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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 6.

Summary: Ransom and you attend a wake for his great-nanna Wanetta, with the rest of his family. The knives are out, and they’re sharp…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So here it is, the penultimate chapter to this series! One more to go post this, plus an epilogue. I can’t believe it’s almost over…

Word Count: 9.5k (oops)

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 5

You'd managed to get through Christmas fairly well. The days leading up, Ransom had been a little suspiciously sneaky but you didn't give it a second thought, really. Things between you and your captor were more than amicable, they were pleasant. But, despite the cohabitation and this new found demeanour in him, Ransom wasn't above reminding you that you were still under his eye. And under his eye you were indeed, all day long. He watched you as you read, as you cooked, as you wrote in your journal. Oddly, not once showing interest in your musings but working away on his own.

Christmas morning, the two of you had spent a few lazy hours in bed, Ransom waking you with kisses over your bare skin, stripped down and tired from the evening before where he worked you over until you couldn't move, crying out his name near midnight, his breathless, tired voice telling you 'Merry Christmas' before he slept. After an easy egg and toast breakfast, the two of you were sitting around the lounge, the fire burning, the tree lit, soft music played in the background, watching a fresh layer of snow falling outside. You were reading Dickens' holiday classic, aloud while Ransom sat next to you, idling running a long index finger over your neck in slow and soft, up and down strokes, listening to you. Suddenly he'd stopped and removed the book from your hands.

"I have something for you," he said, a slight eagerness to his tone. He slipped away for a brief moment, pulling a box, intricately wrapped, clearly not by himself, from under the tree. You'd never noticed it there, not once and you wondered when he'd put it there or if he'd hidden it in the very spot this whole time.

The red leather box sat heavy in your hand as you read the gold inscription on the top. With an unsteady breath, you lifted the hinged lid and hitched your breath at what sat inside. A white gold necklace, with two interlocking rings in a signature Cartier design glistened back at you. The screw motifs which were set in ideal oval shaped rings studded with diamonds that twinkled in the light sat snuggly inside against black velvet.

You were stunned. The gesture far too expensive and in your mind inappropriate. But you also thought it was absolutely gorgeous, and you wondered how he'd come up with such an expensive idea. You'd not mentioned anything of the sort in your time together, in fact, you hadn't had jewellery on bar your ball studs in your ears now.

You looked up from the delicate piece and your eyes met expectant ones. "It's beautiful," you spoke softly. "Thank you."

"Let me put it on you," he sat next you whilst taking the box from your hands. He gently pulled it away from the box and unclasped it, settling it around your neck as you moved your hair out of the way, thin tendrils framing your face. Your robe slipped off your shoulder and you felt his soft lips against your skin, down your neck and along your shoulder. "Let me see you," he spoke softly.

You turned in his direction and you saw the way he admired the way the piece sat across your chest, the silk robe you were wearing over your barely-there nightgown gaping open. As his eyes blatantly roved down between the valley of your breasts your own flicked across his casual, lazy-Christmas morning form, his broad chest and shoulders clad in a white thermal, sweats hung low on his hips.

"Perfect," he whispered, leaning towards you.

You were not a bought woman, no; you were his victim, his roommate, his co-habitant, his lover, his partner, his... Oh for Christ's sake you could go on with the labels that did or didn't make sense, were mutual or not, had or didn't carry the weight of a proper explanation. Right now, you were going through the motions and emotions.

"I like it, a lot, thank you again," you replied as his lips grew closer to yours. "I've never had such an expensive gift before."

His lips ghosted over yours, "There's plenty more where that came from, Sweetheart."

The implication of his words had hit you like a freight train as you realised just how many more ‘occasions’ he was planning on the pair of you spending together. New Year, Easter, Spring Break, your birthday, his birthday, summer, Memorial Day. It sparked so many conflicting opinions within you that you were glad of the distraction when he moved, his fingers delicate as he undid the ties of your robe and led you down on the rug before his lips had traced a path down your body and soon he’d had you crying his name, sheer bliss coursing through your veins.

Later that day, you'd made dinner for him, a reminder of how Christmas used to be when Wanetta and his Grandmother shared the festivities. After the quiet meal, he had expected you to join him for a shower, no doubt as pay back for him going down on you earlier. When you'd respectfully declined stating you needed to wash the dishes, he sneered and sulked off. You'd made sure that when he was gone long enough, you were able to get things set up for your gift. Now was the time to show Ransom how gifts of meaning and purpose were to be given and hopefully received. Not that it was going to make a blind bit of difference to your situation, not in the grand scheme of things anyway. You'd finished cleaning and putting everything away and headed into the lounge where you stoked the fire and then made your way back into the kitchen for your supplies. The hot cocoa burning hot, the slices of bread, tongs and a small serving of butter, complete with freshly blended cinnamon sugar. You knew he would come find you when you were not waiting in the bedroom for him. If Ransom Drysdale was anything, it was a creature of expectation and habit. You'd heard him coming down the stairs, that one spot with a creak carrying his footfall. You straightened up your things, setting up the tongs and tray of treats nicely before covering them with a cloth napkin, standing between the coffee table and the fireplace, and waited on baited breath for the tirade you thought was coming. He had turned the corner, his face stern with evident hard lines, his bare chest on display, hair still wet from the shower. You could smell him as he entered the doorway, that scent that you'd soon come to realize made you heady and needy. You waved him over, a hunt of excitement to your tone, "come on, come sit." “I don’t want to sit, Sweetheart, I want you like I had you before dinner. Crying my name with you under me.” He stood just inside the doorway, with his arms folded across his chest, sweats hung low on his hips. He wore no shirt just to entice you, but you weren't giving in so easily. "I'll say your name as many times as you want, but first, I need to give you my gift." You chose then to look at him with big eyes, sincere yet seductive.

It was a stare off between the two of you, he not budging and you popping your hip out to one side as you folded your arms over your chest. He had his fun, now you wanted to enjoy something and gift giving brought you joy.

Like a child told to apologize for hitting another, he hung his head and sulked over. You could tell it pained him to obey your request. But you again saw through his facade. You knew this meant far more to him than anything he'd ever received.

But he'd never tell you that. Not that you thought anyway. “Oh stop being so you, Ransom, for just five minutes.” You snorted exasperatedly at his petulant nature. “It’s Christmas.” With a roll of his eyes that would make any toddler jealous, he took to his knees sitting on his heels. With a smirk, you joined him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, "Merry Christmas, Ransom." You pulled the napkin off the tray revealing the contents of your gift. His eyes moved over the tray, first seeing the mugs of cocoa, topped with whipped cream that was beginning to melt into the warm liquid. The tongs, the bread, the small pinch bowls of cinnamon sugar and the soft butter. With his mind occupied, you managed to grab a throw and wrap it around the two of you. He blinked, and you could see that he was fighting the smirk that was threatening to cross his handsome face. “Toast?” He finally asked and you nodded, smiling. "I couldn't go get you something, not that it mattered, so this was the next best thing." A flicker of something darkened his face, and for a moment you thought you saw regret flash in his eyes, just like the day he had marked your face but as soon as it had appeared it was gone. "Just enjoy it, even if you can't say anything about it, just...." you shrugged, "remember." That night, after the toast with cinnamon butter and cocoa from scratch were shared, he had his way with you, delightfully slow, once more by the fire, you again crying out his name and he yours, over and over again. By the time he finished, you were both boneless and breathless, his body covering yours until he rolled over and the two of you slept by the fire, wrapped up in each other's arms, the heavy throw around your naked bodies.

Christmas had been nice. Maybe, somewhat enjoyable, you'd admitted to yourself. Of course, the wrench of not seeing your family had weighed like a stone in your gut, compounded by the fact that thanks to the lie you’d been forced to tell Blanc, they thought this was your choice. That you were staying away from them because you wanted to, when nothing could be further from the truth. You missed your mom and dad goofing around over presents, still trying to tell your now well grown-up sister and you Santa had been. You ached for the usual family politics that manifested when your uncles and aunts descended for dinner. You longed for your sister to be complaining about how fat she was going to get…

"We have to go," Ransom’s deep baritone caught you completely off guard, making you jump as you stood staring out of the large French windows over the garden from the master suite.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath to centre yourself, your heart racing at the speed of light from your fright. You took a glance at yourself in the mirror above the fireplace and found yourself wishing you’d done a better job at covering up the ugly scab and green bruising on your face.

You followed Ransom in his tan coat, pin striped slacks and a black cashmere sweater as he strode from the room. You felt nervous, anxious, scared. This was the first time you were leaving the house in two months. He led you to the garage where you started walking to the SUV he'd taken you in but he stopped you short, calling out to you, "not this time, Sweetheart." He stood at the passenger door to his vintage BMW. You swallowed and walked towards the door he was holding open for you. Wordlessly, you sank into the passenger seat and reached for your belt. Pulling it across your lap, you adjusted the pencil skirt and blouse you'd tucked into so as not to wrinkle it, your soft black peacoat bluky in your seat. The car roared to life, throbbing beneath you, the hum of the engine might, in other circumstances, have excited you. But now, the only thing filling you was dread. The first time you’re out of your "castle", and it's to go to a wake, for Wanetta Thrombey.

Go figure. ***** The silence in the car was stifling. Every so often Ransom stole a glance at Y/N to find her simply staring out of the window, at one stage reaching up to wipe her eye. He didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t an idiot. Over Christmas he’d caught her numerous time completely zoned out, as if she was somewhere else, just like she had been moments before they had left. And whilst she’d done her best to keep her tears and attitude at bay, she’d been clipped with him a number of times which he’d simply let slide and instead of reminding her about her attitude, he’d pressed her to tell him what was wrong. She’d quietly admitted that she missed her family, something Ransom simply couldn’t understand, so in the spirit of their recent candid openness, he’d asked her bluntly why she needed them so much when he gave her everything she could possibly ever want. At that she had snorted, and taken great pains to explain to him that just because he failed to understand something didn’t make it any less valid of a feeling to someone else and then she’d deftly changed the subject, and he’d allowed the conversation to steer elsewhere.

And now, the first time she’d been anywhere but the inside of his house and strictly the garden for months, they were headed to spend time with his shit-head family. The irony was staggering when you considered it. He eased his beloved beemer onto the main road and pushed his foot down on the gas, weaving himself in and out of the light traffic obnoxiously fast. But he wasn’t known for his patience, he had somewhere to be and in his mind; the faster he got there the faster he could leave, keen to spend as little time with his family as possible. About halfway into the journey, Ransom felt that familiar cold feeling in his stomach as he pulled off the freeway and on to one of the smaller roads. He could drive this journey with his eyes closed but it was the first time he’d been back to the mansion since... well, since IT had all gone down. The more he thought about it, the more agitated he could feel himself getting, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the car with a force that made his knuckles white. He was jolted however, with the feeling of a hand on his arm and his head turned slightly to see Y/N looking at him. She didn’t say anything, and no sooner had he registered her touch she moved her hand dropping it back into her lap, eyes focussed downwards as his turned back to the road. He swallowed, that familiar and uncomfortable feeling of remorse once more washing over him. Despite everything he had done to her, she was still voluntarily lending him comfort.

Ten minutes later, he swung up the tree-lined driveway, his heart pounding in his chest. His jaw set hard as the mansion came into view, and low and behold his mother, standing on the front steps, a cigarette between her fingers as she exasperatedly texted on her phone. A meek voice came from the seat beside him, "its going to be okay." But he couldn't decipher if she were talking to him or herself. He cut the engine, his hands still on the wheel as he sighed and hung his head, before he turned to her. “I don’t need to warn you about trying anything do I?” He asked, ignoring her effort to placate him. "No," she replied quietly. “Good.” He reached out and gently gripped her chin between his thumb and finger, pressing as soft kiss to her lips, the action as much for him as it was for the benefit of his mother who was watching the pair of them. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” He gracefully unfolded himself from the driver’s side, shutting the door behind him and strode to the front of his car, waiting for Y/N to catch up. Her face was set, an expression he’d seen countless times before when she’d been fearful and acting under duress. He watched as she took a deep breath and drew back her shoulders whilst he reached for her hand. Obediently, she took it and together they strode towards the large wooden door, his mother watching them as they approached "You're late," Linda scoffed.

He paid her no mind and pulled Y/N along his side. “I’m sure Nanna won’t mind too much, you know, on account of her being dead.” He retorted sardonically.

You stood by his side, your eyes watching Linda and she turned her attention to you, her eyes narrowing a little, a strange expression on her features, almost as if she was sussing you out. But, as her eyes flicked to your injured cheek before they darted to Ransom who still had a possessive grip around your hand you realised with horror it wasn’t you she was suspicious of. It was the bruise on your face, more so how it had gotten there.

You cleared your throat. “Funny thing,” you gestured to it and her eyes snapped to yours, “too much Scotch and I tripped. Face first into the corner of my vanity."

Okay, so it wasn’t a complete lie…but you still felt sick to your stomach at how quickly you’d jumped to his defence.

“Sure.” Linda arched an eyebrow.

“What exactly are you getting at, Mother?” Ransom looked at her, his jaw set and Linda rolled her eyes, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Nothing really, I just find it extremely odd that you get an interview with this girl to clear your name and she ends up in your bed, only after she’s done a complete hatchet job on all of us first.” She dropped her cigarette end to the floor before she looked at him shrewdly.

“For which she published an apology.” Ransom’s voice was flat and carried an undertone of annoyance to which Linda paid no attention.

“Because you’re really the type to forgive and forget so easily.” She scoffed as Ransom gave a dramatic sigh as his mother continued, her head now turning to you. “You know, I could hardly believe it when Blanc told us you were with him, and then I saw you with my own eyes and now here you are again…“

“What do you mean, when Blanc told you?” Ransom frowned as his hand contracted almost painfully around yours, a warning no doubt to remain silent. His mother had hit the nail on the head, proving that she knew her son a lot better than you, and no doubt he, had bothered to give her credit for.

“Her disappearance was all over the news, more so because they’d linked it to that god-awful cretin of an actor, Lucas Lee.” She turned back to look at him. “But, no sooner had they done that he was cleared thanks to a cast-iron alibi and low and behold, a few weeks later Blanc turns up.” Linda raised her brows, her gaze fixed on Ransom. “I told him where to find you-“

“Gee, thanks.” Ransom drawled and she glared at him, before he rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand for her to continue.

“And obviously he did as he came back a day or so later, saying that to his surprise you-“ her eyes flicked to yours then and you swallowed “-were seemingly there, of your own accord.”

“I erm,” you fumbled on your words and felt Ransom let go of your hand, his palm warm as it now rested between your shoulder blades. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for another lie, one that this time you’d spun before and you shrugged, licking your lips. “I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I came to realize that despite my scathing feature, Ransom intrigued me. I wanted to get to know him more. One thing led to another and I figured if we kept our relationship quiet for a while, I'd save myself the spit on my face from my family and people like you.”

“People like me?” Linda arched a brow, her lips quirking up at one side. “

“I didn’t mean…” You shook your head, quickly taking a deep breath. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“A tad, but I’ve had worse.” Linda’s eyes twinkled with something that looked like amusement as she reached into her pocket for her packet of cigarettes. “But, what I don’t understand is, why let your family believe you were missing, dead even?”

“I, well, I was under a lot of pressure at work, and everything just got too much and needed to escape, from everything. Ransom told me to stay with him for a while to get some head space and I didn’t mean to cause anyone any hurt or upset and-“

You stopped dead as you felt Ransom curl his hand round the back of your neck, giving a squeeze in warning. You were rambling.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Sweetheart,” his voice was softly spoken as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “it’s none of her business.”

Linda looked at you for a moment, before she turned to her son and shrugged, popping another cigarette into her mouth. “I’ve long since given up trying to understand anything you did.”

“Well, like the judge said,” Ransom moved, his hand now on the base of your spine as he turned and guided you to the large door of the house, “not of sound mind.”

In the spacious drawing room, the rest of the family was gathered around. There were no others at the wake, Wanetta having outlived everyone she knew. You knew Ransom would offer no introductions, but that wasn’t an issue, you knew everyone anyway from your extensive research into this fucked up family. The fire burned in the background, and Ransom’s father, Richard, lounged in an arm-chair, a young woman who you presumed to be the au-pair Ransom talked about with disdain, perched on his lap. Walt was perched in another arm-chair, his wife Donna stood behind him, clutching a half drunk glass of wine, their son Jacob absent from the room. Marta and Meg were perched on the couch with Joni flitting about, a crunch from a carrot stick heard from across the room. You walked in and immediately felt the daggers in your skin as all eyes turned towards you. The knives were out and you swallowed, adjusting your sleeve, feeling Ransom's presence behind you.

“Here…” you felt Ransom’s hands gently pulling on the shoulders of your coat and he slipped it from your body, gently pressing another kiss to your cheek. You turned to look at him, offering him a small smile before he moved to hang the coat up on the stand at the far side of the room.

“Y/N, right?” Marta was the first one to speak as she stood up, and you nodded, not bothering to ask how she knew your name. It was a given she’d have read the article, and it was also a given thanks to the conversation moment’s ago with Linda, that the rest of the family had also been briefed on the fact you were ‘with’ Ransom. What clearly hadn’t’ been anticipated from the not-so-covert surprised glances that were being shared, was that he would have brought you today. “Can I get you a drink?” She continued and you smiled.

“Please, erm, a wine would be great.”

“Red or white?”

“She prefers white.” Ransom spoke and Marta’s eyes darted to his. You instantly felt his entire body language stiffen and you turned to him, the distaste evident on his face, his entire aura radiating utter disdain and bitterness.

Marta simply took a deep breath, her expression flat, but her eyes fierce as they remained in a silent stand-off.

“Can’t she speak for herself?” Meg scoffed and Ransom pulled his eyes away from Marta, turning his glare to his cousin.

“Is explaining what a lady prefers to drink considered sexist as well now or…”

“He’s right,” You jumped in quickly, smiling at Marta. “White is great, thanks.”

Marta nodded.

“Hugh?” She looked at Ransom and you blinked at the use of that name and then realised, of course, she’d once upon a time been the help. That said, you knew she was saying it simply because she wanted to, not that her status required it and there was an amused look on Ransom’s face as he turned to her.

“Beer.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself at his lack of manners, but from the expression on Marta’s face she’d been expecting it, and to be honest, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t been. Her lips curled into a sarcastic grin as she turned and headed out.

“You should try it, Donna. It’s got camomile and lavender in. I swear by it.” Your ears then picking up on a conversation between Walt, Donna and Joni and you turned your head towards them, Ransom’s arm curled round your waist, hand resting heavy on your hip. Joni bit down on the carrot stick she was holding with a flourish of her hands. “It’s my favourite thing FLAM have done.”

"You know, I'm surprised you didn't go under given you're no longer receiving Dad's money.” Walt interjected and Joni rolled her eyes.

“Shows how much attention you pay, Walt. When I released that new line of bath-bombs and candles, sales, like literally, went through the roof.”

“Bath-bombs?” Walt frowned.

“Yeah, they’re like little cakes if you will of dried soap and fragranced that you drop into a-“

“I know what they are.” Walt rolled his eyes as Marta appeared, handing you your drink which you took with a thanks. “I was commenting on the fact you said you’d launched a new line.”

“Oh, yeah.” Joni munched her carrot stick some more. “I got the idea from Gwyneth Paltrow when she released that candle scented like her vagina.” At that you choked on your drink and hastily avoided looking at anyone in the room as various groans and loud protests from the males hit your ears.

At that point Linda walked back into the room and sat down in a chair not far from where you were sat and she smoothed down her trousers before she peered up at Ransom.

“How’s the book coming along?” She asked, peering from over the top of her wine glass as she sipped from it.

“Fine.” Ransoms shrugged. “Few little blocks here and there but I’ll work through them. Granddad always told me sometimes it pays to take a step back and pause, ideas often come when you’re not expecting them.”

Linda smiled, and you were pleased to see that, for once, it appeared genuine, as if she was actually looking at her son with something more than ambivalence. And then, the moment was ruined as Meg burst out laughing.

