#that she's sacrificing herself so bea can live her life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Twenty ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1650

Warnings: None

A/n Hi! Sorry, I know I’m a day late -- I have family in town so I’m soaking up all the time with them that I can. This one is short (and a lil fluffy/angsty), and this chapter and the next are kind of a rest before we hit the next act of this story! Sooo gear up! I’m excited!!!

I shut the door behind Orophin and Lavandil.

Cosima flops onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. “That was awful.”

I make a noise of general agreement. I hadn’t expected my brothers to take the news happily, but I didn’t think Rumil would completely shut me out. I have no doubts that he will eventually come around, but his reaction is still distressing.

Cosima raises up on her forearms, looking at me in concern. “Are you okay?”

I nod, making my way towards her bed. “It may take some time, but I know my brothers. All will be well.”

She scoots from the middle to the far side of her bed and pats the space next to her. I accept the invitation, lying on my back at her side. Vaguely, I notice that her bed is much larger and comfier than mine. I turn to tease her about it, try and cheer us both up, but she’s fiddling with her fingers. I guess neither of us is feeling particularly lighthearted at the moment.

“What is it?”

She sighs, staring up at the ceiling rather than at me. I nudge her arm gently, trying to prompt an answer.

She bites her lip. “You’ve said that you can make your own choices, and I get that, but I’ve got to ask—are you sure? You don’t have to stay with me just because you said you wanted to. I know what you’re sacrificing, and you don’t have to—”

I cut her off, kissing her forcefully. She sucks in a breath and I use that to my advantage, drawing her deeper into the kiss. She recovers from her shock quickly though, and slides a hand up my chest in that way I adore and is slowly becoming familiar. I pull away but keep a firm hold on the side of her face. “Please push these thoughts from your mind. Whatever the future holds, I am in it with you. And a future without you? I don’t want it. It would be different, had I never met you, but the Valar blessed me. They brought an impossible woman into my life. And I have no intention of letting her go.”

The sadness in her eyes breaks, replaced with a look of tenderness that I work hard to memorize. I let the hand on the side of her face slide to rest on her hip.

She places a kiss on my jaw, taking her time to respond, aware that she has my complete attention. “If I had to wake up in a different world with no memories, I am immensely glad you were there. Being with you is worth all that I’ve left behind. Even if I did remember it, I would choose you.”

I exhale slowly, basking in her words. I’ve never been vulnerable with someone before — bearing my heart and hoping they don’t crush it — and every time I open my mouth to confess something to Cosima, there’s the fear that she will shut me down, that she won’t return my feelings. But her words just now, as well as her actions from the past few days, help allay my fears.

“It’s getting late,” she breathes, face mere inches from mine. “You could stay the night?”

My hand on her hip tenses. No, I remind myself. I should go back to my room. But the words that come out of my mouth are not what I told myself to say. “I would not be intruding?”

“No,” Cosima smiles, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I would very much like it if you stayed.”

We are both adults. If she wants me to stay and I want me to stay, then there’s no reason to leave. “Then stay, I shall,” I murmur, dropping my lips to press against hers.

She kisses me languidly for a while before her lips shift into a grin. I pull back with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re the one who has to get up and blow out the candles,” she declares, her tone full of mirth. “That’s really the only reason I asked you to stay.”

I snort, but push myself off the bed, headed for the first candle I see. “I knew it couldn’t be because you love me. That’s too easy.”

“And pull the curtains,” she adds, lifting the duvet so she can crawl underneath it. I watch her slide her eyes shut, smile still spread over her face as she tries not to laugh.

Cosima and I have slept in each other’s company before, and we will do so again for the three weeks of our journey to Lothlórien. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is completely different. It will be the two of us alone, in a bedroom, when we have acknowledged our feelings for each other.

But despite the nerves and the gravity of the situation, it feels completely natural to spend the night with Cosima. I long for her presence during the day, and the night is no different.

And with precious little time together, shouldn’t I seize on every moment?

I blow out the candle nearest to me. It darkens the shadows in the room. I extinguish the remaining candles, close the curtains, and then return to the bed. Cosima has thrown the covers back on what I suppose is my side, making it easy for me to climb in next to her. After the slightest moment of hesitation, I do so. I reach for her, wrap my arms around her and cross them over her stomach, then pull her against my chest. It reminds me of a variation on what I did our very first day of training, an action that caused me no small amount of distress. But now it seems there is no limit to the ways I can hold her, and I plan to explore them all.

Cosima chuckles, evidently pleased with this development. “You remembered the human way.”

“I am capable of adapting,” I respond, dropping my face into her neck.

Her laugh turns into a sigh when I begin a trail of kisses there. “I have a question.”

I hum, continuing my pattern. “Yes, my love?”

She pauses to beam at the phrase. When she speaks, the smile is still in her voice. “Rumil asked if we had bonded yet, and then when you said no, he said there’s still ‘time’. What did he mean by that?”

My lips freeze against her neck. I sigh, shifting to lie on my side and pressing on her shoulder so she’ll turn to face me. I figured we would need to have this conversation at some point, but I hadn’t counted on now. And it’s not the potential for awkwardness that makes me wish I could keep my mouth shut — no, we could get past that — it’s the fear that, once she knows there’s still technically a step we have to take in order for my soul to perish once hers leaves me, that she will end this.

But it is not right to withhold information from her so, with another deep breath, I explain. “He was talking about the bonding of the fæs — in the literal sense. But I love you, I am committed to you, and nothing can change that, so Rumil’s whole notion of ‘time’ doesn’t really apply here.”

Her eyes narrow as she zeroes in on exactly what I’m careening around. “Say there’s some wiggle room.”

“There’s not.”

“But if there were,” she presses, obviously not interested in letting this go.

I sigh. “Traditionally, elves have used sex as a way to facilitate the spiritual bonding of the fæs. That’s what constitutes an elven wedding — that’s what represents and solidifies the commitment. Since we have not had sex, Rumil thinks our fæs are not bonded, so there is time to break the commitment between us without it affecting me.”

She sits up, opening her mouth to comment.

I hurry to sit up as well and cut off her words before she can take this idea and run with it. “But our situation is different. The whole concept of the fæs bonding is not a blanket statement that covers every relationship — there is a lot of choice involved, we are not without agency. And I have chosen.”

She smiles somewhat sadly, letting her fingers drum over my knee. “I wish I was an easier choice.”

I catch her hand in mine. “I quite like where my choices have led me.”

She leans against me, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “I love you.” She shifts, lying down and tugging on my arm to pull me with her. “Let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

I stretch out behind her, then twist the strands of her hair through my fingers. She’s silent, and I worry that, despite my efforts to reassure her, she’s still sad. I know she can’t help it, but I wish that we could leave all this struggle and moroseness behind. In my view, the future is set, my path is clear. Struggling over what that means will not halt the end, nor change it, so we shouldn’t waste time worrying over it. We should prepare how we can and then enjoy our lives together.

Cosima tucks her head into my neck and tangles one of her legs through mine. The action — so unexpected yet so natural — gives me hope that, soon, she and I can fall into a life together. Maybe Lothlórien is the key. Maybe once she can clearly see what our future looks like — a home, friendships, family, meals together at the end of a long day, exploring Lothlórien’s extensive forests and blue-green lakes, festivals, sunrises, all the wonderful things about my home, our home, she can allow herself to be happy.

