how hard she was trying to get better. Just like Basira didn't get to witness Jon’s efforts.
In fact, come to think of it… back then, Jon and Daisy both hid their weakest moments from everyone except each other, didn’t they? God, he misses her. No one else really understood what it was like to spend every waking moment resisting the call of a thing that could never be vanquished, which is exactly why sometimes Jon felt his hackles raise when they were held to different standards – especially when Daisy herself hated it just as much as he did.
None of that mattered, though. Everyone already thought him a monster, and he agreed with them. What was the point in pretending otherwise? He may as well be the monster, so no one else had to do it. (Excuses, excuses, excuses.) And besides, he liked it, didn’t he? He hated that about himself, but that didn’t make it any less true. So, he would make himself useful. If he got too dangerous, he doubted any of the others would have any qualms about putting him down. It shouldn't have been a comforting thought, but it was. Somewhere along the line, wanting to live had started to feel selfish. When had that happened?
But then… Martin.
Talk to him, said the note. An outstretched hand in the form of three simple words. A belief that he wasn’t too far gone. No, not just a belief. An expectation. He was more than what he was becoming. Or, he could be.
Martin always saw him, didn’t he? Even when Jon didn’t deserve it –
He doesn’t notice Martin’s abrupt stop until he crashes headlong into him, bouncing off his sturdy frame and onto the dusty ground with a quiet oof.
“Martin?” Jon scrambles upright.
“Yeah, I’m – I’m okay, I’m –”
Martin is standing rigidly, staring off to the side, but Jon can still see the wild, frantic look in his eyes, the slightest sheen of tears there, the way he’s gnawing on his bottom lip.
“Martin?” Jon asks again, more intent this time. Pushing himself to his feet, he reaches out a hand – and then falters halfway, leaves it trembling in the air between them. Martin sways somewhat on his feet. “Martin.”
“I – what?” Martin turns unfocused eyes on him. "Jon?"
“Martin, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s – I’m just – it’s –”
“You’re bleeding,” Jon murmurs, closing the gap between them and reaching up to brush his thumb over Martin’s lip. He half-expects Martin to pull away. When the rejection doesn’t come, Jon is nearly swept away by relief.
“Oh.” Martin looks down and his eyes widen, as though he’s just now seeing Jon.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Jon says evenly, careful to keep the compulsion out of his voice. He moves his hand to cradle Martin’s face, and Martin leans into his touch on reflex.
“It’s… I keep thinking.”
“Yes?”
“I… it felt so much like curiosity, Jon.”
“Ah.” Jon thinks he senses where this is going.
“I – I didn’t realize until just now how it – I’m – I’m so sorry.” Martin chokes on the last word and a tear slides down his cheek.
“Come here,” Jon says, lowering himself to the ground again and pulling Martin down after him. Martin sags against him, his breath coming in quiet hiccups, and Jon curls an arm around his shoulders. “Breathe. What are you sorry for?”
“I thought I understood. About the Web.” Martin’s breath hitches. “I used to think it was – maybe exaggerated, how you felt? Or, no, that’s not the right word – I mean –”
“More like a phobia than a rational fear.”
“It’s – not that it isn’t rational, it’s just –”
“Martin, it’s fine,” Jon says, running his fingers through Martin’s hair. “I have a history of paranoia and phobias, and – and I know I obsess, I overthink things. If I was looking at me from the outside, I’d think I was overreacting, too. I probably am sometimes. Which is what the Web wants.”
“I didn’t say you were overreacting, I just thought – I thought maybe the actual threat was…” Martin bites his lip again. “That maybe it wasn’t as imminent as you were afraid it was. Or not as – as pervasive? I figured, if at least some of it was in your own head, I could actually…”
“Actually what?”
“That I could make it better,” Martin says meekly, a fresh wave of tears rolling down his cheeks. “I thought I could do something to protect you for once.”
“You already do that."
"How do you mean?" Martin laughs bitterly. "The only reason I'm still alive is because of you."
"I think I could say the same," Jon says quietly.
"You'd survive just fine on your own."
"I don't want to just survive." It comes out harsher than he intended, and Jon forces gentleness back into his tone. "You are my reason, remember? And... and besides. You do protect me." Martin rolls his eyes, and Jon rallies again. "Yes, fine, there isn't much that could physically harm me here."
Martin nods sullenly, an unspoken I told you so.
"But, I - I'm prone to self-sabotage, if you haven't noticed."
"Yeah." Martin sniffles, averting his eyes.
"You make me want to be better. You... you believe that's possible for me, even when no one else does, even when I don't believe it myself. Even when I don't deserve it." Jon shakes his head, his quiet laugh full of wonder and disbelief. "You see me in a way that I quite honestly don't understand, but it... it makes me want to be that person for you."
"You don't really need me, though."
"I do need you," Jon says fiercely. Then, softer: "And - and even if I didn't, I want you with me." Jon coaxes Martin's chin up to look him in the eye. "I'm quite fond of you, you know."
Martin chuckles half-heartedly and rubs at his eyes.
"There's something else bothering you, I think," Jon says hesitantly. "I - I didn't Know anything, I promise, I just... it seems like there's more?"
"It's fine." Martin clears his throat, and when he continues, it's with a tone that could almost be considered composed if it wasn't for the way he steadfastly avoids eye contact. "Just, you know. The Web."
"I'd like to listen, if you're willing to talk."
"You don't have to -"
"Let me take care of you?"
They've talked about this before. Martin's always been a caretaker. He's compassionate, and Jon will always be in awe of how adept he is at showing he cares with the simplest of gestures. Martin finds it fulfilling, prides himself on putting comfort into the world when it seems like none can exist. But he habitually prioritizes others at the cost of his own well-being, routinely blurs the line between compassion and destructive self-sacrifice. He never learned that cliché tenet of putting on his own oxygen mask before helping others with theirs. He doesn't know how to let himself be cared for, rarely even takes the time for self-care, and usually doesn't believe he deserves it in the first place. He feels an acute need to justify his existence by being useful, and for most of his life, it was the only way he knew to measure his own worth. The same could be said for Jon, really; it just manifested somewhat differently in his case.
But they've discussed it. They've been working on it.
Martin opens his mouth, starts to mouth the reflexive phrase - I'm fine - but capitulates when Jon says again, resolute: "I'd like to take care of you. Please let me."
"Um. I... okay. Okay. I just - give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need," Jon says, and returns to playing with Martin's hair. They're exposed here, but Jon would have ample foreknowledge of any approaching danger. Besides, this is an in-between space between domains, and Jon Knows that few things will go out of their way to seek out a confrontation with the Archive, especially outside of their own turf.