“You’re writing a book? What’s it called? ‘Ransom’s Guide To Being An Asshole’?” She snorted and Ransom took a deep breath.

“Eat shit.”

“Original.” Meg replied drily rolling her eyes, “you know, I'm jealous of all the people that haven't met you.” She stated as her eyes turned to you. “Seriously, what the fuck do you see in him? Why on earth anyone would ever want to be in the same room with him, let alone share his bed is completely beyond me.”

“Tell me, Meg, when was the last time you got laid?” Ransom turned to her, a smirk on his face. “And your dildo doesn’t count.” “Fuck you, you fucking prick.” Meg seethed before she turned to look at you, her face angry. “You know, it must be serious if he’s bringing you here; he normally just keeps his fuck buddies on speed dial.”

“And throws the money on the mattress.” Walt mumbled.

At that, Ransom tensed and he turned his face towards his Uncle, his nostrils flaring. But before he had time to answer back, Richard let out a derisive snort and Ransom instead turned his head to his father.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Ransom shot back, “Tell me, how much do you pay the barely legal whore sat on your lap?”

“You little shit.” Richard spat as the poor woman in question shifted uncomfortably, her mouth falling open as the insult Ransom had shot at her registered.

You stood stock still, a warm and uncomfortable feeling washing over you as the family continued to bicker. You could feel a headache coming; this was becoming too much for you to cope with.

“Oh for God’s sake.” Linda groaned, almost lazily from her spot on the chair. “Is it too much to ask that one of our family deaths goes by without starting another feud?”

"Oh that's rich, coming from you!” Richard, turned to her. Linda met her ex-husband’s glare with a completely blank expression on her face, before she scoffed.

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous glasses?” She demanded, referring to the spectacles that adorned Richard’s face, the style being something you would attribute to Harry Potter.

“So I can see.”

“You never needed glasses in the entire thirty-four years we were married.” She scoffed.

“I did.” Richard shrugged, a snarky grin curling at one side of his mouth and you instantly recognised that expression as being one Ransom sported a lot. “Just preferred it when I couldn’t see your face.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open and you felt yourself bristle as you took a breath.

“Are you actually gonna let your dad say that to your mom?” You glanced up at Ransom. His head turned slowly towards you and the expression of anger on his face at being called out made your blood run cold. You recoiled a little and your eyes immediately darted to the floor.

“Sorry.” You whispered.

"This is fun," Jacob snickered as he, from out of nowhere, waltzed into the room and took a seat in the corner of the bay window, never once looking up from his phone. “Ransom once more manages to spark an argument.”

“Y/N meet Jacob, the poster child for the pro-choice movement.” Ransom gestured to the teenager in front of you who merely rolled his eyes as both Walt and Donna began to yell and hurl insults back at Ransom.

“Says the guy whose birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory.” The teen mumbled back.

“Ooh, good one, which one of your alt-right, KKK loving buddies did you learn that from?” Ransom quipped, and in a quick change of decorum, the room erupted with slander and jabs being shouted and tossed about, most of the commotion being pointed at Ransom.

It was a cacophony of noise and sound, which infiltrated your head, making your brain buzz and crackle like the wick of a dynamite stick and it was too much. After months of quiet with no one to listen or talk to bar Ransom, it was overwhelming and you felt sick.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” You mumbled, seizing the chance, as he was distracted.

You made your way into the hallway where you stood, your back leaning against the dark wooden panelling, taking huge gasps of air. Your chest hurt, your head was spinning and your legs burned but those deep breaths didn’t help. Your hand slapped against your chest, hoping to ebb the sting. Soon, lightheaded, and with a slight spin to the space around you, you felt a cool hand on your shoulder through your blouse. Your head turned and you saw a sweet pair of eyes looking at you with worry.

“Let’s get you some real air, come on,” it was Marta, coming to your aide.

She took you outside, to a covered patio, with wicker furniture and heating lamps. The rush of cold air hit your flushed skin and a different sting erupted through your lungs as the bite of winter’s breath filled you.

“Here.” The young woman handed you a tartan blanket, which you took with a grateful look, still not quite able to form any words. She helped you sit down on one of the chairs and made sure the blanket was snug around your shoulders as she took a seat opposite you.

“They’re a little overwhelming, but you get used to it,” she rubbed a small hand up and down your back.

You just looked at her, your eyes watering as you came down from your panic. You had no desire to get used to it, to any of it, but as per anything in this fucked up situation, you were no doubt going to have to, like it or not.

The breaths you took became longer, deeper, the peak of panic now steadying out leaving you feeling shaky and exposed.

“I’m sorry, that was…”

“You don’t have to apologise. With what’s happening inside, this is normal.” Marta softly smiled with a chuckle. “I’d be worried if they weren’t screaming at each other.”

“Can I ask you something?” You looked at her, speaking softly.

“Of course.” She replied, just as hushed.

“Why did you do it? Have everyone over? You don’t owe them anything.”

The former nurse rubbed her palms on her pants, “well, it’s what Wanetta wanted. She sorta came with the house and it was her last wish, for the family to come together. I think she thought after everything that happened something might have changed?” Marta shook her head at the audacity of the sound of it. “She didn’t say much more, but Allan had given me her will and that’s all it read. Things would remain the same but she wanted them here after she was cremated, for a final goodbye.”

“I admire her optimism.” You stated flatly and Marta laughed before she gave a heavy sigh, a sad smile on her face.

“Well, she loved them, not that any of them cared, not in years. The only one I ever noticed take mind of her out of want and not duty was Ransom.” She kept her eyes on yours as she spoke, genuine care coming from the sound of her. “But that was before…when he…with Harlan.”

You glanced away, not totally surprised but still a little shocked so to speak that someone else had noticed there was a little shred of humanity buried underneath all his asshole bravado. You leaned forward on your thighs, elbows resting there as your hands wrung together, a nervous habit you’d recently developed.

“Can I ask YOU something?” Marta wondered. You nodded, your stomach knotting, hoping I wasn’t what you suddenly thought it could be. “You’ve spent time with Ransom. I read your article and your apology. Do you believe all of this? The not of sound mind?” Her eyes were sorrowful but held a glare of contempt at the circumstance.

“Uh…” you started but the opening of the patio door caught both of your attentions and the man in question stepped outside, your coat in his hands.

“I was worried,” he stated, opening your coat for you as you automatically stood to receive the gesture. You had no doubt his worry was genuine, but whether it was for you or what you may or may not have revealed was another question.

“I needed some air,” you admitted, “Marta came to my rescue.”

“One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.” Ransom quipped in reference to the chaos of the family being together, chaos he narcissistically enjoyed partaking in.

You looked up at those daring blue eyes, “Mark Twain.”

He quirked a brow in agreement before his eyes flicked to Marta and then back to you. “Was I interrupting something, Sweetheart?”

There it was, that warning tone in his voice. You were on thin ice. You stuffed your hands into your peacoat pocket and shook your head.

“No.” You cleared your throat as you held his gaze. “Like I said, I just needed some air.”

As he stood there, his eyes searching hers he took a deep breath as she gazed back up at him, fear simmering within those deep globes. Ransom reached out, pulling her to him, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “As long as that’s all it was.”

Recognising his comment for what it was, half concern and half warning, she nodded against his chest. Without so much as another glance at Marta, he turned, his arm looped possessively over her shoulders as he led her back inside. He walked slowly down the hallway, stooping slightly to speak into her ear. “From now on, you don’t leave my sight, you got that?”

“Yeah, okay.” She whispered and nodded.

“Good girl,” he smiled, tipping her face up with on finger under her chin, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

*****

The next hour or so passed reasonably uneventfully. Ransom was careful to keep as much distance between him, Y/N and the rest of the assholes in the room as possible. When the buffet was served, he watched as she picked at the plate of food she had selected, not eating a terrible amount. She’d gone in on herself again, and he found himself a little disappointed if truth be told.

“We’ll leave soon.” He turned to her and she looked at him, “you’ve behaved today, I’m impressed.”

At that she rolled her eyes. “Is going back to that fucking house supposed to be a reward or something?”

At that Ransom felt a surge of anger and he glared at her, the nerve in his jaw twitching. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.” His voice was low, and a growl but to his surprise, instead of recoiling at his outward hostility and warning she simply sat up straight, her shoulders squaring and met him with a filthy look of her own.

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“Oh we already played that game.” His lip curled back in a snarl. “Several times.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Walt leaned forward a little to pick up something off one of the plates on the table by Ransom and he took a breath, his eyes still trained on Y/N before he turned to his uncle.

“Are you not dead yet?”

“Do you have to talk to everyone like that?” Joni sighed. “God, Ransom.”

“Well I thought the guys who bust his leg might have caught up with him by now, no such luck.” Ransom shrugged.

“Listen here you little shit,” Walt leaned over the table, but no sooner had he done that he suddenly began coughing on whatever food he had in his mouth.

“I’m listening.” Ransom quipped as Walt continued to splutter, Donna hastily hitting him on the back.

Jacob, who wasn’t even looking at the table, too engrossed in his phone, then spoke. “What did you eat, Dad? Wasn’t anything he gave you was it? I mean he did kill Grandpa so I wouldn’t put it past him to poison you either.”

A deadly silence spread across the room as Ransom took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on his cousin, his hand clenching into fists. Besides him, Y/N let out a shaky breath and her head turned to look at him but he didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he leaned back in his chair and when he spoke next, his voice was icy.

“Not of sound mind.”

“Yeah, we heard. Loaf of bullshit if you ask me, but then again an expensive lawyer can get you off most things these days.” Walt snarled.

“Enough!” Linda yelled, her hand smacking on the table. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Besides him, Y/N had begun to tremble, and Ransom glanced at her to see she was taking deep breaths, her chest heaving, face stony as she stared at the wall opposite, where a picture of his Nanna Wanetta was hung.

“Oh shut up Linda!” Walt turned to her. “Everyone here knows he’s guilty as sin, even you! Why the fuck he’s even here is beyond me. And as for you...” He turned to Y/N and she gave a start, her eyes flicking to him. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead as there ain’t no gold to be digging for. She got it all.” He pointed his fork at Marta and then that was it. Y/N let out a hell of frustration, standing up that quickly her chair tumbled to the ground behind her, the plate clattering to the floor by her feet.

“You think I’m with him for his money?” He glared at Walt, the entire room silent as all eyes focussed on her. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea. I’m with him because I have-“

At that Ransom’s hand shot out and curled round her wrist, his grip tight in warning and she jerked away from him, glaring down at him with a fire in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“The whole lot of you are fucked in the head.” She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life. You’re nothing but a bunch of self-entitled, narcissistic assholes. After everything you've been through, you can’t even find it in your cold dead hearts to come together honour a member of your family that died without reducing the entire event to some kind of sick, twisted game of one-upmanship. Each and every one of you are all about yourselves, and what you can do to out accomplish the other. As far as I’m concerned each one of you can fuck off and die. You disgust me."

She took a deep breath, running her hands over her face before she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

Ransom blinked, watched her leave, a slam of the door behind her. He stood there for a brief moment, processing what had just happened. He looked back to his family with a smug shrug and at that he headed quickly after Y/N, his mother's obnoxious and loudly over dramatic gasp bouncing off his back as he too slammed the front door.

****

It was your turn to stand there and act like a petulant child as you leaned against the hood of the Beemer, cares and all fucks be damned. You were tired, you were angry and God damn down right fed up with this entire family and their bullshit. You didn't even make eye contact with him as Ransom as he approached the car. You simply moved to your door, slipped in as he did and waited for him to start the car. You felt his eyes in him, heard him open his mouth to say something but rather he just took in a breath and started the engine. You sat there, your arms crossed over your chest, knees at an angle, pointed towards your door, away from him.

A rumble of a chuckle escaped his chest, "Oh Sweetheart, that was really something."

"Just drive," you spat out, turning your head to him in annoyance. Now he didn't find you amusing, this new air of confidence about you. He cleared his throat and looked at you with a stern gaze.

"Careful, Y/N," he warned, pulling around the drive to the long road before the main. You didn't care. You raised your brows as if you were silently emphasizing your demand, it was not a request, even in the slightest.

The bare trees and snow covered ground began flying by your window, clearly Ransom laying the pedal to the floor as you shook your head.

"What the hell was even the point of going today? It was blatantly obvious that they didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be there. If you wanted to mourn Wanetta, we could have done it from the confines of the prison you like to keep me in. Or was this just another shitty way for you to torture me? Huh? Was that amusing to you, Hugh, making me spend an afternoon with your fucked up family, whom you hate, when you’re keeping me from mine? God, you really are a twisted son of a bitch.”

Your tirade set his skin on fire, you could see the tinge of red flushing his skin as he white knuckled the wheel, his hand on the gear shift squeezing the hell out of it as you spoke. Then very quickly you felt your body lurch forward as he slammed on the breaks. "What the fuck did you just say?"

“What, are you deaf?” You blazed. “I asked why we were there? I mean I thought we were going to pay respects to your Great-Nanna, because stupid me actually believed that you felt something, you know, some kind of sorrow that she was gone, and I actually felt sorry for you at first when we got in there, and they were unloading all their vile little opinions and digging in at you and-“

"Now you listen to me you little bitch," he spat, cutting you off. "I didn’t ask for, nor do I need your pity. I don’t care what my family say to me, or think about me. And I certainly don’t care what they think or say about you”

“Oh my god, you are…” You shook your head, looking out of the window, taking a deep breath. “This isn’t pity, Ransom.”

“No, because that’s what it sounds like.” He seethed, his hands curling round the steering wheel.

“Of course it does.” You scoffed. “Because that’s probably all you’ve ever felt towards anyone else isn’t it? Pity, because they’re never going to be as good as you, or have the things you have. Well you might be rich in money terms but fuck, in everything else you’re a pauper. Have you ever truly empathised with someone? Like have even once fully understood what someone else feels? Their sorrow, their happiness, their joy?”

“What the fuck are you getting at?”

You sighed, considering your options. You knew what you wanted to tell him-that the fact he wasn’t loved as a child left him incapable of the simple emotions normal people met, but he was calling you out. And now, it was play it soft or rip it off like a band-aid…

And despite the feeling of foreboding washing over you, you chose the latter. You were tired of playing his mind games, tired of this whole situation. And whatever fucked up punishment he was going to inflict on you, well, it couldn’t be worse than anything he’d already done, you’d take it.

“You don't know how to be happy, or how to love Ransom, because you've never seen it. You've never experienced it. You just breeze through life thinking you can take what you want when you want, and it doesn't work like that.”

“You’re starting to really piss me off. If I wanted a therapy session, I’d pay for one.” He snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”

“See, this is what I mean!” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You just asked me to elaborate, so I did, and know because I’m saying something that you don’t like or don’t wanna hear, you’re resorting to being an asshole. Every time I think I’m getting through to you, I…” You fell silent, swallowing as he glared at you, nostrils flaring and you took a deep sigh, knowing that this was pointless. “You know what, forget it. I shouldn’t-“

“No, you clearly got something to say, so go on. Say it.”

“What, so you can punish me when we get back for pissing you off some more?”

At that his face faltered and he took a deep breath, hanging his head. When he raised it again to look at you, his face was softer and he looked out of the windscreen, licking his lips. “I’m not…gonna punish you, okay.”

“How do I know?” You whispered, shaking your head. “How can I trust that you’re not just gonna lock me back in that damned basement and come down when you want to fuck me and-“ “Because I’m not!” His voice rose. “I don’t want you down there anymore. So I’ll ask again, you think you know so much about how to love,” he framed the word with his fingers, "then tell me what you think it means.”

“Fine, you wanna know…I’ll tell you. It's going on dates, it’s fun, its surprising, it’s feeling like you can’t breathe if the person you are in love with leaves you. It’s not about owning them or breaking them or how much you buy a person or throwing money at them, it’s showing them you know how they are, that you understand what they appreciate and what they need and what they want, a lot of times without being told.” You took a deep breath, watching his face, his expression never faltering. “Love is something that can't always be explained. It's that feeling of family, of having your person. Someone your heart and soul changes for, grows with. Love is a mother's hug or kiss goodnight, a father's ball landing in your mitt with a joyful laugh and smile. Love isn't forced or taken. It's given and received. It's...."

"Fresh hot cocoa on a rainy day when you have nothing left in a world that hates you,” he spoke softly, and when you realized what he'd said it stopped your thoughts cold. Did that mean what you thought it meant? That he loved you?

You were lost for words, but before you could protest and tell him he was wrong, he sighed and looked at you.

“You asked me before why I brought you today. That’s why. Because they hate me. And you make me feel fucking safe around those pieces of shit.” Your breath caught in your throat whilst your mind raced for how to respond. The tension and suspense filled the air about the two of you. You stared at him, his eyes soft, expectant, darting over your features with a bouncing worry. The reaction time between his words and your next move was merely a minute but you had quickly found a way to capitalize on this moment. You threw your belt off and kicked your heels off in the process, moving over the gear shift and the centre console into his lap, the center seam of your skirt tearing as you straddled him. "Wha...." his words were cut off by your lips on his, your palms over his softly shaven face, fingertips sliding into the hair behind his ears. Immediately, your tongue slipped deep inside his mouth, lolling around with his. His hands found your waist and gave you a squeeze. You came to your knees as best you could in the small space and continued to kiss him while trying to inch your skirt higher. He'd guessed what you were trying to do and you felt his hands move from your waist to the tops of your thighs, fingers trailing down quickly to the hem of your skirt, lifting it to above the curve of your ass where it bunched. He didn’t ask or question your sudden burst of confidence or seeming desire, just as you’d banked on, instead he was quite happy to go with it, as usual always ready to fuck you any which way he could. Your hands trailed over the soft material of his sweater and down to the end of it, where it met the top of his slacks. You lifted the clothing slightly to ghost over his skin causing him to flinch before your finger tips found the button and zip of his flies. That maddeningly smug smirk spread across his face and your lips crashed back to his, a furious clash of teeth and tongue, your hands still fumbling with his pants. He was half hard before you even got him free, no doubt from the heated exchange the two of you had to get to here. As you palmed his girth in your hand, your brain switched from playing him to wanton need, a basic primal instinct of desperation to release the toxic stress your body held. His big hand and thick fingers trailed over your hip, your ass, down your thigh and finally cupped your heat and a deep ferrral growl emitted from his chest as he'd realized you'd worn nothing under that skirt. He dipped two fingers inside you straight away and you cried out, "fuck" as your body bent back away from him, keening at the feeling. “Fuck, baby, you’ve had nothing on under here all day?” His fingers curled inside of you and you groaned, your head rolling back as your hips pushed forward, thrusting against his hand. You couldn't use your words, you looked down at him with your pupils blown and your bottom lip between your teeth. You gave him a squeeze instead and he quickly lurched you into the steering wheel with his chest, his fingers falling away and both hands tearing your blouse open, buttons flying that will never be found. His nose tucked between the valley of your breasts and he inhaled between your fleshy mounds, his tongue dipping against the underside of your thin bra. His hands each palming an ass cheek and squeezing so hard, it delightfully stung. With what little space the two of you had to move, Ransom pulled you down into his lap, the need to feel you wrapped around him dangerously feral. It took no time for that single motion to get his head then every inch of his shaft deep inside you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he ground out. He didn't care the mess she would make or the way he'd cum so hard he'd leak out of her, no, he wanted to fuck her senseless and that's exactly what he'd do. His heels cemented themselves into the footwell of the car as his hips jutted upward, her body curling in on him. “Harder, please Ransom.” Her voice croaked as she begged him and with a growl that was animalistic his hips picked up their pace as he rutted up into her quickly and harshly. His mouth devoured the tops of her breasts, nipping at her nipples through the material of the lace that covered them while her fingers scratched at the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. In contrast to the cold winter conditions outside, the air inside his beloved car was now hot, fast steaming up the windows, drops of condensation trickling down towards the door sill a perfect mirror image of the sweat that was now sliding down the hollow of her throat and beading on his brow. He could feel her walls begin to squeeze him tighter and tighter with each thrust. His hands curled round her hips, pulling her down onto him as he leaned back, raising his ass off the seat slightly, spearing up into her as deep as he could. "Ransom," you started to shake senselessly, you were crashing fast and hard and there was no slowing down. "Fuck, baby, just like that," you'd heard him say over the blood that rushed to your ears, deafening you, as you came, gripping him like a vice. Your body gave way as your hands sought purchase to ground yourself from entirely collapsing, finding the lapel of his camel coat, white knuckling it with one hand while the other slapped against the damp window which felt like melting ice against your heated palm. A noise burst from your mouth, a half scream, half choked wail, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever made before and you opened your eyes to see Ransom’s icy blue’s locked onto yours, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. His voracious pace continued until the end when he came with a primal growl, his hips raising off the seat far enough to jolt your head against the roof of the car. You felt him fill you, the warmth of his seed settling deep inside, and then some. The air was heavy with the sound of panting as the pair of you came down from the intensity of the moment, The both of you desperately trying to breathe despite the humidity. Your hands curled over Ransom's shoulders as he sagged back in the seat, his hands smoothing up the outside of your thighs. You swallowed hard as his eyes focused on yours. You leaned forward and kissed him slowly, softly, his mouth and body languidly responding. Pulling back slightly, you kept your forehead pressed to his, and took a deep breath before you went straight in for the kill, the reason you’d instigated this entire fuck, to capitalise once more on a seeming chink in his armour. "You said you feel safe with me." He stilled underneath you, his hands gentle as they now rest on your hips and his eyes locked onto yours, widening as he realised his admission. "Do you want me to feel safe with you? To trust you?" You continued, not giving him a moment to deny it. He nodded slowly in reply. "Prove it," you stated. "How?" His voice was croaky as he cleared his throat, a slight frown furrowed his brow. "I want to see my family again." He looked at you, and you kept your eyes locked on his, a challenge to him to make good on his word, gambling on him actually wanting you to trust him as he had taken great pains to demonstrate through various means over the past few weeks. This was it, the moment where you would find out exactly what he truly wanted- someone to love and trust him, or someone to fear and obey him. He let out a slow breath through his nose and his eyes flicked over your shoulder before they returned to yours and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod. But a nod nonetheless. “Okay.”