And I will do everything I can to help her get there.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always so appreciated! Also, I think I made EVERYONE sad with that last chapter, I’m so sorry. But I LOVE that we all collectively love Rumil and want him to be happy forever, right? Soooo, c’mon, hit me with some happy Rumil headcannons <3

|next chapter|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist @that-cute-stranger

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff @sleepyamygdala @thranduilseyebrows

*Strikethrough means Tumblr won’t let me tag you :(*

#haldir #haldir x ofc #haldir x oc #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction #double heart

49 notes · View notes

esotericakit · 3 years

Note

Fancy ranting about why you love kit snicket?👀 tbh I never found her character that compelling but I’m extreme open to changes of opinion hhh? pls feel free to ignore this hhgkkgkg

oh my god i’m so sorry i’ve been super busy I only just saw this but ahhh I love this question ((also sorry if some of thisk doesn’t make sense, i just got off a 7 hour bus ride and I am sleep deprived)). also a tw here for some discussions of painful stuff like death, loss, grief, implications of suicidal thoughts (nothing graphic)

okay so that’s valid bc she doesn’t get a lot to work with in tpp BUUUUUT what you do get is very rich. so basically it’s all tied in with vfd and what they’ve done to the sugarbowl gen. every member of the sugarbowl gen has been ripped from their family extremely young and recruited into this organisation, forced into life threatening situations, kept from loved ones for long periods of time (like kit and lemony in atwq) and have sort of convinced themselves, to varying degrees, that it’s important because the organisation is important. with lemony, he’s disillusioned and disappears after heartbreak. with beatrice and bertrand, they decide to pull away and leave. with jacques, he buries himself so deeply into his work with vfd so that he doesn’t have to reckon with what they did to him. and then you have kit.

with kit, I think she isn’t as sold to vfd as jacques and can still be somewhat critical of it, but also recognises that she’s trapped and always will be at their beck and call, and it’s not easy to break out from this illusion of the mighty organisation she’s a part of. she’s a quick thinker, she’s a mechanic, she’s resilient, she’s quick-witted, she’s as good a volunteer as they come, and so they exploit that and use her gifts (like building the queequeg and having her make the poison darts). for the most part, she buys into vfd’s bullshit, but i think it’s a sort of defence mechanism where she knows that resistance is going to be harder than compliance, so she puts her head down and does the work.

and this leads her to do things that she maybe wouldn’t have done of her own free will, like aiding in the murder of olaf’s parents. we don’t know exactly what kit and olaf’s relationship was like, but from what’s given in their interaction in te, i think they were young sweethearts, i think kit did genuinely care for him, and i think that it was vfd that ordered the murder, and not beatrice and bertrand, as many people have implied. so, by giving beatrice and bertrand the darts, she chooses the organisation over her relationship, and it can’t have been an easy choice. this then re-ignites the schism, olaf becomes a firestarter and kit has to watch as her brother is framed by olaf for crimes he didn’t commit.

and then lemony dies, or so she thinks. i’m of the mind that kit never learns that her brother is actually alive, and dies thinking she lost him. and we know that family is one of the most important things to the snickets; “we snickets look out for their own”, and I imagine kit going beside herself trying to find ways to protect lemony from all the attacks, the frame jobs, the rumours, only to have it be too late, and she’s lost her brother forever.

and so she’s left there, mourning lemony, and all she has left of her family is jacques. and she loves jacques but his first priority is vfd, it’ll always be vfd. she has beatrice and bertrand, but they’ll leave to the island soon, and they’ll leave vfd after that, and be largely out of her life for good.

she starts building the queequeg and at last, her vfd work seems to be doing some good. she meets ink, monty’s latest discovery, and at last, it seems that other members of vfd are doing some good. and then she hears about the medusoid mycelium, and the illusion of vfd cracks a little bit more. she desperately tries to stop gregor from creating the mycelium, only for that to fail. another loss.

then, we don’t know the nature of kit and dewey’s relationship so again, going off what we have with the fact that she is pregnant when we meet her and that dewey’s last word is “kit”, not to mention the way that she explicitly asked about dewey’s wellbeing when she meets the baudelaires on the island, the implication is heavily that she and dewey are romantically involved. and I think she found a lot of solace in dewey. dewey, in his own way, had lost a lot, from his parents to his brother (joining the firestartera), to his own identity, all to vfd, and he understood where she was coming from in terms of being disillusioned but also being trapped.

and then the baudelaire fire happens, and it’s very clear to everyone that olaf was involved (whether he actually was or not is a different debate). so this is now 3 people who kit has loved that olaf has had a hand in their deaths. someone she loved killing other people she loved, and it’s the most painful thing.

we don’t know where kit is for the events of asoue, but regardless, she has to hear how other associates and friends have died or been killed at the hands of olaf, and each one hurts more than the last, because she can’t stop or slow down how many people she’s losing, and I think there’s an element of not being able to help but blame herself for his actions, because if she hadn’t helped kill his parents, maybe he wouldn’t be doing this.

and then jacques dies, and it’s the biggest blow yet. she just lost the last member of her family she had left, and she can’t cope, she stays in bed and decides that, despite dewey, despite her child, she’ll never leave her bed again.

what does make her leave, however, is vfd business; the message from quigley. she knows that she can’t even take the time to mourn her brother, she has to keep moving, and the pressure to carry the whole “good” side of vfd, to continue what her brother started, is on her shoulders, and that’s immense.

and so that’s when we meet her in tpp, and she is a broken person. she has lost so many people, been put through so much, had her entire worldview and foundation turned upside down, and she’s still doing all of this work, putting her life on the line over and over again, for an organisation that has done nothing but take things from her and hurt her, but there’s absolutely nothing else she can do. she’s pregnant and she can’t allow herself to be happy or excited about that because she just doesn’t have it in her. all she knows is that she has to get through this as quickly as she can, losing as few people as she can. her conversation with the baudelaires is interesting too, and is so exemplary of how she’s mourning; she remembers little details about beatrice and bertrand (like the feathers on bea’s shawl) and reminisces about how much the children look like them, and you can tell that it’s extremely painful to go through

she then leaves the baudelaires and risks her life again trying to rescue the quagmires, and it’s unclear whether it was a success or not but regardless, when she finally pulls herself up onto that stupid book raft she insists on making, she’s so so so so tired. she’s in labour, she doesn’t know what’s happened at the hotel denouement, she doesn’t know whether she’ll return to the city and find more destruction or not. i think the only thing stopping her from giving up while on that raft is the thought of her child and dewey, so she holds on.

she washes up on the island and the baudelaires are there, which means they’re alive, so that’s something. but then she hears that dewey’s dead. that the hotel went up in flames. that all that’s waiting for her in the city is more pain and more loss. and that’s the final blow, that’s the moment that she knows that there is nothing can happen that can repair the damage created by what’s been taken from her. she refuses the apple, citing fear that it would harm the baby, but I think the truth is that she couldn’t bear to consider continuing her life after all that’s happened, even if it means sacrificing a life with her child.

and then olaf shows up and he rescues her from the raft and she’s suddenly face to face with the reason for so much of the loss she’s faced. it was him who killed so many of her associates, her friends, her brothers. and she doesn’t forgive him, because she knows she isn’t big enough to do that. we can also hypothesise about whether or not olaf could be the baby’s father (i like to headcanon that she doesn’t know either way but it’s either dewey’s or olaf’s, and the stress of that makes this moment even harder). but she also doesn’t have the energy to be angry at him. she knows these are her last moments, and she knows that olaf was a victim of vfd, just like she was. so she touches his tattoo and chooses instead to recite poetry, because it’s easier than being angry, it’s easier than hating him. he recites poetry back, and then dies. and despite the fact that he’s hurt her so much, she did care for him once, it’s one more person she’s lost, when she didn’t think she had anyone else to lose.

and then she gives birth to her daughter, using the last ounces of strength she has left. it’s a horrendously sad thing, because i think she could have had the capacity to love her daughter, to be a good mother, but the pain won out and she stopped being able to want to help herself, if that makes sense. so she gives her daughter life, the only thing she has left to give her, and then dies.