A few minutes pass before Martin begins to speak, starting slow before unraveling into a frantic confession.
“I’ve – I’ve never felt in control of my life, not really, but I’ve also never felt like I was being puppeted. It was just – circumstances outside of my control, or my own shortcomings, not – not some literal other mind pulling the strings.” One of Martin’s hands comes to rest on Jon’s knee, and he grips tightly, as if to remind himself of Jon's physical presence. “And – and if that’s a thing that actually happens, if it might be happening to me, how am I supposed to trust anything I do or think or feel? How do I – how do I know I won’t lose you, or – or betray you, or –”
“You don’t.” Jon gives him a very small smile, a cross between wry and rueful. He shifts his position until he can touch their foreheads together, moving one hand to cup the back of Martin's neck. “We can never know for sure whether we’re being controlled. We could sit here, I suppose – take no action at all, wrap ourselves in doubt and fear.” Jon nudges Martin's nose with his own, urging Martin to meet his eyes. “But then we’ll also have to wonder if that was the Web’s plan all along.”
“Oh, god, I’m dragging you back down the rabbit hole –”
“No, listen. It’s…” Jon gives a considering hum and leans away slightly. “Actually, there’s one part of Annabelle’s statement that sits with me in a good way.”
“What?” Martin says incredulously.
“Just listen. ‘We all have forces that drive us, circumstances that direct us,’” Jon recites from memory, “‘and even if we choose to ignore these and act against all logic, just to prove that we can – is that not simply allowing the existential terror of our own powerlessness to control us instead?’”
“And – and what about that do you find comforting?”
“It’s… hmm." Jon takes a beat as he hunts for a way to best convey his meaning. "Do you remember the story I told you, about Mr. Spider?”
“Of course,” Martin says softly, rubbing his thumb back and forth on Jon’s knee in a soothing, repetitive motion. Jon grounds himself in the touch and takes a deep breath before he continues.
“So - to this day, I still have the sense memory of being a passenger in my body. Like my veins were puppet strings, filled with - with hundreds of thousands of tiny scuttling legs. Like being pulled forward by a thousand minds and none of them my own.” Jon closes his eyes and swallows hard. This next part, he's never spoken aloud. “Worse, though, was the aftermath. I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that maybe they had never left. That maybe they had just let the strings go slack for the time being. I was always waiting for a moment when the threads would be pulled taut, and I would realize that the Spider never actually let go. Sometimes I - I still feel the crawling, the tugging. It's my imagination, I know - just a tactile hallucination - but still, it can be... rather convincing at times.”
“That’s… horrible," Martin says, and he means it, but there's a note of confusion there: he's not entirely sure where Jon is going with this.
“The Web managed to cover a lot of bases when it marked me. Fear of spiders and cobwebs, yes, but deeper than that. That split second before opening a door where my heart stops because I can never really be certain that I know what’s behind it.” Jon realizes suddenly that this is the first time he’s ever put words to that fear, let alone admitted it to another person. He shakes his head and forces himself to continue. “Being watched, being manipulated. Being controlled, or being unable to control myself, and being unable to tell the difference between the two. Infectious self-doubt, and the fear that I’ll never be free of it.”
“What does that have to do with –”
“‘Is that not simply allowing the existential terror of our own powerlessness to control us instead?’” Jon repeats, staring ahead into the barren wasteland. “It makes me think… maybe there’s some freedom to be found in giving up the illusion of control.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll always be afraid of the loss of control, whether it comes from the Web or from my own mind. And if I let that fear immobilize me, well… that’s also a loss of control. Same outcome.” He combs his fingers through the soft, curly hair at the base of Martin's skull. “What the Web feeds on is that fear of being manipulated. It doesn’t matter what you think is controlling you or how you react to it. It doesn’t matter whether you’re frozen in place like a fly caught in a web, or if you're unable to stop at all, stuck in a loop of - of obsession or addiction or panic. The Web can feast on all of it equally.”
“You do realize that none of this is especially comforting, right?” Martin says with a nervous, breathless laugh.
“I’m getting there,” Jon promises. “The Web is an unknown variable. That's what makes it so terrifying. The only way I can think to fight back against that sort of power is to just… accept the idea that you’re not always in control, and that you’ll never know for sure the moments when you aren’t. To tolerate the ambiguity, and try to keep moving anyway. It dilutes the fear, somewhat. You aren’t as tasty a meal if you put a name to what scares you and shine a light on it.” Jon smirks. “If nothing else, it’s a ‘screw you’ to the Spider.”
Martin closes his eyes for a long few minutes, and Jon sits with the silence. Finally, Martin looks up and meets Jon's eyes again and gives him a weak smile.
"I know it doesn't solve everything," Jon says. "I still have my regular Web-related, uh... thought spirals, for lack of a better term. But I think it helps, to talk about it. The Web thrives best when its victims isolate themselves, lose themselves in hypotheticals and paranoia until they're paralyzed with doubt. It's harder to manipulate someone when they have someone to untangle them when they get stuck."
"It did help," Martin says after a moment, and Jon is relieved to hear the sincerity underlying the words. "Thank you."
“Well, the only reason I managed to come to any of this in the first place is because you gave me a stick and a dirt canvas and let me rant myself hoarse about it.”
Martin laughs, still sounding just a little raw and tearful. “I guess the conspiracy corkboard idea worked?”
“Yes, Martin.” Jon rolls his eyes, but his demeanor is thoroughly fond. “Though I think blindsiding me with the concept of 'love as a choice we make' is what got me over the line in the end. Very poetic.”
“And here I thought you didn’t like poetry.”
“Speaking of that…" Jon fixes Martin with a look of faux reproach. "Did you really imply that you hate the theatre back there? After giving me so much grief about disliking poetry?”
“I think I did more than imply it,” Martin says, and there’s a goading edge to his tone now.
“That’s…” Jon shakes his head. “Okay. Explain, please.”
“I’ve just never been a fan.” Martin shrugs, but the nonchalance falls apart as Martin tries and fails not to grin at Jon's dismay.
“Theatre is - it's such a broad umbrella, there’s no way you don’t care for all of it –”
“Poetry is a broad umbrella, too.”
“Yes, fine,” Jon says grudgingly. “Shakespeare was a poet, surely you can appreciate some of his contributions to theatre.”
“You’ve spent your whole life hating poetry, Jon. You don’t get to imply that I'm uncultured.”
“I don’t hate all poetry. Just most of it.”
“You still haven’t told me what changed your mind,” Martin says with a teasing smirk. “I wonder. Could it have been –”
“Yes, Martin.” Jon heaves an exaggerated sigh, but doesn’t bother to hide the fondness in his tone. “It was you. Obviously.”