**** Part 7

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #knives out #chris evans #chris evans characters #reader insert #dark fic

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missanthropicprinciple · 3 years

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A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SPOILERS AHEAD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Works Cited (WIP)

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

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

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

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fermented-writers-block · 3 years

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Submitted by @sepublic:

So a while back, my pal @fermented-writers-block aired a theory. To sum up the abridged version, they suggested that if the Boiling Isles was allegorical to an Underworld, and the Human World to… Well, itself, then what of a third realm above? What if there was a parallel to an angelic realm, one populated by the show’s equivalent to a race of angels/Valkyries? They speculated that Emperor Belos himself may have been one of them, cast out… And he desires the portal and access to the Human World, in order to access this hypothetical Angel Realm!

In our discussions, we came across the idea that the Human World functions like neutral territory. It is the realm between realms, the buffer/barrier between the Angel Realm and the Demon Realm. It is where the two come together, and where influences from both have leaked in, to inspire real-world myths; A callback to Eda’s line in the first episode! The Portal, as speculated by my pal, potentially is rooted in the Human World, giving it equal access to the Angel and Demon Realms respectively- As a result of the Human World being between both of them respectively!

If the three realms were bus seats, the Angel Realm might be the Window Seat, while the Demon Realm is the set right next to the aisle where people walk up and down across the bus… And the Human World is sandwiched right between! This of course means that in order for either the Demon or Angel Realm to access one another, it would be through the Human World… With only the Human World maintaining access to BOTH realms, instead of just the one!

Ergo… Given the theory that Belos intends to reconnect to this Angel Realm, it makes sense that he wants to access the Human World! To him, it’s merely a stepping stone, not his destination… The ladder he needs to reach the top, it’s his stopping point before he can progress on to the end! He has no interest in the Human World, as he claims, beyond utilizing it as a passageway to something far grander and more interesting.

But now… onto a certain idea behind Belos.

To put it simply; Fermented Writer’s Block and I think that Belos could potentially be a Satanic/Lucifer allegory. A Fallen Angel, in a sense. From a Doylist perspective, this would settle Disney’s concerns over depicting Heavenly characters as negative, as the only truly negative Angel in this sense would be a literal Satanic allegory. It’d be like Doom, in a sense!

I’ve discussed… a LOT in the past, the idea of Luz and Belos being counterparts. Even if we don’t have much within canon, there IS the association with Light, as well as the ability to communicate with the Titan to some degree. Luz’s name literally means Light… And Lucifer means Light Bringer! It’s in the name, Luz-ifer! If Belos is a twisted counterpart to Luz’s guiding light, then perhaps he’s a more literal take on the Satanic allegory…

Specifically, the idea of an Angel who was cast out of their world and fell, plummeting into a realm beneath that of the Human World! We’re already making allusions with Lilith’s name, after all. And I’d LOVE to see The Owl House tackle some more classic, eldritch takes on the Angels of old and their original interpretations, such as the Seraphs!

After all, people have noted the similarities between Belos and the idea of Christian Imperialism. If Belos were a literal ‘angel’, or the show’s equivalent, this would be a fitting twist! Fermented Writer’s Block also observed that on one page of the Unauthorized History of the Boiling Isles, Belos is depicted with almost mechanical wings, in addition to the book being somewhat burnt. What if this could imply burnt wings on Belos’ part? Especially given Belos’ mechanical, industrial motifs and deteriorated nature...

If Belos WERE a Fallen Angel, then perhaps his Wings motif amidst the Emperor’s Coven imagery is intentional. Not only does it hearken back to his true origins and identity… But it could also allude to him having burnt wings, which in itself is symbolic of a Fallen Angel, as someone who was outcast and can no longer fly! The dude IS associated with Fire, to a degree… His throne room is lit by blazing braziers. Amity and Boscha are associated with his Coven System, in a sense… Amity is indoctrinated into its values and wants to join the Emperor’s Coven, while Boscha’s ideas of hierarchy and elitism reflect Belos’ values rather well. Both characters are associated with Fire… Which, helps to serve as a unifying motif among them- Especially with Lilith, who has blue fire and was leader of the Emperor’s Coven!

It’s a contrast to Luz and her Ice, and what she stands for… Her Light is reflective, while the Light of characters like Belos is harsh, dangerous, and off-putting. If Luz were more comparable to a night star, shining amidst the darkness and providing guidance- Then Belos is like the Sun, harsh, bright, demanding attention from all… But also too powerful to be personal with, something to be regarded from a distance, and never closely looked at. This would fit into Belos’ enigmatic nature, and the idea of him heralding Day, while Luz is Night… After all, Owls are nocturnal! And if Belos is a coming dawn, then that could tie into Angelic motifs… Amidst Luz’s Night bringing an end to his Light! It’s a take on that age-old term, about the Sun never setting on the British Empire… And THAT empire is emblematic of colonialism and imperialism as a whole!

It could also allude to the myth of Icarus- A mortal who flew too close to the sun! Of course in this scenario, Belos was in fact an Angel… But there’s still the recurring theme of wanting more, of one’s circumstances not being enough, of being guided by arrogance- It’s shared between Lucifer and Icarus both, to varying degrees. Perhaps Belos tried to lead a revolt in the Angel Realm, or got too arrogant… Either way, he was cast out- He flew too close to the Sun he wished to embody, and so his wings were burnt. Clipped of the thing most emblematic of his identity, no longer able to fly and ascend… Belos fell to the Earth, and then even deeper.

It’d tie into Belos having earthen motifs, as someone who can no longer fly. Him having angelic aesthetics, underscored by demonic motifs and growls, fits into the idea of Lucifer having been a beautiful angel, only to become the literal Devil and leader of Hell and all of its horrific demons! Belos already has a decayed, deteriorated condition to him that implies he’s not in the best health. Perhaps his burnt wings are the cause of this- Or at least another symptom of whatever injuries he suffered in the past? Not only that, but returning to the Icarus motifs… If we want to get meta, we can ascertain that Dana Terrace has read Fullmetal Alchemist. She knows of Hiromu Arakawa’s artstyle, citing it as something Luz would emulate back home- And there’s that other post comparing Father and Belos!

If Belos is like Father, then there’s once again that idea of using a portal to access a heavenly ‘realm’, through the Sun, in order to access a ‘God’ figure, or beings around that level. Not only that, but Fullmetal Alchemist, from its very beginning, made a very pointed reference to the myth of Icarus, likening its main protagonist Edward Elric to him! If Father is in some ways a foil to Ed, just as Belos could be to Luz… Then it makes sense for Dana to have been inspired by Icarus by virtue of his tale being important to the themes of Fullmetal Alchemist! And if Belos IS a Satanic allegory… Well, Lucifer’s name literally means Morning Star. As Belos’ antithesis, Luz brings the sunset to his Day of Unity. They’re both outcasts to the Demon Realm, but from different worlds respectively.

Now, there’s a question- Who are the Angels? What do they look like? And where does the Owl Deity factor into all of this? Well, this gets me onto my NEXT part;

I think the Owl Deity could be the closest thing to ‘God’ in this universe, AKA an all-powerful deity who reigns above all! A while back, a background artist for the show released some art he did, depicting Luz and King resting beneath a spire. If one looks closely at the top, they can see a depiction of Belos himself! And right above it is candles, surrounding an Owl… An Owl above all. Perhaps we’re looking too deeply into this. But it brings to mind a pun, about the God of All Things… Also being the God of ‘Owl’ Things!

If the candles are lit, then this suggests fire’s association with the heavens, which fits into biblical depictions of Angels! Not only that, but Belos is right beneath the Owl… And right beneath him is a fleshy stump, indicative of his own motifs… And it’s connected to what appears to be a giant eye right beneath him! Eyes are a big motif in the Boiling Isles –and amongst biblical angels- so perhaps the fleshy stump, akin to Belos’ constructs, is symbolic? That he’s bridging the gap between the demonic world below, and the heavenly world above?

Regardless, the next portion of this theory suggests that the Owl Deity is a supreme being. Perhaps a neutral mediator between both the Angel and Demon Realms, with the Human World as neutral ground. Perhaps a weapon, utilized by the Angels? Or a powerful deity they managed to sway… More on that later. Regardless, it DOES make one consider the Clawthornes’ connection to the Owl Deity, specifically Eda’s. Her house DOES have the only known depictions of this enigmatic being, after all.

And THAT house was likely fashioned, at least partly, from a tower! Towers are known for their reach towards the skies… Could a Clawthorne Ancestor have been connected to the Owl Deity as a worshipper? A follower? Maybe they were ALSO an Angel, like Belos, albeit not fallen… Or at least, much more well-intentioned! It could bring a dark twist to Lilith’s line about Eda being with her ‘real’ family… Unbeknownst to her, Belos, being a fallen Angel, is arguably ‘family’ in the sense that the hypothetical Clawthorne Ancestor was ALSO an Angel! After all, it might better explain how Eda has access to the Portal. Not to mention that golden, blazing Owl Wraith she summons during her final battle with Lilith… Birds ARE a Clawthorne Motif, after all! And Angels have bird wings.

If Belos IS similar to Father from Fullmetal Alchemist, then it makes sense that there’s a ‘God’ he plans to usurp as a Lucifer allegory. The Owl Deity could be this god, or at least associated with the Heavens that Belos seeks to conquer and return to. That of course gets us into the symbolism behind the angelic motifs of the Emperor’s Coven. Now, when Belos first arrived in the Demon Realm, he would have been acting VERY contrary to the Boiling Isles’ values about magic at the time, and he clearly had to utilize plenty of force and genocide to make people comply. In other words, this is a dude who cares not about conforming to others, but making others conform to him…

So it doesn’t make as much sense for Belos to change his aesthetics to an Angelic one, to appease the Boiling Isles residents if he’s clearly averse to everything else they do! Especially if Angels, or what lingering memory of them there is, is seen as negative by the Boiling Isles… The point being, this alludes to Belos being genuine about his Angelic motifs, and not adopting them to appear more palatable to others; Because all of his behavior suggests otherwise, that he forces others to adapt to him, rather than the other way around!

Not only that, but if the Emperor’s Coven is Belos’ attempt at reinstating his ideal form of heavenly rule/environment on the Boiling Isles… And if the Owl Deity is a god to be conquered, then how fitting is it that his subordinate wears an Owl Mask? Perhaps it’s meant to arrogantly symbolic… That the Owl figure that Belos once looked up to, now serves him! Of course it’s only in symbols; But the idea is there, that the image and motif of Owls has been appropriated, not as a holy being above Belos, but instead as an image belonging to a subservient minion.

Now, this all leads into another question- What about the Titan? What does the Titan have to do with this? And for that matter, what of the giant Titan remains, scattered across the Boiling Seas- We know others exist, but OUR Titan is the only known intact corpse! Well…

In Understanding Willow, Hooty briefly mentions his backstory. It’s hard to discern, but he mentions how it all began with a hunt, and how there were blood-red skies before Eda and King’s dialogue cuts him off and drowns out the noise. There IS the idea of Hooty being a lobotomized and weakened reincarnation of the Owl Deity, or at least a spawn of it… Or having SOME association with it, moreso than most characters! We don’t know what killed the Titans, or why OUR Titan’s corpse is intact. There could be Doylist answers to this, maybe it’s meant to be a mystery that’s never explored, but left to a sublime imagination…

But if not, then this is where I get into a crazy idea here;

Angels are depicted as adversarial with Demons. The Titans would’ve been the first Demons, of the Demon Realm. We know one of them had Magic... And if Belos is any indication as a fallen angel, there may be a heavenly aversion to magic. Hooty recalls it all beginning with a hunt…

What if the Angels hunted down the Titans? It’d explain their sudden extinction… As for why our Boiling Isles (BI) Titan is still intact, well. Perhaps it was a lone survivor! Perhaps its Magical ability permitted it to last longer than others, before it too succumbed to death after the genocide. For all we know, its Magical ability was what drove the Angels to commit genocide upon the Titans, for fear of an uprising! Either they failed to target the Titan actually responsible for finding magic, or they kept them from spreading their craft to others by killing off anyone else who would be willing to learn.

If Hooty has a connection to the Owl Deity… Well, remember when he mentioned being haunted by his actions forever, in Adventures in the Elements? What if the Owl Deity led this ‘hunt’ against the Titans… Either as a creation of the Angels, or as a neutral mediator who was swayed to their ideas of magic being dangerous! Either way, there seems to be a recurring theme of regret and remorse… Perhaps when all was said and done, the Owl Deity rejected its actions, and banished itself to the Boiling Isles? Maybe the Clawthorne Ancestor was connected to/IS the Owl Deity… As for how the Owl Deity died, maybe it simply willed itself out of existence in shame. Maybe it succumbed to injuries from the water. Either way, the Titan didn’t erase all traces of it, which could imply some forgiveness on its part… That, or the Titan was too dead to act in outright vengeance, who knows?

Regardless, the story goes- A Titan discovers Magic, is deemed a threat by the Angels. The Angels lead a mass extermination of its kind, with the Titan the sole survivor. The Owl Deity helps lead the hunt, but comes to regret its war crimes, and dies amidst the BI Titan’s corpse, laying the foundations for the Owl House. As I said, the BI Titan also eventually dies, alone and traumatized, as the Angels head back home.

Owl Deity culls rest of titans, is about to finish the Titan when it realizes the horror of what it did

Either the Titan took it out in a pyrrhic victory, or - more likely - the Owl Deity, being an entity focused on balance and neutrality, allowed itself to be killed/seriously wounded as way to “rebalance” things as much as it can for its nigh complete genocide

We know that Belos claims to enforce the will of the Titan. Well, if he’s a fallen angel… What if he’s persuading the Titan to help it get revenge? What if as a fallen angel, he arrived on the Boiling Isles and approached the Titan’s spirit, proclaiming himself as trustworthy, in an Enemy of my Enemy situation? Belos would point to him and the Titan as being wounded and rejected by the angels to some extent. Belos would have insider knowledge on his kind. If the Angels swayed the Owl Deity, what if Belos swayed the Titan to his side by offering it the chance to strike back at the Heavens for its crimes, and avenge its fallen brethren?

When Belos claims to enforce the Titan’s will, he’s not completely wrong- It DOES feel justifiable anger, though clearly Belos is capitalizing and manipulating this anger, and then passing off the Titan’s actions as solely its own, and not at all a product of Belos’ own manipulations in any shape or form. You know how I likened Belos to Father… And my past theories about Belos resurrecting the Titan, on the Day of Unity?

Hooty mentions it all began with a hunt, with blood-red skies. What if the skies are blood-red once more, on the Day of Unity? As the realms converge or whatnot… What if Belos’ weapon to defeat his Angelic brethren is none other than the resurrected Titan, wielding full access to the powers of Magic, and with vengeance in its heart? What if Belos resurrects the Titan on the Day of Unity, possibly with its body underneath HIS control as a parasite… We could have a scene mirroring that iconic moment from Fullmetal Alchemist, where a continent-sized Father rises from the ground and reaches out to the Heavens, accessing them with the Portal! Just replace Father’s gigantic form with the Titan’s resurrected, magic-fueled body!

Now, this does lead into the idea of settling the Angels as antagonists, once Belos is done and over with. Perhaps a resurrected Owl Deity will be instrumental, with the help of Luz and the others? If she’s the Night to Belos’ Day, then perhaps she needs to set the sun on Belos’ reign, on his Day of Unity! It all begins and ends with blood-red skies, after all. Perhaps with the help of a resurrected Owl Deity, Luz can appease the Titan, or at least sway it to not turn to vengeance and jeopardize the Boiling Isles inhabitants in the process. She has experience with calming down vengeful entities in the past, as seen with Inner Willow… And Luz CAN communicate with the Titan!

Especially if the Angels have grown to also regret their actions, as a parallel to characters like Lilith! Or at least, the Angels can be held in line and prevented from further massacres, with the resurrected Owl Deity. If the Owl Deity is regretful of its actions, then perhaps we could get a scene calling back to Understanding Willow… Where Belos, at the last second, sways the Owl Deity to his logic, and suggests vengeance and annihilation of the Angels! The Owl Deity, frighteningly, agrees for a moment, reminding the Angels that its genocide of them is merely finishing what THEY started, after all…!

But then Luz steps in. Alongside the others, such as Amity and Willow, Lilith and King, Eda, and so forth… She persuades the Owl Deity to have forgiveness in its heart, especially if the Angels show remorse and a desire to fix mistakes! It’d hearken back to the theme of having justified anger, but otherwise channeling it productively into fixing mistakes, rather than simply harming the one responsible for them! It’s about a productive way of tackling issues, rather than focused on punishment; Again, a theme as far back as the first scene, when Luz is punished with the Summer Camp, VS actually having her emotional issues properly addressed, and being given the chance to fix the damage.

Our protagonists could all call back to similar incidents, with Lilith citing how Eda sparing her gave her the chance to fix the damage, or at least remedy it… Instead of JUST dying as retribution! How Willow chose to still retain her feelings, but also spared Amity so the girl could change and improve as a person, instead of just killing her off and calling it a day. It’s about not only recognizing damage, but working to properly fix and recover from it- Recovery is the key word! Fixing the damage together, as Luz said- Productively fixing what was caused, instead of beating oneself over it, the way Amity and Lilith initially did!

This could lead to the Owl Deity, especially if it has Hooty’s memories, being swayed back to a good stance. It’d contrast Belos and his inability to grow, heal, and recover from his emotional and physical wounds! Either way, perhaps the Owl Deity could make peace with the Angels, or at least ensure they genuinely change their attitudes and behaviors. Belos is stopped, and the Titan can finally be laid to rest, its spirit perhaps still communicating with whoever is willing and eager to learn Magic, the same way it did!