I think it’s so staggering to think about this person, who could have lived a life full of colour and fire, and see her completely beaten down to what she ended up as in tpp. she’s a prime example of what vfd does, she’s the last one standing of her generation, and the toll that takes on her is immense. i think the juxtaposition of her recklessness and her grief against the fact that she’s pregnant and about to become a mother is even more heartbreaking. she’s such a compelling character and so gorgeously written, even though what we see of her is so brief. she’s a person who so desperately wants autonomy and control over her situation, things she’ll never truly have, so she does reckless things that endanger her life, to get that control back and because she truly stops caring about her well-being.

and it’s a little comforting i guess? i tend to project onto kit a lot because of some of my own life experiences and losses and i understand where she comes from a lot of time time and it’s such a difficult place and my heart just hurts for her a lot

i’m sorry that this was so long, i got carried away lol thanks for the question though!!

#kit snicket #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #fran rants about kit snicket again

50 notes · View notes

bestworstcase · 3 years

Note

"i expect cassandra to be ambitious and frustrated and prone to self-sabotage and envy." I don't remember Cassandra being self-sabotaging in canon. She puts her own ambitions on hold for the sake of her friends, but that seems more like self-sacrifice rather than sabotage. Can you explain this more?

oh, sure!

to my mind there’s a very thin line between self-sacrifice and self-sabotage, and when cassandra is constantly setting not only her ambitions but also her *feelings* aside for the sake of rapunzel’s happiness or even just convenience, that reads to me pretty strongly as a sacrificial instinct rooted in an impulse to self-sabotage. particularly in instances like beginnings, where cassandra throws out a shot at a job that would be a dream come true… to apologize to a girl she’s only known for a couple weeks, and didn’t even especially like until a few days prior. that bespeaks a selfless impulse, but almost to the point of self-destruction.

bea is also a big one in this regard, because cass puts literally her entire life on the line just to cheer rapunzel up… and then also just quietly lets it go when rapunzel refuses to keep her involvement secret from eugene.

like, cass is self-sacrificing to such a staggeringly unhealthy degree. she is the poster child for setting herself on fire in an attempt to keep other people warm…

…and then waiting in the wings and its reprise and the gothel flashback come up and make it pretty explicitly clear that cass was taught as a young child, and still feels now, that she’s worthless if she isn’t useful. if she doesn’t earn her keep. so whenever she’s presented an opportunity to do something that makes her happy, she doesn’t feel secure enough to hold onto it. so she constantly sacrifices for rapunzel because she loves rapunzel, and this is what she was taught love *is* in her formative years, and that pattern has not been broken.

after RATGT when she has been horrifically maimed and is in awful pain the very first thing she does is pick up her sword and start retraining her injured hand. she puts herself in armor and locks herself up and shuts everything down in service of rapunzel’s destiny, because that’s basically what rapunzel (inadvertently) asked her to do (“i need you to be okay with that” etc).

and like any healthy, REASONABLE person would at that point be like nope, i’m out. but cass isn’t healthy or reasonable so she tries to cram herself into this servant role for rapunzel…

…until she meets zhan tiri, who takes a sledgehammer to her deepest vulnerability and then tells her taking the moonstone will make it stop hurting. and then cass takes the moonstone and sits around in the woods alone for months doing nothing but bicker with a ghost and fret and spiral down into a deeper hole because she isn’t DOING anything, because for all that she wants to be someone who matters she 1) has no idea how to achieve that and 2) does not have a single clue how to take *care* of herself beyond like, meeting basic physical needs

there’s a reason zhan tiri finds her so easy to manipulate

and then look at like, how much she osscilates in the latter half of season 3. part of it is that she clearly hasn’t a clue what she wants. but every time she comes close to achieving her current goal… she flips out and backtracks while smashing up any progress she achieved and doubling down on the other extreme. she leaps to conclusions in TOTS and storms out without letting raps get a word in. she flees from zhan tiri in terror at the beginning of OAH to smash things in the woods, but once things start going okay with her terrible redemption plan…she also starts talking to zhan tiri again, and listening to her. and then when she’s shot she explodes and razes corona to the ground. she’s extremely quick to kick her own sandcastles down, so to speak.

because in s3 she doesn’t have anyone to sacrifice for, right? this is cassandra’s shot at being a little selfish and living her own life. but that self-sabotaging instinct is still there, but she can’t channel it into “nobly” sacrificing her dreams and feelings and basic well-being for rapunzel so it just comes out as directionless wandering and destructively imploding her own half-baked plans at the drop of a hat while letting zhan tiri lead her around by the nose.

*deep breath*

so yeah that’s why i say self sabotage instead of self sacrifice, i read the self sacrifice as just a type of self sabotage for her

#rta #of course complicated by the fact that #things like gracefully conceding the COTB #*were* fair and healthy things for her to do #but like as an overarching pattern..#the way cass constantly denies herself for rapunzels sake is like. super bad for her

48 notes · View notes

elizabeatrice · 4 years

Text

Feeling Blue, Seeing Red (Chapter 69)

Let’s Talk About JSHK Manga #5

Updated: 19/8/2020 (more thoughts)

Bea is back with the lame punny titles~

Warning: !!! MANGA SPOILERS UP TO CHAPTER 69 !!! Duh.

Soooo I opened the raws this morning. Saw the spicy and went 'ohh shoot'. Then some of y'all say that some folks are hating Akane bc of this chap. I proceeded to panic, because fandom war is scary af. So I translated the chap for myself. And I just gotta say:

Aoi, Nene, your boyfriends are idiots. Y'all gonna be punching and headbutting the idiocy out of them for the rest of your lives and I'll be willing to pay for your karate classes.

The teen drama made me laugh so hard ahahahaha I guess this is what you get for hoping sensei will drop a bomb this month lmaoooo.

P.S. Teru you little shit

Man I don’t even know where to begin. This chapter is oozing doraaaaama and I can’t take it seriously no matter how much I try. I remember thinking, “Shoot, this is the ‘I hate you, I hate you too, proceed to make out’ trope in JSHK’s classic ‘oooh serious moment, eh? PSYCHE!’ style,” before bursting into laughter.

I swear I’m not making fun of it.

Because it’s already fun to begin with. Ahahahaha.

I do however, take seriously the long-awaited insight into Aoi’s mind. I hollered in joy, y’all. ‘Cause like ... finally!

(Also like ... ngl the development of Aoi and akaoi in this arc might come into play in my Shrek AU. Pls don’t ask. Yet. That’s not the official AU name I swear I just wanna confuse my readers ahahaha)

Back when chapter 64 came out I wrote something that was supposed to be the first of the Let’s Talk About JSHK Manga series but I ended up not posting it because I wasn’t sure about a bunch of things. Here’s an excerpt from that post, titled ‘Aoi and Her Blues’:

I mean, what did the minions do to her? ‘Remove unnecessary things’. Someone said they removed her inhibitions (I’m terribly sorry I forgot who said this because it’s been so long so I can’t put the link here, but if you know, feel free to send me the link).