“Just wanted to hear you say it,” Martin replies, absolutely preening at the admission. “I –”
Jon leans in and covers Martin’s lopsided smile with a kiss before he can get another blasphemous word in. The apocalypse can spare them a few more minutes.
End Notes:
Title is from Mitski's "Francis Forever".
Any of the indented bits involving Francis or the Spider are from MAG 172.
The others are from, in order: MAG 148; MAG 152; MAG 146; MAG 147; MAG 141; MAG 155.
And of course the quote from Annabelle's statement is from MAG 147 as well.
#the magnus archives#mag 172#jonmartin#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#tma#tma fic#long post#tma spoilers
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Aster, Bee Balm, Daffodil, Dahlia, Laurel, Petunia, Rose, and Violet? I'd also add Gardenia but it's impossible to escape murder cats.
Hi there! Thank you so much for the ask! Once again, I’m sorry for taking so long to answer!
Adding a read more because this one is pretty long.
Aster- Who’s your least favorite character? Why?
This one is a bit difficult for me, I read many of the books a long time ago and I’m sure if I were to read them again my opinion on a lot of characters would be very different. Going only by memory I would say that Bluestar is one of my least favorite characters but then I would have to add many female characters that I now feel were completely mistreated by the authors and whose entire arcs where thrown under the bus in the name of forbidden love or man pain. I never liked Silverstream, but nowadays I know that whom I actually hate is Graystripe. I used to not like Leafpool or Squirrelflight at all, now I don’t. What I’m trying to say is that my opinion changes constantly and a lot. I read the books a long time ago and did so with a completely different mindset (I was 16 when I read Omen of the Stars and oh man was I edgy and stupid back then), most of my opinions nowadays are based on the potential the characters have rather than the actual character. So bearing that in mind:
-Bluestar: I know, I know, a lot of you love her a lot but even after reading people’s opinions on her I just… eh I don’t like her at all. She feels incredibly detached in the first books. To me she always treated Firepaw rather coldly. I know a lot of people talk about Bluestar as if she had become Firepaw’s adoptive mother but I just don’t see it. Reading about her losing her faith was very interesting, so was her crumping mind health but, I just gotta draw the line on how terrible she was to Brightpaw. In this house we love and respect Brightpaw and Bluestar was just very nasty to her. I really didn’t like her novella at all either. Based on her relationship with Whitestorm in The Prophecies Begin I always thought that she might have played an important role in his life after Snowfur died but, it doesn’t seem that way at all? The only moment we see them interact is when she tells Whitekit, in a very distressing way may I add, that her mother is dead and never coming back. To me, she also comes in as selfish and power-hungry, she spends a huge part of the book complaining about Thistleclaw (bear in mind, back then he was only overly ambitious, not a pedophile) and his relationship with her sister, even though she herself is spending time with Oakheart, a tom from another clan. When Goosefeather tells her about the prophecy he never specifies that she must be the one becoming leader, only that Thistleclaw is not meant to become one and yet she goes out of her way to become the leader so much so that she’s willing to risk her kittens’ safety (killing one in the process) just so she can be available for the position. She could have just uuuuhmmmm told Sunstar about the prophecy? Also I’m pretty sure Sunstar assures her that Thistleclaw would not have made a good leader multiple times so… he could have chosen literally anyone else? Rosetail? Thrustpelt? Don’t get me started on the whole Tigerkit dilemma! She chooses to believe Goosefeather prophecies when they strengthen her own personal bias but when she’s told about Tigerkit’s she just goes “aw man Goosefeather sure is crazy hahaha anyway back on me becoming leader”. I don’t know, there’s more to it but this is getting pretty long. Personally she’s just not my favorite.
-Graystripe: He’s a terrible friend, he treats Fireheart like absolute garbage, he chooses a molly he has known for exactly 2 days over his best friend and his entire clan, he leaves Thunderclan to spend more time with his kittens just to abandon them 5 seconds later, and yet the son of a bitch was somehow always meant to become deputy to Firestar??? Just because they are friends??? Dude went against the warrior code, endangered his clan by refusing to fight Riverclan, was incredible close to causing an all-out war with Riverclan, abandoned his clan, refused to see what was wrong about his behavior just because he was in love… How in the f is he a good warrior??? Erins I want answers; this man is garbage. When he gets captured by the humans and comes back to the lake he gets so SO mad at Firestar for not “waiting for him”, my dude you were gone for seasons, you were deputy, you really expect the entire clan to stop working so that you can keep your friendship bracelet position? Everybody thought you were dead Graystripe!! Was everyone supposed to keep vigil forever?? He’s also a terrible father to both his litters, his reaction to being told that Feathertail’s dead is “aw man… she was so beautiful… like her mom…” that’s terribleeee. At some point in Omen of the Stars, after Briarlight broke her spine, Millie complains about Graystripe not helping her at all and then they start fighting about it, Graystripe’s only answer is something along the lines of “yeah whatever dude”. I hate him so much. I stopped reading after The Last Hope, so I can’t talk about the rest but, I’ve seen some parts of Graystripe’s Vows and let me tell I want this man gone for good. He’s lived for too long.
-Lionblaze: He’s the most flavorless character in the history of flavorless characters. What’s his arc? That’s right. He doesn’t have one. I literally have nothing to say about him. How is this character alive and in his way to become leader when Hollyleaf could have been in his place? Disgusting. Also, dreaming about killing your girlfriend and bathing in her blood? Bad. Not showing not even a bit of remorse about after waking up? Terrible. Badly hurting her mentor when you were trying harm her? Just straight up fucked up. He’s badly written, boring and kind of very misogynist at times.
I have many other opinions because I’m a very judgmental person but I’m gonna leave it at that because this is getting very long.
Bee Balm- What’s your favorite novella or super edition?
I’ve only read three! So Crockedstar’s promise I guess.
Daffodil- When did you first start reading the books?
In the summer of 6th grade, that’s when I was… 11-12 years old? I think? So in 2012-2013, I started reading them in Spanish but I read through them super-fast and the translations were super slow to come out so I just started reading the books in English. It actually helped my English level quite a bit! My first English book was The Forest of Secrets I think.
Dahlia- Has any death scene actually made you cry? What was it?
Snowfur’s (Reading about Whitekit screaming at her mother to wake up was super messed up), Yellowfang’s (I loved that old woman. I wish they hadn’t written about her in Starclan, she’s so out of character in later books) and Hollyleaf’s death (yes, first and second time, young me loved her to pieces. I still can’t believe they let her die a second time when Lionblaze’s flavorless ass was right there…).