Now, this does leave the question- Who was Belos during the Titan Genocide, if he was an Angel? Was he even alive back then? This gets me into the speculation that Fermented Writers Block made, of Private New Guy being an allegory to Belos… If Hooty was haunted by his actions that night, well. Perhaps Belos was just another young recruit, another generic Angel in the hunt- But he was inspired by the Owl Deity, maybe even saw it as someone to emulate? And that’s part of why he’s so power-hungry and bloodthirsty, because of his ‘idol’…

Yet ironically, Belos is merely projecting his idea and desire for what he wants the Owl Deity to be, VS what it actually is- A repentant, remorseful entity with a lot of guilt! Tying into the idea of characters projecting ideas/expectations onto others that just don’t exist, confusing fantasy with reality… Maybe like Private New Guy, Belos tried to seize power in the Angel Realm, and it’s why he was banished? And hey, going into even MORE mindless speculation- What if Owl Mask was MORE than symbolic of the Owl Deity, but outright the same kind of being? Perhaps they’re Belos’ attempt at recreating the Owl Deity albeit young and/or imperfect, an additional asset to conquer the Angel Realm, in addition to a resurrected Titan. Who knows?

Mind you… ALL OF THIS is one hell of a stretch. It’s an incredibly unlikely theory, that hinges on a LOT of factors… But it’s fun food for thought, is it not? And hey, if you never pick up a shovel, one will never find gold even if it IS there! It’s an extension of the Angel Realm theory, while tying together a bunch of other details here or there, and hearkening to past themes, morals, and lessons. I’m sure that even if this isn’t what Dana and the others have planned, what we WILL get will certainly be just as enjoyable- But until then, it can’t hurt too much to guess a bit, and maybe have some outlandish fun or there, right?

#the owl house #TOH #the owl house theory #toh theory #the owl house speculation #the owl house meta #emperor belos

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passionate-reply · 3 years

Video

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Whether you’re a Superman, a judge, a mom, or a dad, we can all appreciate the avant-garde genius of Laurie Anderson, the topic of this week’s installment of Great Albums! Find out what made Anderson’s breakout hit the most unlikely chart smash of the 80s, and what the rest of this amazing LP has in store, by watching my video or reading the full transcript below the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be discussing one of the most unique and unforgettable albums around: Big Science, by Laurie Anderson. It’s very possible that you may not necessarily recognize her by name, but this album’s big hit has been riffed on and re-used many times throughout Western popular culture, so when I play it for you, it just might seem hauntingly familiar.

Music: “O Superman”

Put simply, “O Superman” is not your conventional pop hit, by any stretch of the imagination. It features little more than a sparse, barren electronic instrumental, and Anderson’s eerily vocoder-treated voice, not so much singing as acting out a one-woman stage play. It has much more in common with the avant-garde, minimalist works of 20th Century “modern classical” composers like Philip Glass and Steve Reich than it does anything you would hear on pop radio in the 1980s.

While you might assume that it entered mainstream consciousness through being used in some art film, it actually was a bona fide pop hit--particularly in Great Britain, which has always had a pronounced affinity for surprisingly weird chart entries. While the single was initially given only a small release, like most of Anderson’s earlier work, the prominent British radio DJ John Peel discovered it...and fell in love with it. And thanks to his frequent playing of it on the air, a lot of other people fell in love with it too, propelling it to #2 in the UK charts. I think it’s a testament to just how different the media landscape used to be, once upon a time in the 20th Century. Nowadays, the radio doesn’t really have room for idiosyncratic tastemakers like Peel, and the independent DJs who remain certainly don’t have the reach that Peel did. I suppose it’s the 20th Century version of sea shanties and other oddities becoming trends on social media.

But anyway, setting aside the strange legacy “O Superman” has as the world’s least likely hit single, we can appreciate it perfectly well as a moving work of art. “O Superman” is not really a pop song, but what it is is, perhaps, a desperate plea for comfort and protection. The figure, or concept, of “mother” seems to be the focus of the text, and serves as the apparent “final resort” of its insecure, searching rhetoric. We get this idea in a microcosm in the famous opening line, inspired by an aria by Jules Massenet: “O Superman, o judge, o Mom and Dad.” It’s an appeal to any and all higher powers, but culminates with perhaps the most primal, intuitive authority we can understand: our parents. Towards the end of the piece, the narrator begs to be held in the arms of “Mom,” but they’re described not as soft and warm, but “automatic,” “electronic,” and “petrochemical,” creating an uncanny conflation of innate human connections and the harshly artificial, technological conditions of modernity. Have we made the promises of technology and science into some sort of idol, looking to them for reassurance, and projecting onto them a goodwill or benevolence like a mother has for her children? Themes of high technology, as well as the search for safety and security, are found throughout the rest of the album, as is the stark, minimalist instrumentation.

Music: “From the Air”

Expanding somewhat on the references to aeroplanes found on “O Superman,” opening track “From the Air” is narrated by the captain of a doomed flight, instructing the passengers how to handle the imminent “crash landing.” It’s many people’s very worst nightmare, and plunges us straight into the sense of fearing for our lives, in a situation that’s completely beyond our control. A bold move for the very first track we hear! “From the Air” leads with somewhat plausible suggestions, like a very dated request that passengers “extinguish all cigarettes,” but gradually becomes increasingly surreal, adding to that nightmarish feeling. Anderson delivers her lines with a palpable sense of authority, that stirs you to want to obey her character even as they prove their unreliability. A taut, unresolved saxophone-driven ostinato throughout the track provides a constant sense of tension and anxiety, which certainly suits the mood. Until the end of the song, at which point it abruptly cuts off--presumably to represent the crash occurring, and the sudden deaths of those on board.

I like to think of “From the Air” as a sort of dark counterpart to “O Superman,” the latter of which is the opening track of the second side. While “O Superman” deifies technology as a source of maternalistic comfort, “From the Air” presents us with the ultimate failure of technology: slick and polished until the end, but unable to provide any real hope of meaningful security. That human desire for security is interrogated more directly on the final track of side one: “Born, Never Asked.”

Music: “Born, Never Asked”

While “Born, Never Asked” is much more laconic than tracks like “From the Air” and “O Superman,” it’s no less probing and thought-provoking, presenting us with a world of people who are, fundamentally, “free”--and yet deeply unsatisfied. “You were born,” quips Anderson, “and so you are free.” But we’re all too busy asking for a bigger answer, and some explicit, deeper meaning to our existences, that we can’t appreciate the simple freedom to live our lives however we want to, in the absence of any overt goals. The track begins by establishing a stately, handclap-driven backing, which serves to underscore the plainness or simplicity of its message, and is ultimately overtaken by a mournful violin outro--perhaps the embodiment of our emotional turmoil, as we seek the comfort of clear answers despite the fact that they never arrive. If only the world were as simple and well-defined as it seemed to be when we were children, filled with unthinking and unconditional love for our mothers!

“Born, Never Asked” asks us to question what it really means to be “free,” and whether or not it’s even satisfying or helpful to possess “freedom.” It’s worth noting that all of the pieces that comprise Big Science were chiefly intended as part of Anderson’s much longer magnum opus, entitled United States, which she completed in 1984. In that context, criticism of the value of “freedom” is perhaps also criticism of certain traditional American moral values. While “O Superman” prominently mentions “American planes,” I think the track that has the most to say about being American is the title track of the album.

Music: “Big Science”

The title track of Big Science takes us to a desolate and mostly empty landscape, defined more by its potential to be moulded into something habitable than anything it already, innately is. It’s a frigid perspective on America as terra nullius, a wasteland filled with nothing but ultra-recent and ultra-artificial capitalist “developments” as opposed to any real history or meaning. With its chilling coyote-like howls, and nods to Western movies and dependence upon cars, it can easily be contextualized as particularly American, but ultimately, the human drive to “improve” our environment through questionable (and perhaps even destructive) means is fairly universal. Much like the emotionally unsatisfying sense of freedom bestowed upon those who are born, in “Born, Never Asked,” the title track of Big Science shows us a world full of endless possibilities, but devoid of any true happiness born of those possibilities.

The term “big science” dates back to the Mid-20th Century, and has been used to describe the increasingly large scale of many significant scientific efforts, particularly those supported by world governments...and particularly, their militaries. During and after the Second World War, it became increasingly necessary for nations that wanted a place on the world stage to rope science into the military-industrial complex, especially in light of the development of atomic weaponry. Given the album’s thematic emphasis on the way we look to science and technology to provide some aegis of protection, and often in harmful or destructive ways, it’s a very fitting choice for the title.

I think that connection to the nuclear bomb is also an important key to interpreting the album’s cover art. On the cover of Big Science, we see Anderson lit very harshly from the right--so much so that her sunglasses are rendered completely white by the powerful light. While her pose is very deliberate, and perhaps even stilted, she appears to be raising her arms as though to shield herself from whatever is casting this bright light. Is Anderson perhaps portraying an atomic scientist, observing a nuclear blast with its signature burst of radiant light?

Overall, however we interpret this gesture, the black and white imagery and completely empty backdrop seem to pair well with that sparse and minimalistic instrumentation. Anderson appears on the cover with her signature costume, a solid white suit which, when paired with her short hairstyle, gives her a somewhat androgynous appearance. It also looks a bit like a labcoat, often worn by scientists and doctors--figures who culturally embody the principle of benevolent authorities backed by the power of technology and science.

Whenever artists who only briefly felt the spotlight of mainstream success are discussed, it can be tempting to ask whether or not such figures “deserved” more or better. In the case of Anderson, though, she never expected “O Superman” to become the breakout hit that it did, and never followed it up with anything actively pursuing the pop charts. In the wake of her most famous work, Anderson went right back to doing what she had been doing: making great, but totally avant-garde, art. She’s a figure of “art music,” and the “art world,” through and through, performing her elaborate multimedia works at museums, appearing in a number of festival-circuit art films, and accepting honourary degrees. Anderson has had a perfectly successful career, dwelling precisely in the realm of her choosing, and I don’t think there’s any better outcome than that. If you like Big Science, you’ll find plenty more striking and evocative works throughout the rest of her long and ongoing career.

Music: “Sharkey’s Day”

My favourite track on Big Science is “Sweaters.” With a Celtic-sounding melody, a grating fiddle, and perhaps the most vocally hated musical instrument of all time, the bagpipes, “Sweaters” is a dirge about an ancient subject: falling out of love. But despite its backward-looking folk setting, the jump from “I no longer love your eyes” to “I no longer love your sweaters” anchors it into the realm of the totally mundane...if not banal. Overall, though, what I think really makes it stand out on the album is its sense of levity. As I’ve discussed earlier, Big Science is loaded with really heavy themes about technology, Americana, and the meaning of life...so a song that’s not only about a romantic relationship, but also about sweaters, pens, and pencils, jammed into the middle of the first side, really feels like a sort of palate cleanser while you’re listening to this. That’s all for today--thanks for watching!

Music: “Sweaters”

#music #laurie anderson #great albums #album review #album reviews #experimental music

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kylekozmikdeluxo · 3 years

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RIP Blue Sky Studios...

Established in February 1987... Iconic commercials, early innovation in CGI, packed to the brim with top talent, a rare East Coast-based house, and one of the first studios in a post-Don Bluth age to really challenge Disney and Pixar in the feature animation field...

Gone.

Once a subsidiary of 20th Century Fox, The Walt Disney Company had them since early 2019 after the acquisition of their parent company. It looked as if Disney was going to keep them around, despite already having two powerhouse animation studios making family features for them. I wondered back in the day if Disney could rebrand Blue Sky as a sort-of outre little studio that did more experimental, quirky fare as opposed to the more digestible works of Disney Animation and Pixar.

Even before the COVID-19 pandemic hit, signs were rather troubling. Despite a management change, you had the rather ho-hum marketing for SPIES IN DISGUISE. To me, Disney sort-of let that one disappear between FROZEN II and STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER. I found SPIES IN DISGUISE to be a fun little movie, with a timely pacifist message and memorable gags. Sadly, it did not make its money back. Even more troubling was the constant delaying of NIMONA, an adaptation of Noelle Stevenson’s webcomic of the same name from FEAST and PEARL director Patrick Osborne. From the rumblings I’ve heard, it looked to be an innovative CG film and a next-level family film in general. Like a next SPIDER-VERSE. It was to be released January 14, 2022. 70% of the film was completed by this point... It is no longer a reality, Blue Sky is done...

450+ animators and staffers out of a job during an awful worldwide crisis...

Why couldn’t The Walt Disney Company just sell off Blue Sky Studios to a distributor looking for more animation to stock up on? If they didn’t need more than two animation studios (see the shuttering of their own Disneytoon Studios in early 2018), why shutter them and wait so long to do so? I know that absorbing competition and killing it is nothing new, but this is **expletive** for a multitude of reasons. Multiple talent out of a job, more movies and work squashed, a nearly-completed film likely dead. (It would be great if it was instead on the market, so that someone could snatch it up and complete it, but we shall see...)

Blue Sky Studios were no slouches. ICE AGE established them, big time. In fact, I’d say they helped show the industry that the features world wasn’t just Disney’s game anymore. Disney had seen rivals in feature animation in the past, notably Don Bluth and Ralph Bakshi, but they continued through the decades while Bluth and Bakshi’s feature opportunities waned. Blue Sky, alongside DreamWorks and a fledgling Sony Pictures Animation, changed that, and they were here to stay. And it’s quite sad that Disney had to acquire this notable studio and shut them down, they would’ve thrived elsewhere because of the success of their previous work and the amount of talent they have/had over the years.

They have a pretty distinct body of work, too. ROBOTS, HORTON HEARS A WHO!, RIO, EPIC, THE PEANUTS MOVIE, FERDINAND, SPIES IN DISGUISE. Some of them, I’d argue, were quite innovative. ICE AGE stabbed at cartoony, Looney Tunes-esque humor and visual design. The work in that movie rung more Warner Bros. than it did Disney or something more naturalistic in design. Their later work embraced that kind of outlook as well, but you started seeing other studios doing this as well: DreamWorks with MADAGASCAR, Sony Animation with OPEN SEASON and CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MEATBALLS, and so on. The antithesis to the ever-more-realistic Pixar styles. Then Blue Sky just straight up redefined the computer animated feature with THE PEANUTS MOVIE, which not only kept the comic strip aesthetic of Charles Schulz’s iconic characters and world, but adapted them to a computer animated world while doing something new in the process. PEANUTS MOVIE, along with similar pictures like THE BOOK OF LIFE and CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS, are indeed stepping stones to SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE and what lies beyond that feature. In short, Blue Sky played a big part in computer animation showing that it didn’t just have to look like Pixar movies, or most other computer animated works that were out at the time of ICE AGE’s early 2002 release.

Who knows where that could’ve all gone. NIMONA looked to be something new and exciting, something to really push things forward and widen the computer animation canvas. A musical called FOSTER also sounded like it had potential. When TWDC acquired 20th Century Fox (now 20th Century Studios), Fox Animation in general had several animated films in development, hoping to branch out beyond their one studio... All of that seemingly died after the Disney acquisition, with only Blue Sky and a couple of Fox primetime TV-showed based movies (i.e. THE BOB’S BURGERS MOVIE, another - and inevitable - SIMPSONS picture) left. Now Blue Sky is gone. More animation, gutted. And for what? Disney didn’t have to do this...

It’s even more egregious when you consider where Disney was in 1991... As opposed to now, 2021...

Think of this... Under the controversial Michael Eisner, The Walt Disney Company was willing to sink a massive amount of money into a project that had already been cancelled. Said project was given to blockbuster king Steven Spielberg, hit director Robert Zemeckis, and animation mastermind Richard Williams. This was not even a few years after Disney was a quiet establishment being circled by corporate raiders that could’ve ended them for good... And what came of it. WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT. An innovative animation-live action hybrid movie for a more adult audience. One of the biggest films of 1988, a bonafide blockbuster that Disney hadn’t seen in years, and more than lit the fuse of animation’s 2nd Golden Age.

Then, in 1990, a former animator of theirs turned big-time director realizes that a short story he wrote while at the company was still owned by them. That man was Tim Burton, and he expressed interest in revisiting that poem. A studio was set up, with similarly outre director and former Disney animator Henry Selick taking the helm. The result was an innovative stop-motion film that leaned more towards horror and German expressionism than something like BEAUTY AND THE BEAST did. The result was THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS in 1993. A respectable hit then, an iconic classic today. Without NIGHTMARE, would have ever gotten future stop-motion efforts like CHICKEN RUN and everything Laika has made?

Finally, in 1991, Disney makes a three-picture deal with a small computer graphics studio based out of Marin County. One of their main guys was a former Disney animator as well, similarly outed for being too ambitious. Their plan? Make the world’s first all computer-animated movie. That studio was Pixar, their first movie was TOY STORY. Need I say more?

The Disney of today would’ve never in these three instances. Blue Sky could’ve been their chance to really make some kind of a splash in a post-SPIDER-VERSE world. Various shorts made at Disney Animation (including Osborne’s own FEAST) suggested this, and some Pixar shorts as well... But nothing really came of this. In terms of features being put out by Disney Animation and Pixar, only parts of MOANA, INSIDE OUT, and SOUL put this kind of thing in a long-form format. Blue Sky, who operated on smaller budgets, could’ve been their arm for more experimental feature animation. I say this because while Disney doesn’t need to hog up animation, Blue Sky was owned by them, and I felt the best way to go about this was to re-establish them as a more experimental studio. Make the most of it, you know? But no, they had to shut it all down.

When a studio shuts down, I feel a chunk of the animation world is just broken right off... While some of the artists are apparently being welcomed into various Disney houses, it sucks to see a studio with its own identity and output gone. Of course, my hope is that everyone employed there will have somewhere to go by April (when the studio shuts down completely) and that maybe, just maybe a new studio could be formed up from the remains. (Think Don Bluth setting up shop upon his departure from Disney in 1979.) Somebody has to get their happy ending, right? I know it’s moot asking for such a thing in this hellscape business of massive octopus conglomerates engulfing everything into their eight tentacles, but...

I wish everyone involved well, and that they’ll prosper afterwards. I certainly hope the 3/4 completed NIMONA doesn’t remain unfinished. (Netflix? Someone?) I hope to see some good come out of this...

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 5 years

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Love Birds-- Malcolm Bright x Reader

Prompt; none! :P

Warnings; bit of language as usual, shitty writing also as usual

Word Count; 1.6k

Notes; me? already obsessed with Prodigal Son? its more likely than you think

The young detective shoved his hands in his pockets and grimaced. The wind had picked up quite a bit since he left the office, and it was growing to be a rather cold day. Malcolm considered calling a taxi but decided against it. He was only a couple of blocks away from his apartment, and a walk would give him time to clear his head. He enjoyed his daily walks. It gave him a sense of routine in his abnormal life. His route stayed the same, never varied. A loud thud, followed by a muffled shout, halted his train of thought. Most of the people walking along the sidewalk ignored it, but curiosity got the better of Malcolm. The commotion came from a pet shop a few feet ahead of him. He stepped forward and peered through the large, front window.

“Trevor, you fuckin’ idiot. We’ve talked about this! That’s a window, and you can’t fly through it.” The bird you cradled in your hands whistled and chirped before angrily flapping its wings. “You better not back talk me, young man! Or so help me, you’ll get no treats for the rest of the week,” you scolded. The parrot scaled your arm and settled onto your shoulder. “Oh, so now you’re gonna be all sweet and cuddly,” you huffed.

“Uh-oh. Look out,” Trevor chirped. You glanced over to see a man standing outside the shop, watching you intently. You gave him a sheepish smile and waved before quickly busying yourself. You silently prayed that he couldn’t hear you talking to the bird from outside. As you picked up a few items that Trevor had knocked over in his escape attempt, the bell over the door jingled. “Incoming!” You shushed the bird and called out the typical greeting.

“Welcome to Patty’s Pet Stop, how can I help you?” Your customer service smile faltered only slightly when you realized it was the man from moments earlier. As if he sensed your unease, he introduced himself.

“I’m Malcolm Bright, and I was just coming in to tell you that you’ve got a beautiful bird there.” He nodded towards Trevor, who started whistling in response. Malcolm grinned at the parrot’s reaction.