But she has to be brainwashed, right?

She remembered enough about Nene. Enough to call her out on her feelings (that she still denies btw lol) and recognize Hanako from Nene’s wonderful description (or because Aoi could see him all this time and never said anything, who knows?).

Most importantly, she remembered Akane.

So apparently they weren’t unnecessary enough to be erased from her memory. Which I’d beg to differ if I were going to make this girl willingly sacrifice herself.

Would she let her best friend fall down into a pit full of giant insects, or let her childhood friend get impaled? I mean this is the same girl that cried when Akane and Yamabuki got together (by accident) and when Nene started talking to herself like a madwoman.

So yeah. Definitely brainwashed. Pretty sure now.

The one thing that bugged me is what she said though.

“I’ve always wanted to go somewhere far away.”

“Nothing will stop me from getting my wish.”

Btw these aren’t accurate word for word I’m just drawing from memory.

Is that a wish forced upon her by the brainwashing, or has Aoi been depressed all this time and ... y’know, therefore thought about ‘going far away’? I’m personally leaning more towards the first, but it still got me thinking.

Remember back in The Clock Keeper arc when she said there was something she wanted to tell Nene?

Can some creepy hands showing up in the gardening club’s album photos really warrant that kind of expression? Is it just me who got disappointed when the thing she wanted to tell Nene ended up being just that?

But if she did have such thoughts, why?

Maybe she was lonely? I mean Nene got so busy with supernatural shenanigans. Akane’s busy with student council stuff (and school wonder stuff). Though I don’t doubt for a second that he’d drop everything for Aoi, but Aoi’s not the kind of person to do that. And to be honest, I feel like so far Aoi hasn’t been shown having genuine interaction with anyone aside from Nene and Yamabuki without the other person being completely enamored by her. And even with Yamabuki that was just in that After School chapter.

So I guess my hunch wasn’t that far off. Still though. Still though. Is she or is she not brainwashed? Because as much as Aoi likes-but hates-but actually kinda likes Akane, I still don’t think she’s the type of person to stab her childhood friend until he’s got a hole through his fucking torso.

Throwing Nene into the bug pit I guess makes more sense if Aoi knew all along that the pit won’t lead anywhere too dangerous, and that Hanako wouldn’t leave Nene’s side. Nene’s perfectly safe with him. Sorta. She did get kidnapped and were about to be sacrificed after all. But heeey Hanako still showed up to save her in the end.

Stabbing Akane like that tho? Even if she knows he wouldn’t die in a boundary especially in his school wonder form? It just doesn’t feel like Aoi, man.

Then again she did say no one really knows her, and that anyone who does would end up being disappointed in her.

I’m really happy to know that she does not, in fact, appreciate all the attention given to her. Comedy framing aside, constantly having some random guy approach you to ask you out presumably every day is ... annoying at best. Kid deserves better.

So ya girl got some extreme trust issues. Strangers, even Akane and Nene, I could understand. But her dad tho? Is something going on in the Akane household? Bruh ....

How long has Aoi not been able to trust anyone enough to let them get close to her? Because if she’s been feeling like that about Nene all this time, Imma be super sad bruh. Nene is one of the most genuine kids ever (perhaps only second to Kou).

I understand that Aoi’s disappointed because Nene’s been keeping secrets, but honestly, who would believe you if you come up to them and say, “Hey so I summoned a toilet ghost and now I’m stuck as his assistant. The rumors about supernaturals are like, totally real, and can endanger everyone in this school for real, too. Also I turn into fish when I come in contact with water.”

Sensible best friends would either a) not believe you, or b) try to get you as far away from supernatural shit as possible ‘cause hello? Ya ain’t Miles Morales ya can’t just blast What’s Up Danger when monster of the week shows up.

Even if Aoi does let it continue, wouldn’t she wanna get involved? Would Nene let her get involved when Tsukasa’s still around? Ya girl got cursed, thrown off the top of a boundary, sent to literally nowhere and everywhere, almost got her body stolen by mirror monsters, kidnapped and taken into a fake world, and now trapped in literal Grim Reaper’s realm. Honestly, who would involve their best friend in this sort of shit?

It just makes me sad to think that all this time Akane and Nene have genuinely cared about her but she didn’t think they were. Aoi, my girl Nene literally threaded hell boundaries and high shallow water to save you!!!

Unrequited platonic love hurts just as much as romantic ones, y’all ....

Speaking of romantic love.

Hey, uh, Akane. For claiming to despise Hanako and calling him a slimy pervert, y’all kinda act the same way with your respective girlfriends when things get a bit heated up, huh? Even the teasing part.

Boy, you’re dumb af. You deserve that.

There it is y’all, it’s official. We got punches for akaoi and headbutts for hananene.

You deserve this too. But Teru’s face here is really annoying, I’ll give you that. Teru you little shit.

At least you’re finally gonna be useful. Let’s just see.

Hmm I guess I have to address the thing now.

Ahem. The thing. The pushing (pulling?) Aoi down, grabbing her neck thing.

Yeah I don’t get it either. Whether it was a creative choice taken in consideration to the actual character’s state or to just pander to the trope that seems to be marketable in Japan or both, I don’t really know.

I do however, have to remind you that none of these kids are in their right mind. One is possibly still recovering from the effects of brainwashing and dealing with not only extreme trust issues and insecurities, but also the sight of a gaping hole on her childhood friend and perhaps crush’s torso, not to mention having to deal with this in the middle of nowhere. The other one is the said person with a gaping hole on his torso, who almost lost his life-long crush, and even got stabbed by her in the first place.

They’re lost. They’re tired. They’re emotional. They’re frustrated. They’re two hormonal teens.

I think Akane thought Aoi wouldn’t listen to him unless he makes her. Which is why he went with exposing her by saying he hated her. Which is still a dumb move in my opinion. But Aoi rightfully got back at him. And honestly I didn’t think he really hurt her. I mean, it’s Akane after all. *shrugs*

The way I see it, the entire thing was a result from not only their current condition but also the uh ... not telling each other how they really feel all this time. Aoi with her issues, Akane with his secrets. They’re a ticking bomb. It’s horrible that they ended up hurting each other because of this (physically and emotionally), but I could see why it went like this. These two are flawed. Most importantly, they’re teenagers. They’re bound to fuck up in this equation.

Heck, I’ve fucked up worse in less endangering situations before.

But heeey once things get cleared between them they fall right back to each other. Sure things aren’t entirely resolved. But they’re gonna be okay. Teru’s there. Should be fine. Probably.

The thing is we as the audience who come into the story with a clear head can easily figure out the best, most sensible way to deal with the characters’ problems. But these problems affect the characters in (physical, physiological, psychological, emotional) ways most of us can’t immediately empathize with, which can make their bad decisions frustrating for us to see. We know it’s wrong. And when these characters have calmed down and healed, they’ll know that it’s wrong, too. If they’re not dicks, that is.

You know how it feels when you’re fighting with someone, and you know the best thing to do is to talk it out, but you just can’t bring yourself to? It makes things worse, right? And you’re frustrated, right? Unfortunately that’s just how humans are.

Even I let my emotions get the best of me when I judged the villagers’ actions back in chapter 68 hahaha (but I still think they’re awful).