Laurel- If you could write the books, what changes would you make?
I would contemplate the idea of just, moving forward in time? The warriors’ series feels very stagnant. Young characters die while having no personality at all and older characters from the first series are still alive and very much immortal at this point. We need new fresh blood.
I would just set up a completely new series: maybe the stories of Firestar and his family have been immortalized, maybe they are now revered as gods or something, I would create an actual religion system, one based in nature, the death and rebirth of all things and the need to remember those who have fallen. I would change their entire culture so that elders are more important; medicine cats are not regarded as useless (I’m looking at every character that forced in this position instead of choosing it themselves) and the warrior code actually makes sense.
The setting of this new series would be the lake territories but a long time has passed since the time of Firestar and things have changed a lot. A kittypet joins the clans and through their perspective we see how they work and act, what makes every single one of them different, their culture and laws, etc. It would be a nod to the first series while being completely new. It would also allow to add new characters from the start so they all have personalities and relationships with each other.
I would also contemplate creating one last series set up in the time of the original clans where everything just goes to hell. You guys remember rabies? I want that + Starclan going crazy. A full out massacre of old characters that ends in only a few surviving ones. I want blood, and I want it to be scary. If children can read about Tigerclaw’s horrible death, then they can read what in my opinion would be a zombie/ghost apocalypse. And then I would start anew with this completely new series set up in the future.
I mean, I would rewrite a looooooot of things, but that’s a talk for another day.
Petunia- Which arc is your favorite? Which is your last favorite?
My favorite is The Prophecies Begin when it comes to the plot and the Power of Three when it comes to characters. My least favorite is the New Prophecy.
Rose- Do you prefer traditional naming or creative naming?
Traditional all the way! I like when things have meaning and each name having its own really helps the feeling of there being a pre-established culture! Creative naming just doesn’t make a lot of sense to me in this context but that’s just my personal taste.
Violet- What do you think is the worst trope in the series?
Already answered!
Gardenia- Do you think you’ll ever leave the fandom?
Probs not, I’m in too deep, warriors is always at the back of my mind...
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Hey squiggle I watched a livestream review of chapter 9 on youtube that said that Cinder would most likely go after Oscar for the relic and while Neo tries to attack ruby or maybe they both would attack him placing oscar in danger....what are ypur thoughts...
Heyo Dagger! Hmm. Here’s the thing with that from my perspective:
I’ve never gotten the impression that Cinder cared that much about gathering the Relics. The only time we’ve seen her pursue them was on behalf of Salem. But now that Salem has disowned her former apprentice, Cinder is left to her own devices and as far as I know as provided by evidence within the series, Cinder’s previously established goals were killing Ruby Rose and acquiring all the Maiden magic for herself.
No season highlighted this more for me than V5. I mean Cinder couldn't even keep her megalomaniac behaviour under wraps long enough for the Vault of the Spring Maiden to be opened. The instant Vernal had her back turned and Raven let her guard down, Cinder killed Vernal in her first attempt at pilfering the Spring Maiden magic.
With this in mind, the only incentive I can picture Cinder targeting Oscar with the Relic of Knowledge for is so that she can probably force our poor little barn prince into using the lamp to gain knowledge on the identity and whereabouts of Fria—the Winter Maiden. Since Salem has never successfully gathered any of the Relics, it’s safe to assume that she doesn’t know anything on the kind of powers each Relic possesses. All she probably does know is what Ozma originally disclosed to her during the events of the Lost Fable—bring all four Relics together to summon back the Brothers to place judgment on humanity. And with the God of Light’s warning to Ozma regarding the destruction of Remnant in the face of humanity in chaos, my main presumption is that that’s what Salem wants.
That being said, if Salem didn’t know how the Relics work then I assume neither did her subordinates. This is inclusive of Cinder. So even if Cinder were to somehow pilfer the Relic of Knowledge from Oscar, I doubt it’ll be of any real use to her since she doesn’t know how the Relic works at all. The only way I can picture Cinder acquiring the Relic and gaining the knowledge she desires is by abducting Oscar since he knows what the Relic can do and how to summon Jinn. I can see Cinder taking Oscar hostage in an attempt to force him to tell her how to summon Jinn. However Oscar playing brave refuses to tell Cinder anything no matter what threats she throws his way.
Infuriated, this leads Cinder to her back up plan —using Oscar as bait to lure out her main target—Ruby Rose.
Since working alone honestly didn’t fare well for Cinder last time, I’m going to assume that this is the one time Cinder might heed Raven’s old advice and stick close to Neo so that she could make more use of her little pawn.
I can picture Cinder and Neo working together to get the Relic from Oscar first. However, when they fail to unlock its power; with no dice from Oscar either, the Fire and Ice-cream Duo decide to switch tactics to a more ‘kill two birds with one stone’ type of deal. Not only is the Relic now in their possession but they also had Oscar—a friend to Ruby Rose— who they can now use to lure the unsuspecting little red rose into a trap. So that’s how I can see Oscar being placed in danger with Cinder and Neo. But that’s only if they go after the Relic first.
Here’s what I think could happen using the Relic headcanon:
In V7CH9, Ironwood told Oscar specifically to return to Atlas Academy. The PLOT made sure to draw attention to that very detail.
“…Oscar, I think it’s time you get back to the academy.”“I think you’re right.”
The General also informed everyone that he was going to see to stopping Watts and Tyrian himself. Whether that means that the General will be doing that on foot or not, I’m assuming that Ironwood is probably going to take his own airship and scout Mantle for Tyrian and Watts specifically. The PLOT made sure to highlight that little detail too.
“…What about Watts and Tyrian?”“Leave them to me.”
That being said, while James goes out to find Watts and Tyrian, I’m assuming Oscar will be taking his own separate transport to return to the Academy. Or…so we’re lead to believe. If I remember correctly from the end of last volume, Cinder and Neo are supposed to have their own air ship. Either way, it all sounds like Oscar will be alone at Atlas Academy.
So for the sake of where I’m going with this hunch, let’s say—either on the way to the academy or from the moment he returned safely to the academy, Oscar is assaulted by Neo and Cinder.
Let’s say…the horrible thing Neo ends up doing is using her illusions to trick Oscar into thinking she was Ruby (or another female character else he would openly trust and let his guard down under).Then while Oscar is distracted, Cinder sneaks up behind him and knocks him out.
With Oscar unconscious, Neo ensures to have the boy properly subdued while Cinder takes hold of Oscar’s Scroll. Let’s say…Oscar was keeping abreast of everyone’s progress down in Mantle from Atlas, using JNR or RNJR as his key correspondence. With Oscar’s Scroll, Cinder contacts Ruby.