“Thanks! He’s a handful, though. Do you have one?” Malcolm glanced around the shop, eyeing the various birds for a moment.

“No, always wanted one as a kid, but I never actually got one.” He glanced at his watch. “I better get going. Nice meeting you...” he trailed off. You introduced yourself. Malcolm gave you a small nod and left the shop.

As the days went on, Malcolm found himself thinking about your pet shop. His gaze would wander to the large window as he walked passed it on his way to and from work. He was curious, to say the least. There was something about you that intrigued him. Whenever you caught his gaze, you would wave at him. It soon turned into part of the routine. If he saw you working inside, the two of you would wave at each other. He would occasionally bump into you when you were clocking in or out, but you two never ever had any interactions outside of the pet shop.

It was an average day for you. Started off fairly busy. The regular customers came in to pick up some pet food, treats, or a toy for their furry companions. As the clock drifted towards the afternoon, less and less customers came in. Though, you didn’t mind as much. The slow afternoons allowed you to read a book or scroll through various meme accounts online. When you heard the bell above the door jingle, you quickly put away your phone and said the typical greeting. The man who entered was wearing a comically large coat with the collar popped up and had a toboggan pulled low on his head. He had an odd vibe that you just couldn’t quite describe. You knew there was something wrong about him, but you just brushed it off. After all, you were living in New York City. This wouldn’t be the first time an unusual character came into the shop. The man grabbed a glittery mouse and tossed it onto the counter. You scanned the tag and gave him the total before asking, “Would you like me to put this in a bag for you?” He began rummaging through a pocket on the inside of his coat.

“Yeah and... uh... put the cash in there too.” The man pulled out a small gun, placing it on the counter. He angled himself so his body blocked it from the view of an outsider. It felt as if your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was too dry. As you turned towards the cash register, you caught sight of a familiar face outside the window, but you quickly looked down.

Malcolm’s brows knit together. It was obvious that you were scared. From your tense body moments, to your wide eyes and shallow breaths, you were exhibiting all the classic signs of terror. The man standing in front of you drew most of Malcolm’s focus. He was behaving strangely. The man kept shifting his weight and glancing over his shoulder. He was impatient, waiting to get out of there as soon as he could. The pieces came together like a child’s puzzle in Malcolm’s mind. It wasn’t difficult for him to see what was going on. The shop was being robbed.

Your head snapped up when the familiar jingle of the door’s bells echoed through the shop. Malcolm was texting on his phone, paying neither you nor the robber any attention. The man quickly put the gun back inside his coat. “Hey, (Y/N), has the-- uh-- bird seed I ordered come in yet?” Malcolm glanced up from his phone, and you stared at him with wide eyes. He raised a brow at you, then you finally caught on.

“Oh, yeah, it just came in earlier. It’s in the back if you would like me to run grab it for you.”

“After we finish,” the robber huffed. You nodded and apologized. Malcolm kept his facade of being a regular customer, walking over to the parakeet enclosure. He kept asking you questions about them, which caused you to occasionally pause what you were doing and answer him. The robber finally grew aggravated, pulling the gun out once again. He waved it between the two of you. “Just shut up and give me the fuckin’ money!” You quickly handed the bag over, and the robber dashed out of the shop. The police arrived not long after, and they managed to track the guy down. After you gave them your statement, you approached Malcolm.

“I’m assuming you were the one who called the cops?” He gave you a lopsided grin.

“Guilty as charged.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up. Probably would’ve had a mental breakdown in the middle of that fiasco.” Malcolm scoffed and shook his head.

“Glad that didn’t happen. Things probably wouldn’t have worked out so well for you.” You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms.

“Since you’re my knight in shining armor for the day, I guess I owe you one.” Malcolm hummed, mulling it over. He motioned you to follow and led you over to the parakeet enclosure.

“What do you think about these little guys?”

“They’re usually recommended as good beginner birds, but they’re pretty skittish at first. With good care, they can actually be quite loving and live for about ten years.” The detective nodded, eyeing the little birds. You noticed that there was one in particular that caught his attention. It was a small, yellow one, resting on the perch. You carefully reached into the enclosure and pulled it out. Malcolm gently pet it with his thumb, and his eyes lit up when it chirped at him. You caught sight of his shaking hands but didn’t mention it. “Do you want to hold her?” He held out his hands, and you carefully put the tiny creature in his care. As he cradled it, you noticed his hands stilled ever so slightly. “How about this... You take care of the needed supplies, and you can have her. On the house, as a thank you.”

“Stop by my apartment to help me set everything up and you’ve got yourself a deal.” Malcolm shifted his gaze from the parakeet to you. You smiled at him and agreed to the terms. You placed the bird in a temporary carrier while you showed Malcolm the things he needed for his new feathery friend. After he paid for everything, you closed up shop.

When the two of you arrived at his apartment, you told him everything he needed to know about taking care of birds. Malcolm swore that he could put the cage stand together on his own, but after fifteen minutes of trial and error, he finally gave in to your help. The parakeet finally had its own little home, and you smiled as it hopped around. “Look at her, just a little ball of sunshine.”

“Sunshine,” Malcolm hummed, “That’s her name.” He grinned, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his creativity. “You know, since I don’t really know what I’m doing with caring for a bird, maybe you could stop by more often. Have a couple drinks, teach me about all things bird related.”

“As in, going on a date?”

“Depends on what your answer would be,” he quipped with a smirk.

“In that case, I’d love to.”

~*~*~

Permanent Tag List;

@blitchen

@blitchen-fics

#prodigal son #prodigal son fox #prodigal son x reader #malcolm bright #malcolm bright x reader #malcolm whitly x reader #malcolm bright imagine #tom payne #tom payne x reader #prodigal son fic

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quillyfied · 5 years

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Mega Good Omens Fic Rec Post 1

OH BOY Y’ALL IT’S HERE

This is the first string of fics I would wholeheartedly recommend from my bookmarks (probably first of three, we’ll see). There are 65 fics sorted into 9 categories: Jaunts Through History/Canon; South Downs; Post-Apocalypse; Bus Ride/Night Before/Heaven and Hell; AU/UA (UA is Universe Alternate, where everything is the same, just...a bit to the left. I feel like that term has more nuance, idk); Soft; Touch-Starved/Body Worship/Wings; Bonus; H/C /Whump/BAMF. These will be the same categories for every fic rec post in this vein. I try to include warnings for sex and gore, if applicable, but please check the tags of each fic before you read, just in case.

Mega GOmens Fic Rec Post MASTER

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I BROKE A LINK OR MISATTRIBUTED SOMETHING.

I don’t read explicit works and I’m not a big fan of Human!AUs so there’s not any of those, but there’s a bit of just about everything else. Please enjoy! Hope the ReadMore works, sorry for folks on mobile if it doesn’t!

JAUNTS THROUGH HISTORY/CANON

1. Bright With His Splendour – Daegaer (T, specifically book-verse. This is an exquisite look at the developments in Crowley himself, especially as it relates to his war-related traumas in the War in Heaven and later WWI. The Arrangement is Aziraphale’s idea here, which is awesome. Highly emotional and visceral.)

2. Whatever Road We Choose – @ri-writing (T, the one where Aziraphale gets jumped by some demons and Crowley nurses him back to health, and Aziraphale has to confront his worldview when he realizes Heaven never responded to his call for help. Quiet and powerful as Aziraphale starts to realize Crowley isn’t everything he thought he was and maybe Heaven isn’t, either.)

3. Linked – @chekhov (T, the one where Crowley shows up in Bukhara and Aziraphale has to pretend to capture him so his angel intern doesn’t destroy Crowley entirely. Has a lot of fun moments and emotional growth in play. And yearning. Lots and lots of yearning.)

4. The Demon Favourite – @kanna-ophelia (T, the one where Crowley is posing as a nobleman and manages to build himself a little ramshackle family, and Aziraphale takes care of them when Crowley gets himself discorporated. Extremely tender, lots of Crowley cooing over babies.)

5. Akashic Records – @penig (Generally G, one T, the series where Crowley is head-over-heels from the start and broadcasts it loudly, and Aziraphale is in Panic Protective Mode. The series is gorgeous and vibrant, the characterizations are so spot-on and yet fresh, the dialogue is perfect, the character growth is delicious. I can’t gush enough about this one.)

6. But The Old Love Was Not So – BuggreAlleThis (G, the one written in the style of Le Morte d’Arthur about Aziraphale’s final few days in the court of King Arthur. Hilarious with the promise of emotional pain to come in the second half.)

7. flightless bird (dumb, wild, and free) – JennaCupcakes (@veganthranduil) (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale make out for half of history while Aziraphale has an ongoing existential crisis about being a broken angel. Poignant, sensual, culminates in a deliciously fraught confrontation where Aziraphale has to finally sort himself out and Crowley says some hard but true things. I once spent three hours trying to find this fic again without remembering the title so now it’s kinda ingrained.)

8. Nanny Knows Best – @patricianandclerk (M, rest of series is T, the one where Crowley endures some truly horrible experiences while serving as Warlock’s nanny. Adorable relationship between Warlock and Crowley, and it’s only getting better. The dynamic with Aziraphale is nuanced and beautiful. Rating for sexual harassment and groping, and it’s a bit of a difficult read at times during those moments, so be careful.)

9. The Holy Essence of Experience – Dragonsquill (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley have loved each other almost since the beginning, but have been very careful to not put a name to it. The yearning is real and so gorgeous. The scene just before they come up with their plan to avert Armageddon haunts me.)

10. The Arrangement – @writeonclara (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley try to get a handle on this sex thing. Non-explicit, hilarious, and unique! I can only assume the rating will probably be going up, which makes me sad because it’s hard to find nonexplicit fics that still deal with what sex brings to a relationship, but what’s written for now is well worth it.)

11. And After – @randomacts13 (T, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale work through their self-worth and have lots of flashbacks. The first one involves Crowley taking care of a seed that keeps dying and leaving another seed behind, which is not at all feeding into his self-hatred; the second has Crowley and Warlock gluing coins to the sidewalk; the third is about Aziraphale on a one-way flight to Complete Mental Breakdown if he doesn’t get some help for his anxiety and repressed emotions soon.)

12. The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops – emmagrant01 (E but only for the sixth chapter, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley have shared five kisses throughout history and one where they meant it. People like me who don’t like explicit material can skip Chapter 6 (or just read until they smooch) and go straight to the epilogue. The rest of it is amazing; every kiss is believable in context and has such good lead-up. Very romantic, very good.)

13. Round and Round the Garden – SanSanFanFan (G, the one where Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth get up to some hanky-panky beneath a willow tree while Warlock sleeps in his pram. Just sweet and silly fluff.)

14. Flecks of Light and Dark – volunteerfd (T, the one where Aziraphale learns to deal with his emotions. Has a really beautiful recurring thing of Crowley and Aziraphale making up stories of who they’d be if they were human, and Aziraphale doing his best to do good and help even when Heaven ties his hands.)

15. Before the Water Rises – VitreousHumor (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale become friends while helping a village make rafts to escape the Flood. Has a lot of really cute moments and some pretty exquisite romantic tension.)

16. Beneath the Stars – @brooklynbabybucky (G, the one where Crowley asks Aziraphale to cut his hair. Just has some really lovely imagery and a sweet bonding moment.)

17. lit in the darkness – @toedenandbackagain (M, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale share a bed sometimes throughout history. Warnings for some sexual content in chapters 7 and 14, but each chapter has its own warnings in the description. Presents some beautiful bonding moments and the absolute finest pining known to man.)

SOUTH DOWNS

18. The Play’s the Thing – volunteerfd (G, the one where Aziraphale is cast in the local production of Hamlet and Crowley is trying his best to be supportive of his truly awful actor husband. Hilarious and light and absolutely a classic.)

19. Parsley, Thyme, Sage, Daffodils – @mostweakhamlets (NR, the one where Aziraphale has a cooking YouTube channel and Crowley is camera-shy. Tackles PTSD in a really thoughtful way and is Peak Soft Cottage Husbands aesthetic, it really packs in the most warm fuzzies in a small package.)

20. to carthage then i came – @lvslie (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs and learn to work through their issues around being together and being their own people after cutting ties with Heaven and Hell. Poetic, poignant, the last chapter is a thing of absolute beauty. Very heavily symbolic, that one.)

21. A Better Place for Us to Be – @befuddledmackem (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale tour a particular cottage. Deeply emotional, the Absolute Best Real Estate Pr0n if you also secretly watch HGTV and weep, has completely ruined any future house-buying opportunity I might have because nothing will be this sweet and perfect.)

22. Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak – trieduntrue (M, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs and very carefully orbit into something more like a relationship. Exquisite tension, beautifully-done pining and slow-burn, really fun bits of world building. M is for a sex scene at the very end but it’s easy to skip over, it’s small.)

23. reasons wretched and divine – @stammiviktor (T, the one where Crowley storms out after a fight and finds himself in an actual conversation with God. Highly emotional and a great look into Crowley’s head, both in how he feels about God and how he feels about Aziraphale.)

24. The Sprawl of Life – @dietraumerei (T and G, the series where Crowley and Aziraphale settle into village life quite well. Has sex-positive asexual characters, which is fun (brief note about that: it’s not explicit, but the places it happens, there is clear leadup and it can get a bit intense, so take care of yourselves). Has touches of angst that balance beautifully with the fluff, lots of BAMF Aziraphale for the soul.)

25. Seashells and Fingerpainting – Vagabond (@waffleironbiddingwar) (T, and I recommend this one specifically from the series, can be read independently: the one where Gabriel is sent to the South Downs for a time out. This is quite possibly the best Gabriel character study I have ever seen; it’s tender and heartbreaking and somehow you find yourself rooting for Gabriel to figure out why he’s being punished despite yourself. All the warm fuzzies. All of them. Read the whole series, it’s great!)

POST-APOCALYPSE

26. Laugh When It Sinks In – @tenoko1 (G, the one where Crowley helps Aziraphale build a home in the bookshop flat. Another one that feeds right into my interior decorating itch. So sweet and uplifting, will absolutely make you feel proud of Aziraphale.)

27. Chosen and Unchosen – Bookwormgal (T, the one where the kids have to go save Aziraphale and Crowley from Heaven and Hell. Has some EXCELLENT Warlock characterization and some really good tension between him and Adam, and the angst is properly upsetting. A right good adventure romp that’s really starting to ramp up.)

28. Resonance – Macx (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale become something Else. Good world building, beautiful romance, and Gabriel getting told off. Love how Crowley and Aziraphale growing into their new roles is handled, and how Adam unexpectedly ties in at the end.)

29. Falling Heavenward – @kanna-ophelia (T, the one where Crowley unexpectedly has to win his angel back because of a really twisty deal with Heaven. This one is a pretty wild ride, but I would say the centerpiece is Fallen Gabriel, who becomes Asmodeus. It becomes a battle for Aziraphale’s heart, though Asmodeus isn’t in it for the feels so much as the revenge, obviously. Really interesting premise and something to read if rooting for Crowley is a way you like to spend your time.)

30. A Leisurely Stroll Down – Saturniidae (@Saturniiddae) (M, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale have to fight for their relationship. Has some sexual content that isn’t explicit, and gore that really sort of is. I have thrown things and cried a little at this one, but that was the price for reading while it was still updating. Absolutely gorgeous in every way. Also has God speaking through a household object and it’s hilarious.)

31. From God’s Perspective – Unfortunately (T, the one where God comes down personally to interfere in Her children’s business. The absolute best portrayal of God in any fic ever, really humanizes her in the best ways. I love how she interacts with her angel and demon children. It’s almost more of a character study of God than anything. And yes, the Sound of Music is sung.)

BUS RIDE/NIGHT BEFORE/HEAVEN AND HELL

32. Worth Knowing – summersage (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley discuss the Fall and manage Miltonian angel sex despite it. Has a take on how the Fall works that I was thinking about but couldn’t find words for until this fic, and it’s absolutely fantastic. The Miltonian angel sex is esoteric and weird and not at all erotic, but it is beautiful. The mortifying ordeal of being KNOWN indeed.)

33. Legendary Lovers; Your Hand in Mine – @tenoko1 (G, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale regroup in a hotel instead of his flat and have a bit of a knock-down-drag-out. Crowley is angry and scared and so in love he can’t stand it, and Aziraphale is practically going at light speed in confronting and knocking down his own barriers, and it’s highly emotionally charged and wonderful.)

AU/UA

34. Love of My Life – @ellewrites4 (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale get together very early and make it work all throughout history. Gorgeous romance, and the fallout from the Holy Water caper and the bandstand breakup are EXQUISITE. Peak emotional turmoil, sweet boundary negotiation, forgiveness and love and anxiety and fear—just delicious.)

35. True Love and High Adventure – @grifalinas (T, the one that’s a Princess Bride au. Absolutely on-point casting, wonderful writing style, the perfect escape fic for a little while. Incomplete but still worth the read.)

36. Inverse Omens – @amuseoffyre (T, the one where Aziraphale is a demon with a p0_rn shop and Crowley is an angel running a community center from a bombed-out church. Y’all recommended this to me on my demon!Aziraphale rating post, and it’s AMAZING. Perfect characterization and a wonderful retelling. Warning for Chapters 11 and 12, Aziraphale’s Nanny Ashtoreth messes with the Dowling parents in far more direct ways and there’s scenes of Mr. Dowling jerking it, so take care, friendos. Also Aziraphale makes the filthiest double entendres and it’s delightful. Also also Crowley needs all the hugs.)

37. A Blaze of Light – @wingedspirit (T, the one where Crowley is Raphael and he and Aziraphale make a Pact instead of an Arrangement. This one is a wild adventure, friends, and a riveting one. The Pact puts an interesting spin on their developing relationship, and by the time it gets to TV canon, it’s already off the rails in the best ways. Also Crowley has some pretty heavy depression that manifests in his former Archangel-level powers blowing up a bit, which is cool. Should be wrapping up soon and I’m pumped for it!)

38. it’s high time that you love me, cause you do it so well – mygalfriday (T, the one where Crowley can’t physically say the word “love” but can diddly dang well show it if he wants. Already super sweet but the confession scene at the end is just incredible.)

39. Hold the Line – sum_nemo (T, the one that’s a Pacific Rim AU. I adore PacRim, you guys, and this one is just *chef’s kiss*. Puts Crowley as Raleigh (lost his twin sister copilot) and Aziraphale as Mako and includes a pretty painful shared past between them, which is already simmering and delicious. Can’t wait to see where this one goes.)

40. The Truth Remains – @wanderingalicewrites (NR, the one where Crowley was Raphael, had a good relationship with his siblings, was in love with Aziraphale, and knew he was destined to Fall. Aziraphale is still in mourning for Raphael and Crowley is still working out the point of his existence, so there’s some very good pining and existential dread up in the mix. A highly interesting take on the situation and very, very good at punching you in the feels with the flashbacks to Heaven and how different things are now, especially with the other Archangels. LOL it just updated while I was writing this and I am UNDONE, I am in PAIN, the bandstand scene always hurts but NOT LIKE THIS. ALSO MORE ARCHANGEL FEELS, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN)

41. Everything Dark and Unseen – @enjambament (M, the one that’s a Psyche and Eros retelling. After the Fall but before Eden, Heaven and Hell need a truce, so they marry Crowley and Aziraphale to keep the peace in a symbolic sort of binding. A beautiful romance, an excellent action sequence, the cutest OC creatures, the best OC angels, and I wish there was a continuation of how canon progressed with this monumental change in their history bc I am THIRSTY for more. Rated M for a kinda-sorta sexy scene but there’s not really Efforts sooo…it’s more sensual than sexual? I guess? Either way, highly recommended.)

42. The Name of the Star is Wormwood – LusBeatha (T, the one where Crowley was Raphael and the Fruit of Knowledge of Good and Evil was a fly agaric mushroom. It is exactly as eccentric as it sounds, but presented in such a way that it actually makes sense. It jumps around in time, but the storyline taking place in the present is looking like Armageddon 2.0. Beautifully written, great take on canon.)