It’s just my opinion tho.

And whooo everyone is officially here but Yamabuki (and Sakura and Tsukasa, but they’re bound to show up)! Catch up soon, my citrus child.

Lastly, I have the moral obligation to remind you that if akaoi’s confrontation ended up like this, imagine how hananene’s would be.

I’ll leave you to your deductions.

As always, feel free to discuss. Just ... don’t fight, onegaishimasu.

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #jshk manga spoilers #tbhk manga spoilers #aoi akane #akane aoi #minamoto teru #yashiro nene #let's talk about jshk manga #bea rambles #just in case it's not clear i'm not supporting physical abuse okay #i have really morbid sense of humor #and i still love my sons no matter how idiotic they are #i do tho pity my daughters #(this is about the karate class comment at the beginning btw)

19 notes · View notes

pokemonswshbutionlyplayedsword · 4 years

Note

I have a feeling regular Raihan and Nessa would try to help their alt versions overcome their lack of self-confidence and their issues. While regular Oleana would murder the alt Rose and install alt Oleana as the chairwoman in the alt verse and help alt Oleana grow a spine while still retaining the nature she (alt Oleana) has. Regular Bea just kicks the ass of her alt version and maybe was an accomplice in helping regular Oleana murder the alt Rose (In reference to the personality swap post)

All of them would have a big issue with the way their alternate selves are. And since I liked that post so much, I’ll go over how all of them felt. However, I doubt they’ll be able to change their personalities.

Milo would be horrified at his alternate self. He has no passions whatsoever. How can you live being so apathetic and caring only about money and fame? Milo hardly considers the alternate version of himself a person. Who hates pokemon? And why would you become a trainer if you did???

Nessa feels really bad for her alternate self. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want to be there, nor does she want to be seen at all. Nessa tries to convince her to let herself out and enjoy herself, but, well, it takes more than a couple encouraging words.

Kabu is disgusted at his alternate self. He wants to beat some sense into him and just yell at him until he understands. Kabu can’t stand to see himself like this. It’s repulsive. He thinks he’s going to be sick if he has to spend another second with this absolute fool. How dare he call himself Kabu?

If you though Kabu was upset, just wait until you see Bea. She’s horrified, disgusted and enraged. She’s insulted that someone so useless and disgusted would even share her name, much less her life. This alternate Bea goes against everything the real Bea works so hard for. If the alternate Bea would get off the couch for long enough, Bea would knock some sense into her. Maybe a little too much sense. She’d put the poor girl in the hospital for insulting her like that.

Allister really doesn’t like his alternate version. He seems like one of the kids who used to steal his mask and make fun of him. Allister wants nothing to do with this alternate version of him. He pretty much ignores the kid, until he sees him disrespect fans. Then it’s a pokemon battle to put him in his place.

Opal, for once, is at a loss for words. Ballonlea might as well be on fire with how the alternate Opal runs, well, ran, her gym. She hates old people that think they’re entitled to something because they’re old, and that’s exactly what the alternate Opal is. She’d beat the old lady with her umbrella for insulting Ballonlea and every young person like she does if the old lady was in better health. She doesn’t take care of herself, though, which scares Opal, since she’s afraid of becoming too unwell to live life. Also, everything she says is an atrocity.

Gordie is kind of jealous of the way the alternate Gordie can just live without caring about how he looks. But he also looks like a clown, so that jealousy does not last long at all. He can’t fathom how he disregards his fans like that. And he really can’t understand how he hates his mother. Well, alternate Melony does kind of suck. He gives his alternate self the benefit of the doubt, and tries to help. No luck, though. He’s just a jerk with mommy issues.

Melony is appalled by how the alternate Melony treats her kids. To Melony, no matter what Gordie did, she’d always love him. They fight, yeah, but to hate your son? There’s no way. She just wants to adopt all those suffering kids so badly. She wants to slap some motherhood into alternate Melony, too. How could you care more about your gym than your kids? And just for the money and fame? She’s a disgrace to mothers everywhere.

Piers gets scared when he sees his alternate self. That’s not a man, that’s an empty husk. That’s very well what Piers could have been. How can you live like that? Feeling nothing, loving nothing, always angry. Yeah, Piers is pretty easily annoyed, but he likes things. He enjoys doing stuff. That’s kind of what being alive is all about. Can you even consider someone so boring and empty a person? He’s really concerned about how alternate Piers’ behavior affects alternate Marnie, too. It reminds him that he needs to be a good person and brother for his sister. He’s kind of put off by the alternate’s lack of standards and manipulative nature. It’s clear that he’s not to be trusted, and Piers’ has seen too many people like that in his life.

Raihan wants to help his alternate self. Life is so fun where he is. He wants alternate Raihan to enjoy life as much as he does. But he sees that alternate Raihan is lazy and apathetic and he’s kind of discouraged. Watching youtube isn’t a hobby and he’s not doing any favors for himself. It’s clear that alternate Raihan doesn’t care about anything but himself, and Raihan doesn’t want to be around people like that. He can’t really try to teach him because he doesn’t care, which is really discouraging.

Leon is really upset at seeing his alternate self. Greedy, self absorbed, and apathetic. It’s like Galar doesn’t matter to him, his fame and money are all that matter. That’s kind of disgusting. As soon as alternate Leon calls him a “peasant,” Leon beats him in a pokemon battle to put him in his place. He tries to lecture alternate Leon on what a failure he seems to be. He also sees how alternate Leon’s behavior is negatively affecting alternate Hop, and that’s the worst part. He feels to bad for that boy.

Hop thinks he’s going to make a new friend, but as soon as he approaches, alternate Hop throws a string of insults at him. He’s really upset. He can see that there’s pain behind that mask of anger. Hop tries many times to help, but it seems like the alternate version is too far gone for saving. Hop sees alternate Leon, and he’s just so grateful that he got the brother he did. He gives the real Leon a big hug when he sees him.

Marnie is terrified of her alternate self. She sees how she hates her brother, and that’s the scariest part. Marnie can’t imagine craving power so badly that she’d give up the only family she had. Of course, she has an advantage over the alternate Marnie since she’s known for being a punk and alternate Marnie is known as a sweetheart (who will actually manipulate you to hell and back), so Marnie can get away with beating alternate Marn. She’s grateful to Piers for giving her everything he did.

Bede sees a weakling and he feels conflicted. He’s trying to become good like this alternate Bede, but he also sees how he’s so much weaker than everyone else because of his kindness. He knows that the others are wrong and not the world he lives in, but it doesn’t fail to plant fear in him. He’s surprised that no one can use this alternate Bede, and he admires that. He’s grateful to Opal for giving him the gym.

Rose is horrified at the idea of sacrificing Galar’s well being for money. And while he’s never cared much for Spikemuth, he wouldn’t let it fall to ruins like that. He hates seeing how the alternate Rose hurts Oleana. He’s not the best person in the world, he knows that, but he’s not straight up evil like this guy. He does like the idea of Leon doing what he asks without question, though. Not that he’d ever actually want to use Leon for evil like this.

Oleana feels really bad for her alternate self. She knows she’s on the right path to fixing their world, so she tries to get her to be more assertive. She definitely needs to take control (Alternate Rose may or may not go missing, but you can’t prove anything). She definitely beats the shit out of the gym leaders and Leon to get their acts together, with the help of her gym leaders and Leon, of course. I said that no one would be able to change their personalities, but I was wrong. Oleana scares them straight almost instantly.