Down in Mantle, Ruby receives an incoming call from contact handle “Cute Boy Oz” or “Cute Farm Boy”. Thinking it’s Oscar checking in, Ruby answers only for her heart to drop when it’s Cinder’s menacing voice she hears on the other line.
Let’s say…Cinder gives Ruby an instruction she had no choice but to complywith. The Fall Maiden basically threatens Ruby to come alone to a specific spot in Mantle without telling her comrades anything, otherwise Cinder would kill Oscar; just like how she killed Ozpin.
So for the second time in the plot, Ruby is forced to lie—this time to her comrades as she heads off on her own to save Oscar from Cinder. However when Ruby arrives in the exact location Cinder told her to meet her, instead of finding Cinder waiting for her with a hostage Oscar, the little red rose encounters only an illusion of Cinder with Oscar that immediately shatters the moment shemakes contact with it as Neo appears before her.
Cinder did tell Neo that she would leave the killing of Ruby up to her. So this is where they would duke it out. Meanwhile, somewhere else, Cinder is observing the battle from afar with Oscar still out cold and retrained in the background. However Oscar eventually regains consciousness. Let’s say…similar to the airship crash back in Argus, Oz returns once again to help Oscar when the ole soul sensed that his younger protégé was in mortal danger. Let’s say…Oscar only wakes up because he heard Oz’s voice screaming desperately for him to open his eyes.
Long story short, let’s say…with Oz’s help, Oscar gets the upper hand on Cinder before making his daring escape.
Taking notice of Ruby’s battle with Neo from over yonder Mantle, let’s say…Oscar tries his best to make it to Ruby’s side to help her out while trying to manoeuvre his way around Mantle to outrun a pursuing Cinder Fall now gone full Maiden form again—thus sparking their inevitable rematch too.
I’m still iffy on the whole concept of Fire and Ice-cream going after the Relic first since Ruby has been their established target since V6. I have a greater chance at believing they’d take Oscar purely to lure out Ruby, with the fact that he has the Relic being a key reason for them to target him specifically out of all of Ruby’s friends.
Since y’know, after they use Oscar to get to Ruby and kill her, they can always kill Oscar afterwards and take the Relic. Two little birds with one stone, as I said.
That and the fact that Oscar is also the most vulnerable right now since everyone will be down in Mantle (including Ironwood). That’s how I can picture things going down in the event that Cinder and Neo do go after Oscar first.
Overall, this squiggle meister just wants to see the Rosebuds vs Fire and Ice-cream in the Rematch of the century. All so it can possibly culminate in the following:
Oscar unlocking his semblance to save Ruby.
Oscar and Ozpin possibly fighting together as one with Oz lending Oscar his power to fully make use of the true power of the Long Memory.
Oscar defeating Cinder and withdrawing the Fall Maiden magic from her—unlocking his own magical potential while providing Cinder another incentive to hunt down the Winter Maiden for V8 (I have a feeling that Neo and Cinder will survive till V8. I can easily see Neo using the same illusion trick she pulled with Roman back in V2 to allow her time to escape with Cinder).
Oscar and Ruby sharing an actual “Rosegarden romance foreshadowing moment” together which parallels the scene from the Lost Fable where Ozma and Salem first fell in love after escaping the perils of the Lonely Tower together; thus hinting that Ruby and Oscar might be falling in love with each other after escaping Neo and Cinder after trying to save/protect each other.
Those are my views on that. I could be very wrong in my ideas on this but it’s worth a shot sharing, right? Hope it answers you all the same, Dagger.
~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)
#squiggles answers: rwby#oscar pine#ruby rose#cinder fall#rwby neopolitan#rwby theories#rwby volume 7 theories#rwby volume 7 spoilers#rwby rosegarden#pinehead headcanons#squiggles' pinehead headcanons#daggerpawstudios#squiggles answers
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GAME OVER >:3c
From the Game Over prompt
I sat on the steps of the capitol building and watched the shades go about their business in Emet-Selch’s dollhouse of a city. The irony of bringing this battle here tasted like bile but it was the safest place to hold the battle should my attempts at parlay fail yet again. The young heroes, called under false pretenses, had not listened to my pleas for caution. “Ardbert” had torn down my words at every turn, slowly casting my concerns, my weariness in the light of a villain.
“One fool to another…” I murmured to myself echoing Adbert’s words from years ago. My fingers absently traced the vambrace on my right forearm feeling the quiescent aether that would mold into the shape of a shield when I awoke it. I’d forgone my heavy armor and dressed for the blood sands instead. My lips quirked remembering the black humor of the sands, always make sure you’ll look good as a corpse. And there would be a corpse today, death was an old friend to me and I could feel it hovering near.
Movement caught my eye and drew it upwards to a grey bird. I watched it with a frown, it was that damned shoebill. I pulled a whetstone from my pack and turned my attention to my blade, no doubt it would find a cozy place to watch. I settled into the ritual of sharpening and caring for my blade. When the grey bird landed in front of me I paused. When it began to change I turned my head, while the shape-shifting was hardly the most disturbing thing I’d seen, I also had no desire to nauseate myself.
“Art‘imis Chysgoda, the savior of Eorzea, Liberator of Doma and Ala Mhigo, Champion of the Source.” Emet-Selch’s voice was smooth and dramatic as it ever had been in our short acquaintance. He invited himself to sit next to me. “A rather different perspective from this end is it not my dear Warrior.”
I finished the movement I’d paused in and set the blade aside. “Does Elidibus know that you survived our battle?”
“Given you don’t seem surprised to see me I doubt he would be.” Emet-Selch shrugged. “So you have lived to see yourself become the villain of this doomed star to which you granted a reprieve. Granted, Elidibus helped rather a lot with that. Even mortals don’t forget such debts quite this quickly.”
“You are rather chipper for a man believed to be dead.” I stood to stretch my back and secured my blade’s scabbard to my belt.
Even sitting Emet Selch did not have to look up far to meet my eyes. He chuckled, “And you lack the appropriate drama to be the final villain of a story.”
I snorted and started to make my way down the over large stairs. Emet-Selch was waiting for me at the bottom smug smirk and spread hands saying that if I had just asked for assistance. I looked him up and down, entertaining the idea of taking out his kneecaps. “I do not intend to be the final villain of this story.”
“No, in the end, it is Hydaelyn that is to be the final villain in the story.” He reached out as if stroke my hair and pulled his hand back as I stepped away from him. “She stopped using the souls of her summoners as her pawns after the third rejoining. Since then she has sought out the souls of those who would make us heartsick-“
I rested my left hand on the hilt of my sword and pulled it so that a few ilms of shining metal gleamed in the blue-green light and the blade would draw easily when I had need of it. “Appeals to a woman who no longer lives will not sway me to your cause Hades.”