43. Sticks and Stones – @justkeeptrekkin (T, the one where Crowley takes on the guise of Casanova while trying to get over Aziraphale and Aziraphale shows up, whoops. GORGEOUS imagery, the most scrumptious pining, and if y’all appreciated the 2005 Pride and Prejudice dance scene, the one in here will about blow that one out of the water, if you can believe it. Knocked the breath right out of me.)

44. Yearning to Hold You Close – @guanin (T, the one where Aziraphale has a relationship with King Richard and asks Crowley to help save him, and there is a big sticky mess of feelings when they realize Richard and Crowley look almost exactly alike. In part inspired by David Tennant playing Richard II. A delicious, delicious emotional quandary where Crowley and Richard both wonder if Aziraphale only loves them because they look like each other, and Aziraphale doesn’t know how to say what he feels. Very sweet, very emotionally fraught.)

SOFT

45. Just This Once – @julia-writes-fanfic (T, the one where Crowley and Aziraphale kiss in the 90s and it’s amazing. The drunk 90s kiss is already good, but them revisiting it sober in 2010 makes both even better.)

46. A Sky Full of Stars – @kedreeva (G, the one where Aziraphale takes Crowley someplace where they can see the cosmos. The first GOmens fic I ever bookmarked, so I felt like including it, because it’s unbelievably sweet and has amazing visuals.)

47. The Serpent and the Seagull – @ineffably-good (G and T, the series where Aziraphale misses Crowley so he gets a little pet snake. Frederick the snake is among the best of the GOmens OCs, hilarious and foul-mouthed and once Crowley starts being able to understand him, it only gets better. Frederick likes helping his pets work their problems out so they’ll leave him alone to sleep. It’s extremely cute.)

48. The Discerning Black Swan – @lwtis (T, the one where Crowley is definitely not projecting on a black swan desperately trying to court a white mute swan in St James’ Park. I love how Crowley interfaces with his emotional problems through the swan, and the visual of the two swans is gorgeous.)

49. What A Demon Dreams – @whatawriterwields (G, the one where Crowley has some weird dreams, dude. I love the symbolism and the imagery in this one, it’s really vivid. It’s hard to pull off a concept like this so I respect how the author is able to do it and make it work.)

TOUCH STARVED/WINGS/BODY WORSHIP

50. Sunlight – crorvid (M, the one where Aziraphale is a touch-starved angel. Doesn’t deserve the M rating, in my opinion, but Aziraphale does feel the touching during their makeouts very intensely and it’s incredibly satisfying.)

51. The Curious Attractiveness of Others – @giddygeek (T, the one where Crowley finally gets to groom Aziraphale’s wings and Aziraphale gets to show Crowley how tender that can be. Another one with some great world building tucked into the corners, and emotionally satisfying grooming.)

52. Broken Wings – werebear (@werebeary) (T and M, the series where wing grooming is incredibly intimate and I got the vapors from the tenderness. Also the first time I saw anything about preen glands. The second one is rated M because the preening gets a bit…intense. Not sexual, exactly, but it’s close. Very passionate.)

53. Birthmark – Linebreaker (G, the one where Crowley has a scar on his lower back and a sad story to go with it. This one needs a bit of a harder rating, imo, and there’s one line that’s a bit Much, but otherwise it’s a sad and beautiful look at a potential reason why Crowley hates the fourteenth century so much. Lots of Crowley body worship packed into few words, very satisfying.)

54. They Are A Pale Picture of You – @ineffablefool (T, the one where they go for a walk during winter and things are just Soft. Ineffablefool has a wealth of body-positive asexual GOmens fics, but I think I like this one best, it’s sweet and adorable and some jerk who insults Aziraphale’s weight rightly gets the worst day of his life. Also Crowley compares Aziraphale in his winter wear to a plump little bird and it’s cute imagery.)

BONUS

55. Ineffable Bureaucracy Drabbles – Shift7 (T, the series of short fics where Gabriel and Beelzebub are kinda-sorta falling into friendship and being very judicious about it. Lots of paperwork, very orderly.)

56. Ineffable Bureaucracy – @eshnoazot (T and G, a series of longer fics where Gabriel and Beelzebub are navigating a careful arrangement of their own. Still lots of paperwork, of course, but there’s also emotional friction and conflict resolution. Excellent characterizations. Wednesday night Thai and Friendship night is a+++++. Gabriel deffo called a board meeting to talk about his feelings.)

57. A Bentley Sang in Berkeley Square – CastielHamilton (G, the one where the Bentley is sentient and a good, good girl. She is doing her best and I love her. Basically the series from her point of view.)

58. Fairest and Fallen – VitreousHumor (T, the series where Beelzebub and Gabriel encounter each other a few times and Gabriel tries his best to remember their shared pre-Fall history. Poignant, sad, and beautiful.)

59. Observer Effect – SquarePudding (T, the series where the Grigori in charge of recording Aziraphale’s Earthly movements starts to ship him and Crowley and records their romance. The Grigori, Rezathaniel, is a precious baby who needs to develop a better palate outside of “greasy literal garbage” and has 0 chill when it comes to their ship. They’re kind of like a celebrity blogger at this point but watching their character growth in the first story is very sweet.)

60. Soul of Vellum, Heart of Chrome – @29-pieces (G, the one where the Bentley and the Bookshop are sentient and very protective of their owners. This one is going to KILL ME with the plot I wasn’t expecting—Heaven and Hell are hunting Aziraphale and Crowley down again, so the Bentley and the Bookshop do their best to help. They’re doing so good and I’m so proud of them, it’s not their fault things went a bit south. Precious beans. Good, good things.)

61. Real Fire and Brimstone Stuff – @jessikast (G, the one where college-age Warlock helps accidentally summon his Nanny and a lot of things start to make sense. A very sweet story about Warlock getting closure and getting back in touch with Crowley and Aziraphale through the weirdest means possible.)

H/C /WHUMP/BAMF

62. Broken Hallelujah – @atlantis-is-burning (T, the one where Hastur comes to kill Aziraphale and Crowley and it’s ugly, folks. It is kinda gory and it is injury-ridden and painful, very touch-and-go for a bit. It ends well, though, and Hastur gets his, which is the Best. Tore me up one side and down the other in all the best ways.)

63. Fall Here – @marbledwings (T, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley are easing into a relationship in fits and starts, and then Crowley gets snatched. This one was AGONIZING to wait for it to update, so be glad it’s complete, because it gets pretty dark for a while. Be warned of torture, though it’s mostly implied and it’s the aftermath that’s dealt with most. It absolutely sticks the landing at the end, and has a great characterization of Michael.)

64. how deep the sand – Handful_of_Silence (G, the series where Aziraphale is trapped in a glass bubble in a wizard’s basement for fifty years and the ensuing aftermath. Feels mostly book-verse, but there are some cues from the show. Intense and realistic and emotional and heavy, drags you through the darkness and you appreciate the light all the more for it. A beautiful story.)

65. you taught me how to love, (it’s me who taught you how to stop) – @clankclunk (G, or the one where Aziraphale comes to find out that you can’t just rush into a relationship after six thousand years of repression. This one is absolutely murdering me. The angst is real. The hurt is real. I’m hoping the fluff and comfort promised in the tags is coming soon because WOW. Has a fantastically haunting view of what happens to angels, who are highly emotive beings, when they fall into depression. And Crowley’s adverse reactions to praise and love are so realistic and painful. Ouch.)

#good omens #good omens fic recs #mega gomens fic rec list #guys i'm so tired but it's so worth it #i love all of these #can't wait to rec more later

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exxar1 · 3 years

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Episode 5: Why Machiavelli Would Never Wear a Mask (And Why You Shouldn’t Either)

12/9/2020

Last week’s episode of the Young Heretics podcast was about The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. The Prince is one of those classics of western lit that I’ve never actually read – or even taken a college class where this was one of the texts. What little I remember about this text is from history class during my junior year in high school. Mrs. Jones (no relation) told us that Machiavelli wrote The Prince as a treatise on political philosophy. He believed that the ends justified the means, and that the best way for a prince to retain power over the people was to rule by fear rather than love. The word “Machavellian” has always been used as a pejorative description in our modern society, often referring to those people who are cold, heartless, and unfeeling. Machiavelli’s name has become synonymous with those characters in popular movies, books and TV shows that attempt to control other characters and events by using various means of deceit and guile.

Now, to be fair, Mrs. Jones’ interpretation and summary of The Prince is not entirely wrong. I did a brief Google search on Machiavelli and The Prince, and about half the links of my search results reaffirmed that view. The other half, however, offered a surprisingly different take on The Prince, one that is also shared by Spencer Klavan on Young Heretics. That podcast is now 29 episodes old, but this is the first one that has presented me with something entirely new – both the text itself and the interpretation of it.

In his advice to the titular prince, Lorenzo de Medici, Machiavelli instructs him on how to best maintain power and control of his subjects and his state. The best way to do this, Machiavelli believed, was for the prince to be feared rather than loved. Also, at times, it would be necessary to use what many would consider to be unjust or immoral means in order to sustain that power and control. Hence Machiavelli’s negative reputation in the history books and modern culture.

But Spencer makes the argument that Machiavelli’s reputation is ill-earned. There’s more to this Italian philosopher than what has been passed down in the history books. To put it simply, Machiavelli was a realist. He addressed human nature – and human behavior – in harsh, realistic terms. This was how Machiavelli viewed the world. To use our vernacular, he didn’t sugarcoat the bad stuff. He understood how people behaved – both the ones in power and the ones being ruled – and he framed his advice to his prince in these simple, realistic terms.

I’ve spent the last several days thinking about this episode, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Spencer chose this episode to air when it did. All over the country, many state governors have issued lockdown orders for their principalities in response to a renewed surge in positive cases of COVID-19. As any of you who know me – either in real life or via social media – can attest, I am a rabid believer in the battle against face masks and the lockdowns. I’m also a firm believer in the actual science – as opposed to the political nonsense spouted by Doctor Fauci and his panel of “experts” – that says over and over how useless and pointless the masks are in the efforts to stop the spread of the corona virus. And, as you also know, I have plenty of time on my hands to think while at my day job, and the other day I came to a rather startling conclusion:

We should all be more like Machiavelli.

When exactly did we, the American people, become a nation of whiny, spoiled, self-entitled sissies? A nation of people who are so terrified of the possibility of dying that we happily give up our most basic freedoms and cower inside our homes or behind masks? Because that's exactly what's happened. The basic liberties and routines of our daily lives and, for many, their very livelihoods, were suddenly halted and/or shut down by our state governors who were acting in response to so-called science and medical “experts” in the effort to save a small, vulnerable percentage of our population. I've lost count of the number of times I've read on social media posts in the last 6 months about how pro-maskers wear a mask to protect their 85 year old grandmother or their 70 year old father. I've been called “heartless” and “pro-Nazi” from strangers in the comments section of news articles whenever I respond with the same argument that I'm going to put forth here.

We of the last couple generations have become so soft and spoiled and lazy that we've forgotten just how harsh and deadly real life can often be. And I'm including myself in that crowd. Those of us born in the last four decades of the 20th century have known nothing but prosperity and comfort, especially if – like me – you grew up in a typically middle class household. This is even more true of anyone born after 1995. I'm speaking of the generation that has never known life without Starbucks, Amazon, Google or a cell phone; the generation that grew up using laptop computers and watching TV by streaming it on the internet. In fact, we've become so complacent that we don't even have to leave our comfort zones to order a Big Mac from McDonald's or groceries from Walmart. When I was growing up in the 80s, I remember having to wait an eternity (4-6 weeks) for a toy to arrive that I had mail-ordered from a Sears catalog. Nowadays, I complain if my Amazon package isn't on my doorstep within 24 hours.

For pretty much all of us, 2020 was a massive wake-up call; a Mike-Tyson-punch-to-the-face or dive-into-Lake-Michigan-in-the-middle-of-December kind of wake-up call. None of us were prepared for a pandemic whose projected death toll was in the millions. Everyone from the top down – the president, our congressmen, our state governors, the national and local health experts – reacted instinctively. The medical experts, especially, were very quick to panic, based primarily on preliminary reports from European countries and China. Many state governors – most of them Democrats – were quick to declare a state of emergency and issue a lockdown order for their respective principalities. Hundreds of thousands of Americans were suddenly without work. Unemployment claims shot through the stratosphere. Congress approved an economic stimulus package. Everyone in the government – both national and local – assured us citizens that the lockdowns were temporary, two months at most.

But, of course, two months became three, then four, and by mid-July, many states were still in phase one or two of their “re-opening”. By this point, even the liberal-controlled mainstream media was reporting on the sudden spike of suicides in the lockdown states. Millions of unemployment claims were stuck in severe backlog, and more and more workers were being put on furlough by their employers – or just simply laid off. Here in Las Vegas, for example, the entire strip was a complete ghost town from mid-March to mid-June. This city's economy is utterly dependent on the tourism industry, and, with all casinos and hotels completely closed, the city as a whole suffered greatly. It's still suffering, in fact, even though most of the strip has been open since mid-July. Almost all the hotels and casinos can only afford to be open from Thursday to Sunday. Thousands here are still unemployed or working two part time jobs for barely minimum wage just to make basic ends meet.

And now, as I write this, our governor – along with those of California, New York, and many others – has declared a second round of lockdowns. In California, both Governor Newsom and the mayor of L.A. have banned indoor AND outdoor dining at all restaurants. And again, we the citizens have been told that this is for our own safety, and that these lockdowns will be temporary. One doesn’t have to look far on Twitter or Facebook to see cell phone videos of desperate, tearful, and/or furious restaurant and bar owners engaged in verbal rages about the injustice of all of this.

Here’s what should have happened clear back in February of this year:

Our leaders – our princes, if you will – both national and local, should have consulted not only the medical experts but also a team of economic and social advisors. The governors of every state should have taken a long, hard look at the long term cost of even a brief economic shutdown versus the projected death toll in the short term if COVID-19 was allowed to run its natural course through the U.S. population. You can already see where I’m headed with this. Our governors chose to shut down their states, to close all “non-essential” businesses, and ordered all citizens to self-quarantine. This was only supposed to be for a few weeks, at most. But we’ve all witnessed the long term effects of these shutdowns – skyrocketing unemployment rates, a rapid, severe spike in suicides and domestic abuse cases, and children who are falling so far behind in school due to “distance learning” that many will simply end up dropping out or repeating the same grade for another year.

Our princes should have been more like Machiavelli. They should have allowed life to continue as normal – no mask mandates, no social distancing orders, and most definitely no mandatory quarantines. Instead, the princes should have advised all citizens that the choice was theirs to self-quarantine or not, and that face masks would also be encouraged but completely optional. The result of this, of course, would mean a very high death toll in the short term. There would be no way to avoid this. As we already know now, face masks and social distancing are pointless and useless when it comes to preventing the spread of COVID. The highest numbers of fatalities would be among those older than 65. Hospitals and morgues would be overwhelmed. Emergency triage centers would have to be established in parking lots and empty football stadiums. For a month or two, the news headlines would be filled each day with the most recent death tolls.

But then, into the third month, the death count would start to go down. As herd immunity was finally achieved, life would, slowly but surely, get back to normal. And through it all, there would have been a slight drop in the regular business of many restaurants, movie theaters, and other recreational businesses that rely on tourism and seasonal traffic. But, ultimately, the country would have recovered from this much faster than they will in our present timeline. As it stands now, hundreds of thousands of small businesses across America have gone bankrupt and closed their doors for good. Even major restaurant chains like Ruby Tuesday and Sweet Tomatoe’s have permanently closed many – if not all – their locations. In the alternate timeline, where they had been allowed to remain open with no restrictions of any kind on the number of customers they were allowed to have inside at any time, these businesses would most likely still be up and running.

Yes, that means that your 75 year old father or your 90 year old grandma would have probably died. But that’s life. Like Machiavelli, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. Life is hard. If you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re in for a long and frustrating existence on this earth. And lest you think I’m speaking from some superior, unaffected, condescending platform where I have not experienced any loss or hardship this year, let me remind of you of my blog post about my close friend Aaron Walker from a month ago. No, his death was not the result of COVID, as far as I know, but it was sudden, and it was completely unexpected. I’m still feeling his loss. But you know what? Life goes on. We mourn the dead, we bury them, and then we move on. Death is a fact of life. Machiavelli would have understood that, and so should all of us in 2020. This year has seen a lot of death, more than anything in recent decades, in fact. But that’s life. That’s the way life goes sometimes, and trying to avoid that inevitability by forcing face masks and quarantine and shutting down businesses on a whim is not going to change that simple fact.

I know many of you reading this are probably screaming at your phone screen right now, calling me all kinds of names and cursing me. “How can you be so heartless????” you rave. “How can you allow so many elderly and innocents to die just so you can still go to the movies or sit down at McDonald’s to enjoy your iced coffee and Big Mac????” “You’re a murderer because you still refuse to wear a mask in public!!!!”

And you know what? You’re absolutely right. I am probably infecting others by not wearing a mask. I do still want to go to a movie on Friday night and pig out on overpriced popcorn and soda. I do enjoy going out to eat at least once a week with all my friends. And yep, I’m perfectly fine with accepting the reality that many people are going to die because our governors refused to sacrifice the whole society in the chance that it might save a few innocent lives.

In other words, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” That edict is as true today as when Spock said it to Captain Kirk in Star Trek 2 in 1982. Machiavelli would have completely understood that statement, and he also would have understood this: that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. We humans have been spreading disease to one another ever since Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden. Death, you see, is the natural consequence of sin. Death is unavoidable, and death comes for us all. For some of us, we are lucky enough to live rich, full lives. For others, death comes all too soon. My grandfather will be 90 years old this year on December 31st. If I were to ask him today if he were ready to shuffle off this mortal coil and be welcomed into the arms of our Heavenly Father, his answer would be an immediate and resounding, “Yes!”. Your 75 year old father or your 85 year old grandmother are most likely looking forward to death. That doesn’t mean you should just kill them now by your own hand to hasten the inevitable. But it does mean that they are ready to meet their maker if their number is up. (And, by the way, is not more cruel to force the elderly to slowly waste away alone, locked up in forced quarantine in nursing homes, not allowed to see or even speak to their loved ones until they eventually die of depression, loneliness or COVID???)

COVID-19 is an act of God. It’s a chance of nature, a random thing that has struck the human race, and none of us have the power to change it or ward it off or protect ourselves and our loved ones against its wrath. As we have been doing since the Tower of Babel, we humans have infected one another and survived many, many plagues worse than this one. So you need to stop your whining, stop your complaining, pick yourself up, and get on with your fucking life. And, while you’re at it, you might want to open your Bible and get acquainted with your Creator. Because, sooner or later, you’re gonna meet him, and if you have not accepted his son, Jesus Christ, as your lord and savior, you will spend eternity in a place that makes COVID look like a summer’s vacation in the Florida Keys.

So, in conclusion, be more like Machiavelli. Throw away your damn mask, rise up against the tyranny of our modern princes, and help me get our lives back to normal. If we do not stand up for our freedoms we will most assuredly lose every last one of them.

Mmmmm-kay???

(And, by the way, if you haven’t been listening to Young Heretics, I strongly advise you to drop everything and begin immediately. Look it up on YouTube or wherever you get your podcasts. It will change your life.

You’re welcome.)

#covid #covidiot #life #god #mask #liberty #freedom

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inkstaineddove · 4 years

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The Pride of Wisdom

Characters: Prussia, Austria, Switzerland, Hungary; mentioned Holy Rome, England

Summary: To create Germany's body, Prussia and Austria must work together using less than typical means. Somehow, their plans are found out and lead to an uncomfortable confrontation with a incredibly upset Switzerland over the morals of their methodology.