#pokemon swsh #pokemon milo #pokemon nessa #pokemon kabu #pokemon bea #pokemon allister #pokemon opal #pokemon gordie #pokemon melony #pokemon piers #pokemon raihan #pokemon leon #pokemon hop #pokemon marnie #pokemon bede #pokemon rose #pokemon oleana #ask #anon

39 notes · View notes

nelllraiser · 4 years

Text

last shadow on the sun | bea, luce, blanche, winston, & nell

PREVIOUSLY: Plot Drop Page, Plot Overview

LOCATION: Bea’s Necromancy Clearing

TIME: the summer solstice, 10:07 PM

PARTIES: Bea Vural, Luce Vural, Blanche Harlow, Winston Dane, Nell Vural

CONTENT: Sibling Death mention, Body Horror, Torture

“I shall not wholly die, and a great part of me will escape the grave.” – Horace

The eye in Winston’s hand itched. It always seemed to itch whenever they were doing something that they should be worried about. Winston couldn’t explain it, but now that they were stuck with the eye and it didn’t look like it was going anywhere anytime soon. They were the first to the clearing, they were early and they were waiting when the others arrived. Sitting cross legged, staring at their third eye. They had drawn the circle and Winston had prepared the altar. “I think that I have everything ready, apart from you know the body and the sacrifice.” Winston was nervous. They’d done this so many times and it didn’t always work. They’d never even tried human sacrifice and resurrection and they could only imagine the risks surrounding it. “We’re bringing her back tonight, no matter what happens we’re bringing her back.” It was a promise to themselves. A promise to Bea.

“Stop moving.” Luce said sharply to August. Since she’d picked him up from Lydia’s home, since he’d willingly stepped into the back of her car, she had him completely under her thumb. The power of it all was… intoxicating, in a way. Absolute control. Complete obedience. The memory of seeing Lydia kiss him, seeing the fight fade from his limbs, that troubled her. With a shake of her head, she kicked the man in the stomach abruptly. He let out a reedy groan of pain and she knelt by his side. “I thought I told you to be quiet. But, you know… it’s fine. No one’s out here to hear you scream.” She shrugged before standing back up to regard Winston and the altar they and Nell had prepared. She’d stayed out of it, not wanting to risk ruining the delicate circle with a slip of her hand or a candle out of place. “Well. I’ve got the sacrifice taken care of. We’ll have no problems from him.” She said before her lips pressed together to form a firm, determined expression. “Whatever it takes, we’re bringing her back.” She echoed.

Tonight was the night. The culmination of all they had done had led them here, and keeping with the theme of their practicing Nell’s focus was front and center, not willing to let anything get in her way of bringing Bea back to them. She would rise, and she’d be whole and proper and the wrong that had been laid on the world by Bea’s passing would be righted, the balance kept by sacrificing August. It hadn’t been a coincidence that they’d chosen today, the summer solstice. Bea had been a light in many people’s lives, acting as a guiding sun. Looking over the altar for what had to be the millionth time, she went back over to August, simply standing in front of him for a long moment. Was he present enough to know that he was going to die? She hoped he was— she hoped he’d feel that same impending sense of inevitability she had when Montgomery had been standing over her, maybe even when the man had claimed Bea’s head for his own. Whatever he was feeling, she hoped he was scared in addition to this unquestioning obedience. Wordlessly, she kicked his knees out from under him, watching the man stumble to the ground before giving him a swift kick to the side. “Whatever it takes, we’re bringing her back,” Nell echoed before looking to where they’d placed Bea’s body on the altar, her head carefully turned towards the East, clumsily connected to her neck with some long strips of cloth. “Let’s get ‘round the circle,” she said before taking her place alongside the marks in the dirt.

After weeks of anger and sorrow, Bea was finally calm. This night would determine if she was coming back. She had seen the work the three spellcasters had done and it was impressive for people new to the craft. They could have waited longer, perfected it, but with the summer solstice, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Circling the alter, she looked on with critical eyes. They had followed her advice carefully. It looked good, but she didn’t allow that to spark unwarranted hope. Anything could go wrong with a ritual like this, even with her soul being willing and nearby. She had her fail-safes. Nic ready to get rid of her if she came back monstrous and her own willingness to ask Blanche to get rid of her ghost if the ritual failed. She refused to be a ghost forever and she refused to allow her sisters to attempt this again. Finally pausing in her circle, she stopped in front of August. She looked at him for a long moment before phasing her hand through his skull. Blanche had told her that it was unpleasant to touch a ghost and Bea couldn’t hit him as her sisters could. “You are a pathetic little worm, aren’t you?” She asked him, voice rough but soft, though she knew that he couldn’t hear her. “Blanche, can you ask Luce to crush his fingers for me? And tell him it’s from me. Just because he gets the honor of being my sacrifice doesn’t mean we have to honor him with a soft death.”

Blanche stood to the side, almost awkwardly as she watched the preparation. There was nothing else she could do now, other than translate and wait for Bea to rise after they were done. To see what she would tell Nic. She knew he was nearby, lying in wait for the all clear from Blanche in case something went wrong. Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes on Bea as she flitted about the circle, examining it. Blanche had paid no mind to August this time, watching as he obeyed Luce utterly and completely, blankly. A means to an end, she thought bitterly. She only winced when Bea shoved a hand through his skull, looking away as August shivered from the touch. “Hm?” Blanche glanced at Bea, frowning slightly at the request, before considering. “Bea has a request,” Blanche said, her tone soft as she wrapped her arms around herself. She glanced at Nell, and then to Luce. “Crush his fingers. Make his death hurt. Make him feel it.”

Listening closely to what Blanche had to say in terms of Bea's request, Winston was once more torn by August's involvement. They understood the magic. They understood that this was something that they needed to do and they understood that it was his life for Bea's and since he was the one who had started all of this it was only fair that it was him who sacrificed everything. But there was something that still left a sour taste in Winston's mouth. They were all too familiar with that quote about digging two graves when you went out seeking revenge. But enough was enough. They had lost too much. They were bringing Bea back. The cost wasn't important. "Have we got the personal item of Bea's?" Winston asked, knowing that they definitely did, but they were nervous and making sure that everything was in order was easier then just sitting there and doing nothing. Since they had meticulously checked the set up of the ritual a thousand times -- or so -- this was the only thing that Winston really felt like they could do.

Luce watched as August convulsed slightly, his expressionless face shifting one of discomfort and revulsion. Bea. She shifted her gaze over to Blanche, watching the way the younger woman seemed to hug herself. A part of her felt for the medium. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have to witness this. But, she was their only way of keeping in contact with Bea and, without her, they wouldn’t have been able to do this. They would have lost her. But, that didn’t mean she needed to see this. At her words, Luce cleared her throat, looking down at the exhausted, pitiful man. “August. You can scream now. You can hurt. I want you to feel every ounce of pain and scream for us. Like your life depends on it.” She said before stomping the heel of her shoe into the purple, ruined mess of his hand. An inhuman howl was torn from the man’s throat, piercing through the relative silence of the clearing. She ground her foot down, twisting for good measure before flicking her hair back from her face. “Let’s get him in position.” She said before she took her place at the circle.