“I know my once love.” The air cracked as he snapped. Behind me, I felt a disturbance in the aether and turned to face it. There were two portals from which two black-clad ascians stepped out.
From behind me, Emet-Selch struck like a snake and a dagger dug into my left side just above the waist. It was a deep wound and one that would kill me slowly. My healing magic would not be enough to heal entirely before a fight. He twisted the dagger viciously before pulling from my side. I lashed out at him, “Coward!”
Emet-Selch tut-tutted at me as I awkwardly drew my sword. “Were you not the one who called honor in battle merely a way for the powerful to stack the deck? And Hydaelyn is so very good at stacking the deck in her favor and calling it the right thing to do.”
The three Ascians started circling me widdershins forcing me to move constantly to keep some semblance of an idea of what to expect. Emet-Selch summoned his crystal staff to him and the glowing, red, flowering hovered around his opposite hand and forearm. The other two Ascians summoned weapons as well, one a great sword and the other a short sword and war hammer. I forced myself to breathe evenly, I’d fought injured before, I could do it again. I reversed the grip on my sword and slammed it towards the ground as I bent my will to bring down blades of light around me. The Ascian with the great sword hissed, but there were no other reactions.
“For millennia the crystal mother has snatched the souls of those dear to us from the very lifestream in a desperate attempt to discourage our great work,” Emet-Selch spoke but I could only half pay attention to his words as I raised my aether shield to deflect the hammer blow from one of the other Ascians. “Deprived us of tangible hope that our plans would come to fruition. Forced our hands to kill the flesh of those we sacrifice everything for.”
Fighting one Ascian with a full strike team of eight was risky. Fighting three by myself was folly. I wove my blade and shield around me, called up spells of defense and maiming. The two weapons masters worked together seamlessly and I could not take the time to cast any kind of spell to knit the flesh Emet Selch had cut. I took a blow from the great sword on my shield but the pressure forced an awkward bend to my knees. I pushed back and sidestepped away from the arc of the sword only to step into the arc of the war hammer.
I felt time expand. The hammer moved with painful slowness and I simply could not move fast enough. When the hammer caught me it was just above my tail, scales tore and I felt something break. I fell to my knees which then collapsed. Then the pain caught up to me. A blinding knife of pain all through my spine and radiating out from there. The two materially armed Ascians stepped back as I tried to push myself up. It was getting harder to breathe. I was able to raise my upper body with my arms but I could not get my knees up no matter how I strained.
It was several moments of straining before I realized that I could not feel my tail lashing in agitation as it normally would have. I stopped breathing and focused. I could not feel my tail, or my knees, or my toes. I changed focus, tried to curl my toes in my boots but I could not feel the stretch or contraction of the muscles. I sucked a breath of air in as panic and terror swarmed through my veins like a flash flood I mumbled denial under my breath. Anything else I could defeat or if I couldn’t by myself I would have a friend that could help me. This, there was no mending this. There was no….
Gentle hands with long fingers turned me over on to my back. Emet-Selch caught a flailing fist and trapped it against my side as he wrapped an arm around my ribs and pulled me into his lap. “Shhhhhh… this shall pass soon my dear warrior.”
“I am not your dear warrior,” I snarled, wriggling in his grasp. It did me no good but I couldn’t just give up.
The hand with the aetheric vine wrapped around it motioned like a stage magician and a purple crystal appeared between his forefinger and thumb. I’d seen its like before in the crystal that Lahabrea had collared Thancred with. I began to struggle more but his arm shifted and fingers dug into the stab wound he’d given me. “Enough Lilith! I will not be forced to do this again! I will not lose you, Hythlodaeus, Idunn, or Ananke to her again! I will not! I will keep you close until the ardor”
I flinched away from him. There was desperate madness deep in his golden eyes. “I’m not her, she’s gone. Even if you succeed, your Lilith is go-“
“NO!!” I closed my eyes against the rage there. The pain was stealing my will and blood loss was draining my strength to resist. He pressed the cool crystal onto my chest above my heart. “This will be washed away, not even a bad dream to haunt you, after all, is said and done.”
I shook my head in denial, letting tears fall as I felt something hook around my breastbone and tear. I screamed scrambling to hold on to consciousness, to memory as I was being torn away from it. I cursed him in every way I knew. I begged for reprieve. I-
Hades watched as amber veins grew and threaded through the purple crystal. He blocked the Warrior’s screaming out of his mind; this malformed mind would be shucked away from his beloved’s soul shortly. Now that there were nine shards joined together, her soul was weighty enough that he could capture it. When the broken body went slack he stood and vanished the blood from his robes with a snap. He motioned to Fandaniel and Pashtarot to follow and they left the first to its fate.
#ffxiv#ffxiv rp ask meme#no good comes of this prompt#and it fought me soooooooooo much#stars-bleed-hearts-shine#art'imis chysgoda#emet selch#bad end is bad
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Mr. Gorbachev, Tearmoon Down This Wall!
I’ve always been plagued by endlessly recurring thoughts about how I’m a bad stupid sinful selfish lazy arrogant rude useless ugly fat disrespectful hardhearted unlovable disgusting et cetera person. The name for this phenomenon is shame, and for me and many others, it’s a result of having been abused. I previously discussed how I Refuse to Be Your Enemy!, vol. 1, contained a profound depiction of an abuse victim. That post has a fuller discussion of what shame is, but in brief, shame is a distorted worldview that says “I’m bad,” and tells me badness is endemic to my identity. Shame isn’t about doing bad things; it’s about believing oneself to be a fundamentally bad person. Well, a mere two days after I Refuse to Be Your Enemy! released, J-Novel Club published a second new series that intersects with the same topic. The hilarious and thought-provoking narrator of Tearmoon Empire, vol 1, proved surprisingly helpful in my struggles with shame.
The book opens with protagonist Mia Luna Tearmoon’s execution on the guillotine. Deposed crown princess of the eponymous empire, she clearly evokes the historical Marie Antoinette (even making a comment reminiscent of the spurious “Let them eat cake” line incorrectly attributed to the French queen). Likewise, her nation has experienced a series of tragedies plainly inspired by the real French Revolution. So when Mia mysteriously wakes up back at twelve years old, with full memories of everything she experienced in the revolution, it becomes apparent that the prologue is essentially setting up a tale of time-traveling Marie Antoinette trying to avert the French Revolution. It’s great and you should check it out.