A/N: The title comes from a Frankenstein quote '“Man," I cried, "how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom!”' There's some overlap in themes between this story and that classic which, while unintentional, I decided to lean into in the choice of title. I've also changed Switzerland's name from Bash/Vash to Roland due to neither of those names being actual names and my liking many alternatives for him better that work in French and German. I hope this doesn't impair anyone's enjoyment too much and, if it's bothersome, I apologize. I can also explain why the date for which this is set too, as it's much earlier than any formal efforts by Austria or Prussia to unify, which is acknowledged by Roderich and Gilbert.

Vienna, 1835.

Prussia knocked impatiently on the door. All was quiet around him save for the gentle patter of rain against the ground. It was the typical nighttime stillness and he found it irritating. No one appeared to be stirring. He knocked on the door again, this time with much more force.

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time!” The door was flung open by a flustered Austria. He ushered Prussia inside. “Are you ready? I would prefer to get this over with as soon as possible.”

“Of course I’m ready. I didn’t come all this way to laze around. Where is it?”

Austria led them to the basement. At the very end, something the length and shape of a child sat atop an old table. It was wrapped in a series of blankets, masking what was beneath.

Gilbert hoisted it up over his shoulder. He patted the padding around it affectionately. “What’s with all this? Were you really that afraid of people snooping?” For once, his teasing appeared to be good natured. They were acting towards the same goal, eliminating any need for malice between them in the short-term.

“I wish that were the case. How many years has it been now? It’s been rotting in that crypt for long enough. I didn’t want the stench to fill up my home.” Roderich extinguished the candle he’d lit to illuminate the room. “Carry it up to the kitchen. There’s plenty of room there for what you’ll need to do.”

“You’re not worried about any of the servants walking in?” Gilbert shrugged, silently impressed at the lack of concern. It seemed uncharacteristic of his host, but there could be hidden depths he had yet to discover.

Roderich gave him an incredulous look. “You think I would have them here? No, I’ve sent them home to their families for the weekend. Much easier to operate without fearing an interruption.” He shook his head. “Honestly, Gilbert, what kind of fool do you take me for? The risk I’d run to my reputation if any of them saw. Perhaps you can flout the wishes of your government openly, but I prefer to have a bit more tact in my personal rebellions.”

That was disappointing. And here Gilbert had almost believed he had rubbed off on Roderich, had taught the man the benefits of cutting it fast and loose. He shook it off quickly, imagining the humor in Roderich being left alone to fend for himself. He smirked. “No one to look after you? How have you made it this long? I would expect you to be wasting away by now.”

That earned him a sharp rebuke. Roderich opened the door leading them out of the basement, casting a foul look over his shoulder. “I am fully capable of navigating a kitchen. For years I got along fine without any help. I can certainly last for a few days. Your concern is misplaced.” A self-satisfied little smile made itself home on his lips. “Besides, I doubt that you would find it very comfortable without them either. Do barbarians know how to use a knife for cutting meats or is it only a tool for bloodshed in your hands?”

Gilbert laughed. “That says it all. Erzsi’s been doing all the cooking, hasn’t she?” The silence he received proved telling. He laughed harder now, having to lean against the kitchen’s doorframe for assistance holding himself up. He wiped a tear from his eye. “For a second – a second! – you almost had me. Ah, poor Roddy. You’ve grown too soft from all the years of living as a pampered kitten.”

A loud sigh escaped from Austria before he could contain it. His face burned red. There were more important things at hand, the teasing could be saved till later. He tapped his foot impatiently. “Can we begin this? The sooner it’s over the better. Now, where is that…thing you were supposed to get from Arthur?”

Prussia set what he’d been carrying down on the counter. Out of his pocket, he pulled a worn and leather-bound book. The cover contained various markings that held no meaning to either man. “Relax, I’ve got it right here. Arthur handed it over without so much as a fight. All he did was warn me to be careful.”

Panic flashed through Austria’s eyes. “Don’t tell me he knows what we’re doing.” His anxiety only increased when Prussia could no longer meet his gaze. “You absolute moron! Why would you think that appropriate! If France catches wind of what we’re doing – much less our own kings – it will be our heads on the chopping block! The one time it truly mattered for you to keep your damn mouth closed and you couldn’t be bothered! You’re an imbecile!”

“What would you have done? He cornered me on the damn issue, pressing me for why I needed a spell book with such a thing in it. What would you have me say? The guy’s been reliable enough to me, I felt sure I could trust him.” Prussia shrugged. “All that mattered to him was that it would hurt France in some way. And I never told him the details, but I’m sure he figured out a lot of it for himself.”

This answer satisfied Roderich somewhat. His worries were still gnawing at him, but he pushed them aside. There was no need to get into them now, there was nothing that could be done. He began undoing the knot of blankets that hid what they carried. Finally, he reached the last one and did away with it. There, amid them all, laid what remained of Holy Rome’s corpse. He gagged on the scent, stumbling away from the counter.

Gilbert seemed completely undisturbed by it. By now, the scent of death meant nothing to him. He flipped open the little book to the page he needed, skimming the instructions. He had them memorized as he’d been reading and rereading it over the journey here. Still, he wanted to be completely sure of himself. They couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

“Where’s the rosemary? We need to burn that first and clean what we’re going to use with moon water.” The absurdity of Gilbert saying such things wasn’t lost on either of them. He suppressed his smile, knowing he needed to be serious.

Roderich stood on the far side of the room, with his head turned towards the hallway. The air where he was remained pure and not putrid. “It’s not h-” a loud banging on the door cut him off. Irritation prickled his skin as he headed towards the front entrance. “Who in the world could that be? That incessant banging at such an hour. What could possibly be so important that it can’t wait till tomorrow?”

He threw open the door, surprised to be staring down an infuriated Switzerland. Roland pushed through, backing Roderich up into Gilbert. “You know what’s just wonderful? You two shut everybody out of your little schemes, but word always seems to travel. Both of your damn egos don’t allow you to keep your mouths quiet, huh?” His breathing was ragged, and his shoulders trembled in their fury.

Roderich threw his hands up between them, trying to gently push the other man away. “What are you rambling on about? You come here, bursting in like a madman, and expect us to have any idea what it is you’re referring to? Outlandish, have some courtesy.” Despite how calm he sounded, his heart was racing in his chest. He supposed this is what a cornered animal felt like.

His answer was unsatisfactory. He was grabbed by the collar of his shirt. Never had he seen such mania in Roland’s eyes. “Don’t play coy with me! You think that act really works for anyone but your princes, too inbred to have anything resembling a brain left between their ears? You and I both know exactly what I’m talking about! This crime against nature! You both should be ashamed!”

“Schwarze, the only crime against nature happening here is that Roddy and I are spending a peaceful evening together.” Gilbert gingerly freed a grateful Roderich, moving slowly so as not to enrage Roland further. “There’s no need to burst in here like this. You’d be better served heading home.” He tried nudging Roland away, but the man refused to budge.

The more they pretended everything was normal, that nothing was out of the ordinary, the more they increased Roland’s rage. He narrowed his gaze on Gilbert now, eyes blazing with a fire that refused to be stomped out. He smacked Gilbert’s hand away with a look of disgust. “Don’t you dare touch me! I don’t need to be corrupted by your influence either!” He noticed the light coming from behind the others and barreled his way into the kitchen, moving faster than they could react to. He skidded to halt before the counter, dry heaving. “This proves it! It’s exactly what I heard from the others!” His voice was weaker now, his words stuttered out between gags.

Roderich and Gilbert stood in the doorway, sharing looks. Each was challenging the other to extrapolate themselves from this mess. What was there to say or do? While both were skilled at manipulating others to do their bidding or to go along with their schemes, there was no way to trick Roland into disbelieving his own eyes and nose. It would require something more creative, but both were at a loss.

Roderich dared to try first, stepping into the room. To his surprise, he had grown adjusted to the stink enough to hardly notice it. “Roland, please, you’re hurrying to all sorts of unfounded conclusions. Why not provide us with a moment to explain ourselves? You forget how reasonable we are.” Part of him was weirded out by how implicitly complimentary he was speaking of Gilbert. The pragmatic half of him, the one currently controlling his actions, couldn’t be bothered to care. There was the more important matter of appearances and reputation; any rivalry was secondary to that.

“Reasonable? You both lost any claim to that when you dug up a grave to work some sort of devil’s magic! Things that are dead should stay dead. Though you’ve never been one to understand that, haven’t you, Roderich?” Roland sneered at him with a look in his eyes conveying how little he thought of both men before him.

The bitterness stung, melting any of Roderich’s faux politeness away. His fingers twitched, wanting to smack the self-righteous look off Roland’s face. “And yet I’m not the one barging into your home, telling you that which you can and cannot do. Seems like only one of us has moved on from things better left in the past, while the other is still hurt over how easily replaceable he was.” He grinned, seeing that his words hit their intended mark. “What we do should be of no concern to you, being the neutral party and all. Really, what claim do you have in our affairs when you constantly refuse to help either of us? You have no thoughts when we’re trying to destroy one another, but, now that we’re working towards the same goal, that’s what you find objectionable? You truly defy all logic.”

Roland ground his teeth together, trying and failing to keep from exploding. “Why would I care when you two are out killing each other? If one of you fades away, that’d be a blessing to us all. Maybe this part of Europe could catch a break from the constant warfare if one of you is pacified! But this? Oh, this is beyond belief!” He began pacing, needing to get his excess energy out in a way that didn’t end in a brawl. “This is an act against creation! A sin if there ever were one! Our kind may have incredible powers, but they’re meant to protect our people and not engage in something like this, something so sinister!”

“Roland, you’re really going to throw around charges like this? Our very existence is a sin. We shouldn’t exist by all accounts and yet-” Gilbert dramatically waved his left hand around, strolling into the room. “here we are. What would you say is the worst sin: taking life so freely as we do, slaughtering many in wars for our own power grabs, or giving back life to what is dead, reviving what is still?” He spoke with the passion of a former zealot. These were questions he’d grappled with while serving as the Teutonic Knights, questions that hadn’t left him since. A mischievous glint appeared his eyes and he smiled, belying that he already knew the answer. “The sin is always in taking and salvation is found in giving. Our work here should be admirable, even if isn’t the most traditional route.”

“Cut with the choir boy shit! I’m not one of the pagans you can spout a bunch of garbage off to and convert. Have a little respect for my intelligence, Gilbert. You and I both know you’re trying to play God here and it’s sickening! Karl was a failed experiment with a body too frail for this life. It’s cruelty to subject another person to that kind of torment.” He laughed, cold and harsh. “Who am I kidding? As if either of you care what kind of life it lives. This only makes your ambitions more obvious.”

Gilbert flicked his wrist, batting Roland’s words aside. “Who’s to say we’re not as close to gods as you can get? Think of it, we all have limitless power and can’t be destroyed except by our own hands. Neither of you can stand here and pretend like you didn’t try praying to whichever god we’re told to believe in, desperate to find the meaning of this existence, only to find no answer in response. Maybe you weren’t, but I was forced to walk through fire too many times to where I can still feel the rope around my wrists. And still I look like the devil, as if God’s cures don’t work and His laws were written by men. If we’re not gods then we must be monsters and, either way, that gives us free reign to act as we please.” He realized he was speaking with too much honesty, felt the surprised eyes boring into his skin, and cleared his throat. He smiled, changing tones with a speed that could cause whiplash. “I thought you couldn’t stand Karl, what’s with the sudden concern? If all this goes right, his body should be good as new, nothing to worry about. He’ll be healthier than the last kid and with enough strength that all of Europe will be listening to us.”

“‘Us?’ You two plan to share him?” Roland snorted. “As if that will last. I shouldn’t be so worried. Both of you will have destroyed him as soon as he’s breathing.” He shot them both a glare. “I don’t have to like someone to do what is right. No one should treat anyone’s body with such disregard, especially one who has no say in the matter.”

“Ah, so it’s about consent? Well, let’s ask him!” Gilbert moved to the counter, standing over Holy Rome’s corpse. “Karl, do you mind if we use your body for Germany’s? What was that?” He leaned down low, meeting Roland’s gaze with ferocity and manic energy. “Right! It doesn’t matter because he’s dead!”

It was a grim joke, one that belied his soldier’s sense of humor and one no one else found funny. Roderich wrinkled his nose. “Gilbert, don’t be so crass. That’s distasteful.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This conversation was going nowhere, both sides remained firmly entrenched in their beliefs. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

Erzsébet burst into the room, a wide smile across her face. She was unfazed by the stench of decay, grown too used to it on the fields of battle and revolt. She set her bag down, removing its contents. “Really, Roderich, there was no need to send me out so late. I understand that we must be cautious, but this is a bit much.” She smiled sweetly at Gilbert, who was standing in her line of sight. “Gil, what’s with the look on your face? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” She laughed at her own lame joke, before following the Gilbert and Roderich’s gaze. She froze at the sight of Roland, who looked ready to snap again. “Ah, fuck.”

She barely finished speaking before Roland was carrying on again. “I should’ve known. Even your little whore is in on it too. Anything to follow them to the ends of the earth, right Erzsébet? And you’re supposed to be the moral center.” He had never liked her, for reasons Erzsébet was clueless on, but this was much crueler than his usual treatment towards her. “Grow a spine, dammit. I thought even you could see how wrong this is, but I guess I thought too highly of you. Do none of you really care what the others will think once they find out?”

“Roland, you realize you’re the only one with any objections, right? Did neither of them tell you that they spoke with Saxony and Bavaria about this, that this isn’t what you’re thinking.” She looked between Austria and Prussia. “You two really didn’t? I forget how helpless you both are.”

Prussia seized upon this, appreciating where she was leading them. “We probably should have mentioned this earlier, but we do have the go ahead from everyone. A lot of our people are desperate for Germany of some kind. The four of us agreed it would be in our best interest if we, at least, got a body ready.” He laughed, relaxing considerably now that things appeared to be going their way. “It’s been so long since we had a kid in the family, it was getting stale with all the same faces.”

“That’s it? The four of you decide everything for this family? No one else has any say?” Roland tried to suppress his hurt feelings, desperately not wanting his upset to be on display. And he would’ve as the changes were barely perceptible. But Roderich knew him too well, knew exactly what it meant when Roland couldn’t maintain eye contact, when he began chewing at his bottom lip, when his hands rolled and re-rolled into fists.

Roderich intended to capitalize. With cool detachment, he smiled. “You know Gilbert, he speaks in generalizations. We did speak to others, some of the lesser states. If he truly is to represent Germany, then his birth must be through a method we all agree on. And, astonishingly, there were no qualms with our idea so long as it was us who got our hands dirty. Which is fair since it will be through our might alone that things will coalesce, but that’s at a later time. As for the present, why we didn’t speak to you is simple.” His smile widened and he paused a beat, relishing it. “You’re not our family. You lost the privilege to be consulted on these matters when you left us. No harsh feelings, of course.”

His words had their intended effect. Roland stiffened up, his eyes becoming distant to separate himself from the conversation. He looked to Gilbert and Erzsébet and, finding no allies in either of them, turned his attention to the wall. “Of course,” he grumbled bitterly. Recovering slightly, he tried to regain some mojo, but found much of it lost. “And you, Erzsébet. Why do you go along with this?” He needed to believe he wasn’t the only sane man left standing, that she had some wits about her.

She was caught off guard by him suddenly using her name. He normally only referred to her in derogatory terms, never had he been so respectful. Her surprise led her straight into honesty. “What else am I to do? What say do I have in all this? I had no love for Karl, but if he can be repurposed then what’s stopping us? Besides, perhaps having a kid around again will give me something to do if I’m not allowed to live in Budapest.” She shared a tense look with Roderich, conveying arguments Roland wasn’t privy to. He was unsurprised to see Gilbert’s quick look of contempt towards Roderich, but wondered what else he had missed while attempting to float above the fray.

He was big enough to admit defeat. He sighed, frustrated by the outcome. But what was there to do when the world was aligned against him? Maybe he was the one with the lopsided morals and that playing with dark forces was now acceptable. He found that, if that were the case, he’d rather sequester himself in the Alps away from the rest of the world rather than try to engage it. “I see how it is then. Fine, have it your way.” He gave one final disgusted glance at the corpse, before turning on his heel. “There’s nothing left for me here. Hasn’t been in years.”

“Allow me to escort you out,” Roderich offered more out of habit than genuine kindness.

Once they had left, Gilbert and Erzsébet began preparing everything, unpacking what she had brought and assembling all their tools. Lavender burned in the center of the room, purifying the area. Gilbert lifted the needle from the moon water, threading it carefully. Roderich returned, taking his place besides Erzsébet. Gilbert grinned at them, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Let’s get ourselves a son.”

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #aph hungary #hws hungary #aph switzerland #hws switzerland #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfiction #aph fanfic #aph fanfiction #hws fanfic #hws fanfiction #its left intentionally ambiguous on what destroyed the swissaus personal relationship #if you interpret as a romantic/familial/paternal falling out then youre correct #whatever it is to you is right #but he is jealous of erzsi seemingly taking his place - regardless of the validity of that belief

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aqvarius · 4 years

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For the writer asks 1, 3, 4, 7, 8, 49 ❤️❤️❤️ sorry it’s lot but i’m curioussss

omg thanks for the numbers boo! i love talking about myself so feel free so send as many numbers as you want lmao

1. things that inspire you

usually the sky and scenery/settings! different variants of the sky give me different moods for writing usually, like sunsets will make me want to write really pensive pieces, or bright neon-lit city skies at night want me want to write something where two people are sitting in an empty basketball court drinking and being nostalgic lol. i’m also inspired by random pieces of dialogue and i’ll file them in my notes app or a new word doc and literally think of a plot and write a fic just so i can use that one line of dialogue. and i’m often inspired too by just scenes that i want to see myself - fanfic is great bc you have the base characters and contexts already written out for you and you can just fill in the gaps with whatever you want. pretty much all of my fics that aren’t requests are just self-indulgent pieces because i want to see a character react in a certain situation lol.

3. name three favorite writers

ahh it was so hard to pick just 3 but i’m going to name some of my fav fanfic writers since the next question is about authors! i’ll keep it to people who have written for voltage since that’s the main focus/fandom of this blog.

@effloresensemn writes the best hue i’ve ever read. this is my absolute favourite hue fic of all time - i actually reread it recently and left a comment, forgetting that i already left a comment 4 years ago. i love her characterisation in everything she writes so much and the tone of her first person povs.

@zacroix gorgeous, gorgeous writing. she writes smut that’s not just hot but also delicate and sensual and intimate. i love all the little details that just add so much depth and her lovely, sultry dialogue.

@drawthecurtainstarttheplay it’s been so long but her work is still some of the best in the fandom imo. the amount of time i spent reading her bmp fics when i was an undergrad is insane - i’m surprised i even graduated. they’re creative and sophisticated and delicious.

anyway as i was writing this i realised i couldn’t choose just 3 so here’s some more

@spyoflove (another classic!) for not just great smut and meltingly cute fluff but also some really fun and silly pieces.

@heartofsnark i don’t even care that much about kbtbb but i read her fics just bc they’re so well written. i found her through her hue fic and i was like shook that she’d never written him before bc it was so good lol.

@duchessmimrose for being not only a prolific but absolutely quality writer, and for reblogging and promoting so many great fics on her blog.

4. name three authors that were influential to your work and tell why

banana yoshimoto is probably my favourite author. i love the pensive tone of her writing, where it’s both detached but incredibly sensitive at the same time. every time i read one of her books i try to emulate the tone to practice but i can never get it. she makes me want to be really experimental and find my own voice. the soft endings of her books make you feel so satisfied but yearning for more at the same time.

i adore michelle moran’s historical fiction. nefertiti, the heretic queen and cleopatra’s daughter? incredible. i love the way she writes clever, bold and charming women without making them mary sues. her worlds are so vibrant and immersive and i love the way she describes the grandeur of places and clothing in particular.

i’m a sucker for historical romance novels (and also modern tbh) so i love lisa kleypas. the chemistry between her characters is always so palpable and i love her heroes (who doesn’t lol). i love the way she writes sex scenes too, they’re super sexy and so intimate and loving and passionate but not explicit? i often try to emulate that style of writing when i have to write nsfw scenes because i don’t always love a super brash/explicit tone.