Nell’s smile widened as Luce gave her command to August. That would make things much more fun. Hearing him hurt and yell was much more satisfying than watching him simply take it. As for making it hurt...she’d been planning on just that. Years of pent up bitterness between her and August were ready to spring forth from her, brought into a point by Bea’s death, and the contract he’d taken out on Nell. She tried to find that same kernel of magic she’d used when hurting Montgomery and Kaden, still not entirely sure what it had been, but knowing enough that it brought pain. Instead of letting it flood through her, she only allowed a bit of it to pass through, aiming it towards August, thinking of Bea’s request, hoping it would guide the magic. In response, the fingers on August’s other hand bent back on themselves grotesquely, flat against the back of his palm. Deliciously satisfied, Nell settled herself in her position once more before centering August where he needed to be with her hands, being none too gentle. “We’ve got the item of Bea’s.” Then she took off the locket of Bea’s that she’d been wearing around her neck since her sister had died. She’d liked having it as a reminder, something to make sure she didn’t forget exactly what they were working towards, and how they’d gotten here. Handing it to Luce, it wasn’t long before the witch had burnt it to a crisp, who then gave the ashes back to Nell. Spreading them around the circle and letting the ritual begin.

A satisfied smile took over Bea’s face as she watched her sisters take turns hurting August. This was all his doing, she felt no ounce of remorse for the torture he was going through before his death. She watched as her sisters burnt her locket, a necklace she hadn’t taken off for years. It had been filled with pressed flowers from their childhood garden and had always been there as a way to keep her sisters close to her heart. As they began to scatter the ashes, she looked toward Blanche,“Tell Nell to make sure it’s an even spread.” As far as she had read it would make it much easier to bond her soul and body if there was a good distribution. She floated over to her body then, staring down at the grotesque thing. Five weeks dead did not make a pretty sight. It made her nauseous to think of the changes her body had gone through. Imagining things crawling through her and decaying her flesh would have brought bile up if she had been capable of it. “Light the candles counterclockwise now. Start from the east most candle.” The ritual was a slow process, but she could already feel the coil of anticipation in her stomach. Soon they would be making their sacrifice.

A huge knot of anticipation had wound itself up in the pit of Blanche’s stomach. Anxiety that wasn’t quieted as August screams ripped through the air. Vengeance. August Thompson signed his life away the second he tried to sign Nell’s. She felt no mercy for him or for his screams. A part of her wondered if she should feel something, anything, as she looked at him writhing in agony, forced to follow Luce’s orders. A means to an end, Blanche reminded herself. Her eyes flickered to Bea’s ghosts. “Bea says to spread the ashes evenly,” Blanche said, with a quiet sigh. “And to light candles starting counterclockwise. Starting from the candle furthest to the east.” She bit her lip, pushing her hair back out of her face before she addressed Bea herself. “Bea, come here. Stand by me so you don’t hover too close.” Blanche said quietly. “Let them work, they know what they’re doing.” It would be hard enough anyway. Blanche watched moments longer, before she made the decision to turn around, turn her back on the ritual proceedings. It didn’t do much to stifle the feeling in her, but it would make sure she didn’t end up throwing up everywhere.

Swallowing, Winston looked at what they were doing to August and tried not to react. It was sadistic. The pleasure that the sisters were appearing to take in August’s suffering. There wasn’t a doubt in their mind that August deserved this, but Winston was consumed with guilt. Glancing over at Blanche, Winston locked eyes with her for a moment before taking a breath. This was their decision and they weren’t backing down now. Celeste was dead. Bea had been taken from them. They had saved the town but now literally had a third eye in their hand. They’d been forced to burn Selkie pelts for Ricky, to say goodbye to beings who had been ruthlessly hunted. This was their chance to give something back and maybe reset the balance, even if it was just a little. Winston followed Blanche, well, Bea’s instructions and lit the candles as they were instructed, starting at the east and working their way around.

Once the others had completed lighting the candles, Luce poured gin from a flask on her hip into the silver chalice that rested on the altar. The scent of gin filled the air and she muttered the words they’d all practiced countless times over the chalice, handing it to Nell to do the same. The ashes had been scattered, the candles lit, and the offering made. Luce refused to look at her sister’s ruined body and where it lay in the circle-- not until Bea was back. Not until she was here with them all would she look at her sister. Because… if it went wrong, if the resurrection didn’t work, she didn’t want her last memory of Bea to be this decayed corpse before them. No, she would hold onto the memories of her sister from before. Swallowing, Luce prepared herself mentally for the ritual. She needed to be present, needed to be here with the other two. She couldn’t do what they did, didn’t understand the intricacies of the circle or the marks or the words they said. She could only provide the fuel, the extra magical energy they would need to bring Bea back. Next to her, August shivered in fear, though he didn’t make a sound. Good. He could save his screams for what was to come.

Nell accepted the chalice as she chanted, still never sure what to make of Bea speaking through Blanche even though it had been weeks at this point. She wanted to hear her sister’s words in person, to know the rise and fall of her voice once again rather than get them secondhand. Of course she was endlessly grateful to Blanche for what she was doing, what she’d done, but it simply wasn’t the same as having her sister next to her, creating the words of her own will. Once Nell had finished with the chalice, she passed it over to Winston, feeling her magic beginning to flow as the ceremony truly began. They were here not to create new life, but to restore it, to bring it back from whence it had been wrongly robbed. To breathe life back into her sister, to bring the warmth back to the home, and reignite the hearth. These were the thoughts that filled Nell, though they were colored by darkness around the edges whenever she chanced a look at August. They were also here to exact retribution, to right a wrong and restore the balance in that way as well.

It was difficult to move away from her body. Bea wanted to stay near herself and make sure she didn’t fall into ruin anymore than she already had. She looked wrong like this, but Blanche was right, she had to trust them. She floated over to Blanche, humming as she came to a stop near her. “I don’t know what it’ll be like when they pull me back into my body. I’ve read some people felt it was calm or nothing at all. Others described it as agonizing. I’m not sure what will happen.” She didn’t say it to scare the young woman, but rather prepare her for what could be seen or heard later. As the chanting started, she felt a pull in her chest. It was faint, but she could feel it getting stronger. She smiled slightly as the magic flowed between them all. She hadn’t felt it since she died, but now she was in it. It was a breath of fresh air to feel magic once again.

Blanche glanced at Bea as she spoke. She had wondered what it would feel like to see someone’s soul pulled away - whether or not it would be anything like it was when they moved on past this plane of existence or if it would feel violent. Blanche swallowed hard, and nodded. “Whatever happens…” Blanche said, her throat closing slightly. She glanced over her shoulder, back at the ritual, before looking at Bea. “They’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you. And may you go in peace, Bea.” Blanche said. “I’ll see you on the otherside.”

Winston watched the chalice as it was passed across to them. They’d long ago memorised the words to this specific ritual and they pronounced every phrase flawlessly. They’d practised this for hours. They weren’t going to make any mistakes that would risk Bea’s return. There was a tension in the air. August lay there. Blanche wasn’t looking at them and honestly Winston couldn’t blame her. Their glasses were slowly sliding down their nose but they didn’t have time to push them back up as they grasped the chalice and continued their chant. A thin bead of sweat rolled down their jawline. Winston knew it was now if they were going to back out. But they didn’t hesitate. No matter how much they wanted to not kill this poor evil bastard, Winston knew that this was the only way. Bea had to come back. Finishing their part of the ritual, they set the chalice down. Knowing that what was coming next was the part that worried them the most.