There is much to appreciate about this book, and the unusually snarky narrator is one of Tearmoon Empire’s outstanding elements. It’s uncommon to find a story where the narrator is one of those seemingly omniscient outside observers not at all present within the story, yet has a distinct voice that practically makes the narrator a character in his own right anyway. The narrator’s sardonic opinions regarding the characters and events of the story provide a lot of levity. But for me, the narrator became much more than just a source of comedy.
For as long as I can remember, shame has been the inner narrator of my life, dispensing harsh and (in hindsight) unfair and even nonsensical commentary about myself. Seriously, if there’s a way to put oneself down, I’ve done it: I found fault with anything and everything I did. I blamed myself for things that weren’t even my responsibility. I dismissed the value of my successes and minimized whatever talents I might possess. Instead, I exaggerated my flaws. I treated real instances of failure as proof that my entire character was corrupt, rather than as individual mistakes. I worried that I was a hypocrite who accidentally deceived other people into thinking I’m a better person than I really was. If others said complimentary things about me, sometimes I assumed they were exaggerating. Other times, I decided they were sincerely mistaken due to not knowing the true me; obviously if they knew how wicked I really am, they wouldn’t say such nice things. I’d just ignore any evidence that didn’t fit my preconceptions about my own worthlessness. In my head, believing the teeniest little positive thing about myself equaled pride, so I stringently stifled any thoughts that I ever did anything good or had any good qualities. Sometimes, if circumstances forced it, I might internally concede that I committed a superficially good action, but then tell myself it didn’t count because I must have done it out of evil motives. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.
Unbeknownst to me, shame was leading me to lie to myself on a daily basis. Long before I knew what it was, or I understood that I’d been abused, or ever saw a psychologist, I was dealing with shame that came from the emotional abuse I experienced growing up. Even after learning that my pervasive sense of self-loathing had a name and that it comes from abuse, shame’s lies remained persuasive and constant. I did start to question these self-attacks, but the accusations continued to sound incredibly reasonable in my head. I didn’t really want to believe these cruel thoughts about myself, and knew that I had justification for doubting whether they were true. I also had learned that genuine guilt is tied to specific acts, so if I found myself feeling badly, but couldn’t identify anything I’d done wrong, chances were good that I was feeling shame and not guilt. However, I was also paranoid that I might use shame as an excuse to ignore my sins. “What if some of the self-judgment is true and I’m just using this business about shame and abuse to salve my conscience as I go on living wickedly?” I worried.
Enter the snarky narrator of Tearmoon Empire. The narrator is scathingly critical of Mia and those around her. If Mia does anything “good,” the narrator is quick to jump in and insist that it doesn’t count because Mia really had a selfish or stupid motive and the positive effect she had was a complete accident. If she manages to succeed at something to such a degree that even the narrator must grudgingly concede Mia was “good” in some sense, he quickly dismisses the whole incident as trivial, insignificant, hardly worth paying attention to. Her seemingly good deeds must never be construed as evidence of any virtue on Mia’s part. If characters around Mia witness her behavior and regard it in a positive light, the narrator denounces them as delusional fools who pathetically misunderstand her. They only think well of Mia as person, the narrator says, because they don’t know the truth about her. Does any of that remind you of something? Like, maybe something you read, oh, in the two paragraphs before this one?
The narration’s snide disparagement is certainly funny, but it also challenges readers to consider whether Mia is as bad as the narrator insists she is, as good as the other characters believe her to be, or perhaps something in between. As I read Tearmoon Empire, vol. 1, and pondered this question, I had a stunning epiphany. I don’t have an exact quote from when I made this realization, but it sounded something like this:
“There is an uncanny resemblance between the shame-fueled self-narration in my head and the comically derisive narrator of this light novel.”
It was eerie seeing how much this hypercritical light novel narrator’s attacks on the protagonist echoed the things I’d tell myself on an almost daily basis. Minimizing good things, dismissing positive perspectives from other people as ignorant accidents, suspecting wicked motives behind everything one does… The narrator’s tactics were all too familiar to me. However, there was one very important difference between my self-judging inner monologues and the narrator’s charges against Mia: I treated the former totally seriously, while I found the latter obviously ridiculous.
Though the narrator’s critiques of Mia occasionally contain an element of truth, much of the time it’s laughable how different the narrator’s scornful remarks are from what Mia explicitly says and does, or from the conclusions witnesses draw about Mia. The narrator’s snarky commentary is humorous in itself, and it gains a second level of humor as one starts comparing the narrator’s claims with how Mia actually acts and how other characters react to her. It’s literally unbelievable that Mia could really be the moronic evildoer that the narrator makes her out to be. Keep in mind, not once does the narrator suggest Mia is trying to deceive people: according to him, she just bumbles around trying to be a jerk but inadvertently giving people delusions that she’s a good person. The longer the book goes on, the more silly it becomes how much over-the-top stupidity it would take for all the other characters to misinterpret the princess so thoroughly.
Thanks to Tearmoon Empire’s narrator, I could see numerous lies that I’d told myself placed in a different context that made it unmistakable how absurd and untrue they were. Cruel indictments that sounded plausible in my head became far less compelling when spoken by another voice about another person. Since reading this book a couple months ago, it’s been easier than ever for me to recognize when I’m starting to tell myself lies, and to fight back against that tendency. I’ve done so much better at telling shame to just shut up when it starts trying to spew more of its familiar falsehoods, instead of getting wrapped up in self-deception and spending hours mired in tearful self-recrimination. The gap between the narrator’s view of Mia versus the other characters view of her enabled me to see more clearly how wrong I’ve been for dismissing outside evidence of my worth and trusting only the philippics of my own thoughts. This wasn’t a light bulb switching on—this was a whole array of massive sports stadium lights flaring up all together and drowning me in their radiance. To put it another way, you could say that I found Tearmoon Empire to be a truly light novel in more ways than one.
I never would have guessed that I’d end up praising a light novel for helping me deal with psychological trauma, but life is full of surprises. “Now let me be clear,” I’m not claiming that reading a good book is sufficient to solve serious mental health issues. If you or those you love are struggling, seek professional help. It works! I’m certain that my years of prior psychological and psychiatric care were essential for helping me grow to the point where I could benefit from reading Tearmoon Empire. This book is only one step in a long journey that’s not over yet. But the fact remains that reading a Japanese novel about a time-traveling Marie Antoinette analogue was a life-changing experience that has helped me in dealing with the shame from my childhood emotional abuse. Thank you, Nozomu Mochitsuki, for writing this book, and thank you, J-Novel Club, for translating and publishing it. I’ll keep fighting not to let shame narrate my life anymore.
=====
Tearmoon Empire can be purchased through J-Novel Club or Amazon. We’ll be discussing volume one is our next Light Novel Club meeting, so please pick up a copy and join us then, on May 31st.