7. early influences on your writing

that mates dates series of books? and also the truth, dare, kiss or promise series. also jacqueline wilson lol. and then fictionpress stories, ff.net, and fanfic i read on livejournal communities for sure (the latter being probably the reason why i (1) put my stories behind cuts and (2) have all my titles lower case.)

8. what time are you most productive?

4-7am after not having slept lol. also literally right as im falling asleep

49. writing advice

for me, characterisation is #1! i think esp in a fandom like voltage where there are hundreds of characters, it’s so important to have the specific traits of the character you’re choosing to write for/about down to a T and think about how they specifically would react even in an AU or a situation where they wouldn’t normally find themselves. if you need to stretch beyond a situation in which they would reasonably be, make sure you provide enough context/exposition to make it believable and still recognisably that character.

i like to go back and reread substories, epilogues and povs to refresh myself on the character’s dialogue patterns, how they react to certain situations, how that differs from other characters, how they express affection (what sorts of love languages do they gravitate towards), etc.

also write down phrases you like whenever they pop into your head! sometimes it’s a good way to come up with new ideas, or you can always keep them in the bank for future use.

and don’t be afraid to experiment with tone. sometimes it’ll be successful (in terms of audience reception), sometimes it won’t, but it’s always fun to stretch beyond how you’re used to articulating certain ideas.

also make sure to double check for tense inconsistencies. something that peeves me is when pieces swap back and forth between past and present tense by accident! (unless it’s deliberate, like a flashback or something)

#Anonymous #why do i talk so much #snow answers #snow irl

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microcomets · 4 years

Text

2019 books in review

hello!! i’ve started to do this every year now because i love books lol. here were some of my favorites from this year!! starred are my faves.

fiction

station eleven by emily st. john mandel***

about the world following the end of the world and a traveling shakespearean troupe

the secret history by donna tartt*

[shane madej voice] we’re here for the cult stuff

gathering of waters by bernie l. mcfadden* (southern gothic)

southern gothic/magical realism narrated by the town of money, mississippi about the lynching of emmett till

sing, unburied, sing by jesmyn ward* (southern gothic)

a family from mississippi struggles to heal from the ghosts of their past & present

fruit of the drunken tree by ingrid rojas contreras

an author’s recollections of growing up in a war-torn colombia

cat’s cradle by kurt vonnegut

not even totally sure how to summarize this one tbh but i did love it

big little lies by liane moriarty (mystery)

PTO mom drama and also someone’s dead

the witch elm by tana french (mystery/thriller)

after being dealt a traumatic brain injury, a man attempts to solve the mystery of a body discovered in the tree of his family home’s backyard

death on the nile by agatha christie (mystery)

yer classic whodunit

dark places by gillian flynn (mystery/thriller)

the protagonist digs into her past and the unsolved murder of her family, and ends up on the run from a killer

house of broken angels by luis alberto urrea

a large mexican family comes to terms with the imminent death of their patriarch

fahrenheit 451 by ray bradbury

what if reading was punishable by death? and other fun questions that are still terrifyingly relevant

eleanor oliphant is completely fine by gail honeyman

a very lonely and traumatized woman learns to make human connections

to the lighthouse by virginia woolf

some people go to a lighthouse. whether or not they get there is the burning metaphorical question of the novel

the girl on the train by paula hawkins (mystery/thriller)

a woman whose life is falling apart sees something that she’s not supposed to on her morning train ride, and gets sucked into the center of a murder mystery

the bedlam stacks by natasha pulley

fantasy/historical fiction set in the 1800s wilderness of peru

sula by toni morrison

the story of two black women who go from best friends to enemies, both outcast by their community

practical magic by alice hoffman

two witchy sisters and their family try to break an old curse and also keep a body hidden

the seven deaths of evelyn hardcastle by stuart turton (mystery/thriller)

a man with no identity or memory has to solve the murder of the titular character, but in the bodies of eight different people where the same day repeats eight times

where the crawdads sing by delia owens

the protagonist is an orphan who raises herself in the isolated wilderness of the north carolina marshes; plus a love triangle and a murder mystery

she would be king by wayétu moore

historical fiction/magical realism about the history of liberia and america; the three protagonists have supernatural powers that bring them together across africa and north america

the round house by louise erdrich

a native american boy attempts to solve and seek justice for his mother’s unsolved rape on his reservation (rape cw)

queer lit

call down the hawk by maggie stiefvater*

first book of “the dreamer trilogy” following “the raven cycle”

in other lands by sarah rees brennan*

a boy named elliot discovers there’s another world beyond ours, and that it has cute boys and mermaids

the binding by bridget collins**

a bookbinding apprentice learns the magical craft of memory-binding, which is more sinister and powerful than he ever would’ve imagined

on earth we’re briefly gorgeous by ocean vuong*

a vietnamese man writes an open letter to his mother about his childhood, trauma, memory, queerness, transnational identity

the second two books of the captive prince trilogy by c.s. pacat (prince’s gambit* and kings rising) (non-con cw for the first book)

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo by taylor jenkins reid*

an aging hollywood superstar spills her entire life story to an up and coming journalist, which includes her seven marriages and the secret love of her life

the wolf in the whale by jordanna max brodsky

historical fiction about the ancestors of the inuit tribe and the vikings; the protagonist journeys to save the gods of her people (rape cw)

red white and royal blue by casey mcquiston

enemies-to-lovers with the president’s son and the prince of england

everything under by daisy johnson

a completely unique queer retelling of a classic, tragic myth that involves water monsters

birthday by meredith russo (ya romance)

eric and morgan are tied by fate when they’re born on the same day in the same hospital; morgan, who’s trans, struggles to transition and tell her lifelong best friend who she really is

wayward son by rainbow rowell

sequel to carry on

once & future by amy rose capetta and cori mccarthy

campy queer arthurian retelling....in space?

sci-fi/fantasy

the long way to a small, angry planet by becky chambers** (also queer lit)

found family in space!!!!

a closed and common orbit by becky chambers* (also queer lit)

standalone sequal to tlwtasap where non-humans learn to become humans and belong

spinning silver by naomi novik*

miryem, the keen and no-nonsense daughter of a moneylender, has an uncanny knack for profit that draws the attention of fey winter creatures from the wood

strange the dreamer by laini taylor

involving a lost city, dream-worlds and half-gods

muse of nightmares by laini taylor*

sequel to strange the dreamer (wouldn’t classify as queer lit but does have great queer characters)

king of scars by leigh bardugo

first of a series following both the grisha trilogy and the six of crows duology

ninth house by leigh bardugo

dark academia, secret societies, a murder mystery, and a girl who can see ghosts (observe the warnings for this one!! it’s very grimdark so there are quite a few.)

the deep by rivers solomon (also queer lit)

a race of merfolk, who are the descendants of pregnant african slaves thrown overboard on the middle passage, relive their traumatic histories

the bear and the nightingale by katherine arden

medieval russian folklore/fairy tale woven into the story of a girl who protects her village from evil

the amber spyglass by philip pullman

third book in “his dark materials” trilogy

the ocean at the end of the lane by neil gaiman

a man returns to his childhood home for a funeral and childhood memories of events there come rushing back—memories that are far too strange and terrifying to be real

the descendant of the crane by joan he

fantasy novel set in historical china; the protagonist is a princess dealing with the death of her father as she tries to protect magical folk from getting killed and prevent a war

young adult

on the come up by angie thomas

a young woman pursues a rap career in the face of family struggles

tunnel of bones by victoria schwab

the sequel to city of ghosts about a girl who can see beyond the veil into the world of the dead; this time she’s being haunted in the catacombs of paris

darius the great is not okay by adib khorram

darius, who feels unremarkable about everything, takes a family trip to iran and meets his first true friend

horror

wilder girls by rory power (also queer lit)

all-girls high school trying to survive in the apocalyptic wilderness of the northeast (body horror cw)

the hunger by alma katsu

a horrific reimagining of the famed donner party’s doomed 1847 trek across the u.s. west

misery by stephen king

a famous author gets trapped and tortured by a psychopath who forces him to write more of her favorite novels

ghost wall by sarah moss (also queer lit)

things go south when a girl and her abusive, history-obsessed father attempt to live as ancient britons once did as part of an anthropology course

the woman in black by susan hill

a man sent to collect a dead woman’s belongings from a spooky house steps into a hateful haunting

nonfiction

i’ll be gone in the dark by michelle mcnamara*

about one woman’s obsessive and meticulous hunt for the golden state killer

bad blood by john carreyrou*

an investigative journalist details one of the most ambitious startup scams in silicon valley history

gentleman jack: the real anne lister by anne choma

a companion novel to the show about the uk’s first lesbian marriage from the insanely detailed diaries of anne lister

becoming by michelle obama

michelle recounts her childhood, her marriage, and her years as first lady

poetry/short stories

devotions by mary oliver***

song for the unraveling of the world by brian evenson

the lottery and other stories by shirley jackson

the heart and other viscera by felix j. palma

for last year’s rec, click here! for more of these insightful reviews, message me to ask for my goodreads. :)

#i read some other stuff like the magicians which i did not like and some new fantasy ya that i can't really recommend #claire for ts #books 2019 #literature

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years

Text

TWD 10x09: Squeeze - Details

Okay, let’s talk details. I think there was a lot of foreshadowing in this episode. I’ll talk mostly about that and themes here.

***As always, spoilers abound below for TWD 10x09. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

First off, yes Daryl lit the walker hand and used it as a torch. Thanks to everyone who sent me that. Seriously, I watched this episode like three times and didn’t pick up on that, lol.

I’ve said more than once that Magna is being very destructive, and I worry she might die. I’m not saying it will be right away or super-soon, but on re-watching, I noticed that Daryl and Jerry were giving her a boost, trying to push her up the side of the wall and find a hand hold. She fell and, unfortunately, they didn’t catch her. She said she almost had it, but Daryl said it was too high and she was in danger of breaking her neck if they kept trying, so they looked for another way. I can’t help but wonder if this was a death omen for her. On the other hand, it might have simply foreshadowed her becoming trapped in the cave.

I’ve thought for a while now that whenever we see characters taking falls like this, they foreshadow a bigger, symbolic “fall” of some kind. I think it usually has to do with a big mistake they make, and end up paying for in a big way. I’ve always thought that when Beth jumped down beside Noah in the elevator shaft and kind of belly-flopped, it foreshadowed her being shot. She was about to take a big fall.

Given that, it’s interesting to note that Carol has several falls in this episode. The others who do are Magna and Kelly. And I’m not saying it always has to be death omen. I think it’s more likely to portend death for minor characters. But Carol’s fall might have been what we actually saw in this episode. She made a huge mistake and feels guilty for it now. Daryl’s opinion of her has definitely fallen. Just wanted to point this out.

A couple of minor themes I noticed:

There are some water themes going on. One of their first how-do-we-get-out-of-here discussions comes because Daryl notices a small stream of water leaking down the wall. He says the water is coming in from outside, so there must be a way out. We also see the group collecting water into canteens from a stalactite and there’s an emphasis on them being low on water, especially because the air in the cave is so close (hence Carol’s claustrophobia) and so they’re probably all really hot and dehydrated.

Also, there’s the “I’m okay” theme, and the “I’m here” theme, both of which we saw around Beth. In the scene where Connie signed into Carol’s hand, which I thought was a really sweet scene, actually, she signed “you are okay.” (Btw, Connie held Carol’s hand in the same way Daryl held Connie’s when they were looking for Kelly. Sweetly and in friendship, but without entwined fingers. That’s the official “friendship” hand hold, y’all. Unless of course your theory is that Connie and Carol are about to become a romantic couple. ;D)

And then there was the point when Carol was crawling through the tunnel and started to freak out. Daryl called her name and she answered, “I’m here. I’m okay.” Remember that when Carol was injured at Grady, Beth took her hand and said, “I just wanted you to know I was here.”

Another piece of dialogue that caught my ear was somewhat comedic. Daryl was pulling people out of a narrow tunnel passage. He pulls Kelly by the waist and her hands went down to the ground and her feet went up and she sort of somersaulted. Daryl just glanced back at her and, off camera, we hear her say, “I’m good.” It made me laugh, but also reminded me Beth’s We’ll be Good song.

Let’s talk Death Fake Out Symbols!

One of my favorite topics, lol. Basically, all the typical symbols we have around a death fake out were present here. And as I’ve already said, they’re probably MOSTLY about Connie, but that doesn’t mean symbols can’t have double meanings, and we’ve seen these same symbols already around Beth, Rick, and even Glenn back in 6a.

First, when they were jumping boulders to get to the other side of the cavern, all the walker hands reaching for them reminded me a lot of what it looked like when Glenn and Nicholas were on the dumpster. It might have been a callback to that.

I mentioned Jerry’s foot/shoe symbolism yesterday. Okay, here’s my spiel about this. I’ve thought for a long time that the lost shoe thing is a foreshadow of the death fake out. We saw the disembodied shoe by Beth in Inmates, and then remember that in 7x12 (where they foreshadowed Rick’s death fake out) he accidentally yanked a shoe and foot off one of the military walkers.

But this symbol (as with all TD symbols) gets sort of complicated. First off, while Jerry’s shoe experience may well be a symbol for Connie’s death fake out, or at least double as that, most often the person associated most closely with the shoe gets the death fake out. While obviously Daryl was present for the scene in Inmates, it was Beth who stared at the shoe and cried. Daryl had already walked away.

Same with Rick and Michonne in 7x12. Michonne was there, but it was Rick who actually pulled the foot/shoe off, and it was he and Beth who actually got the death fake outs. So, does this signify that Jerry will have a death fake out at some point? It might.

The other thing is that the shoe symbolism and the death fake out rarely come in the same season. Beth’s shoe thing was in S4 and her “death” was in S5. Rick’s shoe thing was in S7 and he didn’t leave until S9. We also know that he originally planned to leave in S8, so they might have been planning for that when they put the foreshadow in 7x12.

Another instance of this I noticed is with Al in FTWD. This past season (S5) she had a “lost shoe” moment. It was in a Still-like episode where she met Isobel, who is obviously going to be her love interest. So, while we haven’t seen a death fake out for Al, I think there may be one in this coming season of Fear (S6).

My point is, if Jerry does have a death fake out, I doubt we’ll see it this season. I’ve also said that I think Ezekiel will get a death fake out, so I wonder if Jerry’s will be synonymous with that. They’re buds and hang out a lot, so maybe they’ll disappear together or something. And understand, I’m just spit-balling here. Forecasting for the long term. I just thought this was an interesting development.

Oh, and then there are the walkers. So, we believe a horde of walkers was involved in Beth’s death fake out and specifically in her getting left behind, right? And obviously walkers were involved in Glenn’s fake out in 6x03 and in Rick’s exit in 9x05. They were even involved in the FORESHADOW of Rick’s fake out in 7x12. Well, it was kind of minor here, but they were directly involved with Jerry’s foot/shoe stuff in this episode. And you can see the parallels to what we believe happened during the missing 17 days.

Here, the group was in trouble (trapped in the cave) but they were handling it. Making their way slowly and steadily through to the other side. Then Jerry hears something strange and there’s a “shit! Walkers! Runaway!” sort of moment.

See what I mean?

I’m not sure if I’m being super-clear here. Everytime we have a death fake out, we have particular things associated with it. There’s usually a lost shoe/foot symbolism thing about a season prior. We see some sort of dark tunnel or passage. (Note: while they were literally crawling through a dark tunnel in this episode, it’s usually not quite that literal. With Beth, it came in the form of her walking out into the dark hallway after she left Edwards’ office in 5x07.) And there are always walkers involved, who come up suddenly in a way that’s totally unplanned and makes the group panic and run. My point is that we have all of these elements present in this episode.

Also, we see Connie specifically in the shot with the bird cage. No one else. That’s important. Because it was Beth in the shot with the bird cage in her cell. You couldn’t really see it when the camera focused on Daryl. And with Glenn, he was the ONLY person in the scene with his. So, seeing Connie near the empty bird cage foreshadowed her death fake out. (I gotta say, this doesn’t bode particularly well for Magna. 😥)

@wdway also pointed out some interesting things I missed about the bird cage.

1) It’s very large. In most cases, when canaries are kept in cages by miners, they’re kept in very small, square cages that are easy to transport in the small confines of the mine. This was not that. This cage is huge and has a swing in it. Not the kind of thing you would normally use in a mine. But very similar to the one we saw in Beth’s cell.

2) We didn’t see any dead birds in it or bird remains. Which suggest the bird that was kept in it is actually alive. Hence, Connie is alive, even if Daryl comes to believe she’s dead.

I also noticed a wheel when they were trying to dig out of the mine. It reminds me of the ferris wheel symbol we’ve seen often, and I think that’s a symbol of the death fake out as well. Specifically, that the person presumed dead will come back around again. We’ve especially seen this symbol a lot around Rick and Michonne.

All the dialogue I mentioned above (I’m here, I’m okay, I’m good) is inherently death fake out stuff because we heard it around Beth, Glenn and Rick just before their death fake outs happened.

So yeah. Basically all the classic death fake out symbols are there, my friends. And while they might mostly refer to Connie here, remember that we saw them around Rick, Glenn, and Beth as well. And we know that at least two of those three (Glenn and Rick) survived their fake outs. Just waiting for canon confirmation on a certain blond.

It also struck me that there’s an emphasis on unfinished relationships here. Or at least things left open ended. Of course, there’s the fact that if Connie dies, Daryl won’t have been able to say goodbye (a sad pattern with him, including Beth, Denise, Glenn, Rick, Merle, and others). There was an emphasis on Alpha having killed Henry, so Carol didn’t get to say goodbye to him. But then we also had Magna telling Aaron that the reason she’s so gung-ho to get out of the cave is because of the unfinished way she left things with Yumiko. That line is what made me realize this theme.

And of course Daryl’s MAIN unfinished, open-ended relationship is Beth. Always Beth.

@frangipanilove pointed out that Kelly stopping Daryl from digging through the rubble and looking for Connie might be a parallel to the missing 17 days after Coda. We believe he would have looked for Beth’s body when it disappeared, but at some point Rick and possibly Carol forced him to stop and give up looking. So this would have been a terrible replay for Daryl

@bethgreeneprevails also made some great observations:

The way Daryl and Carol sit side by side when they talk is very similar to how Daryl and Maggie sat side by side in the barn in Them, talking about Beth. So there’s a visual parallel there.

Also, Jerry holding Kelly while she cries over her sister is a parallel to Glenn holding Maggie when Beth was shot. His shirt color is even similar.

Carol’s stance in this end scene is similar to what it was in Coda when Daryl carries Beth out.

Anyone need anymore proof of the parallels here?

Very minor details: we saw an arrow pointing left. It was obviously a “road sign” left the Whisperers for how to get out of the cave, but we’ve seen similar arrows before. The two instances that come to mind were in 6x04, Here’s Not Here with Morgan and Eastman. And then at the school where Cyndie killed Arat in 9x04.

I can say a few words about the Negan/Whisperers story line, but nothing huge jumped out at me there.

Alpha sent Gamma to the border, but she never arrived. We aren’t told if she defected or if something else happened to her (though based on the trailer for the next episode, it appears she went to Alexandria). Beta is now hunting her. (Can we just take a moment to appreciate how frightening it would be to have Beta hunting you? Yikes!)

Once again, I thought the Negan/Alpha thing was super cringe-inducing. Funny? Yes. But also…ew.

I thought it was funny that before their “naked” scene AMC put a parental discretion notice up. That made me laugh.

Negan did mention kings and queens (like the poker queen theme?) Frankenstein (Resurrection theme) and goose steppers. I had to look that one up. It just means someone who marches in line and does what they’re told. He was accusing Beta of being a goose stepper for Alpha. But there is a bird-ish reference there, so I’m not sure if we should be reading into it or not.

I’m gonna stop there for today. Come back tomorrow for how Daryl is the light at the end of the tunnel. This is one of my favorite things I’ve ever come to understand about his and Beth’s arc. Seriously. Tomorrow. Come back! 😁

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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