#Light Novels#Christianity#Tearmoon Empire#Tearmoon Teikoku Monogatari#Shame#Self deception#Trauma#Truth#Articles#Author: JeskaiAngel
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270 Thoughts
Holy long post, Batman! Be prepared to stay awhile!
The title for this months thoughts is pretty accurate… I have about 270 thoughts about this chapter. So, of course, it’s Kana. I said Kana was the obvious choice, but now I have some more insight on why, from a story perspective, Nakamura is doing this. The purpose is to draw a contrast between Kana’s “obvious” maturity and Kyoko’s “immaturity”. So, I think we are gearing up to see some changes in Kyoko. I use the quotes on obvious for Kana because...I’m pretty sure she set this up after Ren walks her to the car in chapter 259 we see the image below.
A fellow member of the Facebook group pointed this out. Which pretty much conclusively points to this being a setup. There are three pictures taken at a private club. So, it had to be someone on the inside that took them. So the question is, is she doing this to stay relevant or to try to trap Ren into a relationship by showing him: “Hey! You’re the number 1 man, I’m the number 1 woman, we should be together! All of Japan supports us so why shouldn’t we be together!” Or most likely, it’s a little bit of both. Regardless, I suspect that Kana will be around a bit more often now since Ren isn’t dispelling the rumors and he will probably refuse to be anything but polite, I can see things getting more dramatic from here.
Soooo if Kana is sniffing around Ren she is bound to run into Kyoko. With her using this type of manipulation I get the impression that Kana won’t deal well with a rival for Ren’s affections. She seems like she will know right away that Kyoko is a real threat to her plans and she will try to take her out. This most likely would be pitting each other as rivals in the eyes of the people. For example, in the tabloids, she makes Kyoko out to be a homewrecker. Just a young girl who is immature and doesn’t know what she’s doing. The fact that Kyoko has only played bully roles will probably factor into her manipulation of the public. Setting all of the above aside, I think the point of this whole thing will be to make Kyoko mature. To finally start seeing herself as a REAL rival for Ren. Lory might even play the “You’re letting him go without a fight?” card because we all know that that isn’t Kyoko...You know… I think it would be better if Maria was the one who said this to Kyoko… honestly can’t you all see it? Annny way… on to other things
So the Okami’s reactions, saying the things about older women and I think has two purposes. First, I think she is relieved that Ren has someone who is older...because to her that means Kyoko is safe. Toshio is the only one to suspect Ren’s duplicitous nature and I think he sees that Ren has feelings for Kyoko and he doesn’t like this. Also, her reaction serves the purpose of letting Kyoko know people, in general, approve of this match between Ren and Kana.
As far as Yashiro’s plans to ignore it and hope it goes away are pretty stupid. Then again, he doesn't have any experience (that we know of) dispelling these types of rumors. As I said before, I think this rumor mill is going to get worse before it gets better and I think a large part will be because Yashiro’s ignore it and hope it goes away strategy. Seriously, I am feeling like we will see Kana again before the year is out. Probably doing something that furthers the rumors. She gives me the impression that she is like an older version of Kimiko. Does anyone else feel that way? Like Kimiko’s blog was “Ren took me on a date!....JUST KIDDING” Kana will just do something that makes Ren look like they are meeting for a romantic interlude and let the paparazzi do its thing. She’s a more subtle snake. To add a bit more validity to this thought Chapter 258 is both the chapter where Kana is first introduced, and she kisses him AND it is the chapter where Kimiko tries to throw Kyoko off the building. The name of the chapter is Hungry Ghost. Initially, I was thinking it referred to Kimiko, but now I think it was talking about both women.
Alright, the girl’s at Kyoko’s set. Their purpose is similar to the Okami’s, to let Kyoko know that people, in general, approve of the match. But they add another layer to it. One of them says if it’s someone their age or younger, they would be pissed off. Why? Because that could have been them. We know Kyoko is probably about their age or a bit younger so this is just another strike against Kyoko and she hasn’t even begun to battle for Ren’s heart. Also, the comment at the end of their conversation about Kana’s “skills” and the innuendo that implied, that will probably come up between the two again as well, especially after the whole hicky thing… and Kyoko having no experience with men. However, the one thing Kyoko and Ren have going for each other (not that Kyoko or those girls know it) is their shared past. Ren, if he is forced to out himself as Kuon can always sell the story of him and Kyoko being destined to be together type thing.
Now on to Lory. I am so happy to see him again but OF COURSE, HE CALLED REN AND LAUGHED! I wouldn’t expect any different reaction from him to be honest. I read some speculation on the Facebook group that Lory might have set this up, but I doubt it. I think that was all Kana. Remember Lory said he hates when love dramas unfold according to his script, they don’t do anything for him that way. No, he is gonna let these two idiots do their thing. Maybe he might nudge like he did with the photo of Kyoko and Sho but I don’t think he would be so blatant as this. It could just be to talk to her about everything that is going on with Ren but I think (hope?) the reason he and Swara are looking for Kyoko is for a Love Me job. We do see her in the side story (which I’ve said over and over that I think happens sometime AFTER this “day”) in her Love Me uniform. I also suspect (more like hope against all hope) that that Love Me job involves Kuu and Juli. I think if ANYONE can help Kyoko learn to love her self and give her the battle armor she needs to fight for Ren it would be Juli. Honestly, with the article coming out I can see Juli losing her will power and hoping the first flight she can to Japan. Especially if she thinks her boy is in love or in danger from someone else. I don’t think Kuu picked up on Ren’s feelings for Kyoko so I doubt he could have relayed them to Juli but she might have enough intuition to be suspicious of what Ren’s feelings for Kyoko might be. If Juli and Kuu come to Tokyo, THIS might be the unexpected result. Also if they come, and the press is digging into Ren’s life looking for more proof of the rumor, Ren might find his secret being outed before he tells Kyoko. Which… you know… DRAMA! We know Nakamura likes to torture us so….
Lastly, the GPS tracker on Kyoko’s phone. Remember Kyoko has a company phone, not a personal one so it does make some sense for the company to be able to track it. I don’t expect this is because Lory wants to mess with Ren and Kyoko but that it will be important later in the story. If Ren’s secret does come out through the press (and he doesn’t tell her first) maybe she runs off back to Kyoto and they use the GPS to track her down? Or maybe someone “kidnaps” her. Nakamura hasn’t used that trope yet and it’s pretty standard in Shojo manga, so it could be that as well.
Now that I have written almost two full pages of a Google doc about Skip Beat! instead of doing my homework for grad school I am gonna get out. Let me know what you think!
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