Watching as the chalice made its way around them, Luce took a deep breath, steadying the magical energy that lay within her. As she did so, as she began to focus on the power within her, she felt Iggy still in her pocket, the warmth of the fire salamander growing and receding in time to her breathing. This wasn’t fire, it wasn’t the usual magic that they practiced together. But, he was her focus, her familiar, and he was family. Looking over at Nell, at Winston, at Blanche… Her mind went back to the conversation she’d had with Winston. They were all family. In all but name. They’d see this through, in the name of family. Reaching out, Luce took hold of Nell and Winston’s hands as she chanted in unison with the others. Her magic threatened to overflow, to pour out of her in a torrent of energy, but she held it back. A trickle to begin with, just enough to allow the others to adjust to the output. And then, when it was all in place, she’d push as much magic into the ritual as she could. It had to work. This had to work.

Nell could feel their magic energy swirling within the circle, relatively contained for the time being as she made sure to focus their energies in the right place. She was providing energy as well, but she also needed to focus it, to make sure the magic slid into the proper nooks and crannies and followed their intentions to a tee so that everything went to plan, so that she got her sister back. So that she could once again have each of their hands in her’s to face the world together. But for now the hands she was holding were Winston and Luce’s as their power continued to grow. And then— it was time. Time to take back whatever power August had stolen from them, to erase the ugly stain he’d made on their lives. Time for the sacrifice. There was no reverence in this one, not like how Nell usually made her sacrifices. August wasn’t worthy of that. The life within him might be worthy of respect, but not what he’d made of it, not what he’d done with it. She raised the athame, looking straight into August’s eyes as she continued her chanting, wishing she could make this hurt. But for the ritual it needed to be neat and quick, and though she wanted her revenge on August to be long and fulfilling, she wanted Bea back more. The blade fell, making a neat, and perfect line across August’s neck as ruby red drops began to fall. As she spread the sacrifice carefully, she swore she could feel the life leaving him, pooling and preparing, looking for a place to go. They would give it that place. With the same knife, she cut her palm, painting her fingers with her own blood before rising from her spot to approach Bea’s body. Carefully, she drew the soul binding symbol on Bea’s side, at the very top of her ribcage. And thus, the ritual was completed, one final thought pushing the rest of the magic forwards. Come back to us. Please.

Bea watched with a certain amount of glee as Nell slid the knife across August’s neck. This was power. This was absolutely brilliant power. She could not control herself now as she left Blanche’s side, the pull in her chest impossible to ignore now as Nell sliced her palm open. As the Mark was placed in her skin, Bea felt herself pushed back into her still healing body. She could feel as the flesh of her neck began to stitch itself back together. The decay that bloated and twisted her being forced out with magic. She could feel it all but she could not open her eyes to see. She could not move at all. She was stuck in her body, unable to command it. Her mind raged as she attempted to force control that would not come so soon. She could feel her heart begin to beat, begin to race as panic flooded through her. She was supposed to be able to move already. Her tests had moved quickly after the ritual. Something was wrong. She was trapped within her own body. How would they know that she was stuck in here? They would think they failed and she would be stuck in her own body forever.

Winston felt it before they saw it. The power, the energy that flowed through them. Through Luce, into Winston and then onto Nell and then back around. The loop of power running through itself over and over again. The energy flow was addictive and Winston felt it. A drip. Drip. Drip. Then the collar of their shirt began to soak through and Winston felt their body temperature skyrocket. The phone in their pocket began to vibrate and heat up and Winston refused to let go of Luce or Nell’s hands but they could feel sweat pouring out of them. The energy, the fatigue, the new sensation, it was almost all too much. Then the energy began to build inside of them and Winston felt the heat physically radiate off of them. They struggled to center themselves, to find the inner serenity that they relied on. Looking down at their shirt, Winston spotted the blood, and then looked at Bea. Had it worked? Was this … was this normal?

Power. It was all she could provide, it was all that Luce was good for. She knew that, she’d always known that, which is why the moment Nell drew the mark on Bea’s side, the moment she’d felt the pull of the magic, she’d given in completely. She threw all of her magic into the ritual, fueling it, letting it rush into Nell and Winston and spurring it on as the energy circulated round and round among them. It poured into the circle, flooded into Bea’s body. Rage, anger, fear, and overwhelming love rushed over her as she continued to throw everything she had into the ritual. A bite of pain sprang forth from the left side of her neck and she felt something warm trickle against her skin, staining the collar of her shirt. Ignoring it, she continued to focus on giving the others everything she had left in her. Her breathing, calm and even became ragged, stuttering while a dull aching pain filled her left arm. Against her leg, she felt Iggy squirm, but she ignored him. All that mattered was Bea.

Nell’s gaze was trained solely on Bea, willing her to rise with a desperation that was unmatched by anything else in her life. It took her a long moment to register something warm dripping down her neck, and her concentration on her sister’s was momentarily broken by her confusion. When her hand came away from her neck washed in new blood, she didn’t understand where it had come from until she looked up at Luce and Winston. Lines. Lines of blood across all three of their necks that mirrored the one that had ended Bea’s life, that had been drawn across her own throat. “Something’s wrong,” Nell said instinctively, knowing this shouldn't be part of it. And there was still too much magical energy diving through the air, moving around each and every one of them. It should have been gone, the ritual over now. A moment after the worrisome realization had sprung from her, Nell let out a surprised cry of anguish, pain erupting at the end of her fingertips from which she’d drawn the symbol with, and where she’d wielded the knife. It took a long moment for her to realize what was happening, the picture of the very skin of her fingers peeling back on itself being too surreal to immediately process. Soon enough, the pieces of flesh were ungluing themselves from her at an even faster rate, revealing blood red sinew underneath them as the unimaginable pain began to rise to her wrists.

Bea wanted to scream, she could feel the pressure on her chest. She needed to scream. And so she did. Her mouth snapped open and a rasping scream left her. Her fingers and toes curled and finally her eyes opened. Bea could not remember why she was on the altar. She could only remember the barest of moments. A sword. Blanche. Wandering. Felix. She had been a ghost. She knew she had died. But she did not know how long she had been dead for. Her body succumbed to her commands now and she curled into herself, before looking up at the group surrounding her. Her eyes were blurry, but it didn’t take too long for her to understand what was happening around her. Something had gone wrong. They all were suffering. “Blanche,” She croaked out. “They’re dying.” Her voice was cracked, ragged, a whisper that she couldn’t seem to make louder. She had to wonder if her voice was going to be scarred like this forever. She pulled herself from the alter, but as she went to stand she was reminded of the wounds over her feet. Letting out a hiss of pain, she fell to her knees, crawling to Luce. “Luce. Luce,” She cried desperate. “Nellie,” She called next looking around wildly unable to focus her eyes long enough to find her.

She was back. The scream cracked Winston’s focus and they snapped out of the ritual that they had been so intent on completing. Now that it was done, and now that Bea was back, Winston felt as if they had a thousand volts flowing through them. Their phone was hotter then ever now and it almost felt like it was expanding a little but Winston ignored it. Sweat poured down their neck and back and they snapped to attention. As Bea fell to her knees Winston raced over to her, completely ignorant of the fact that there was something wrong with Nell or Luce, completely ignorant of the fact that there was something wrong with them. Bea was back. They’d done it. Joy filled their veins and they skidded to a stop on their own knees, wrapping an arm gently around Bea. “Hey, Bea, it’s fine don’t worry, Luce is …” Winston went to look at Luce and immediately knew that something was wrong, trying to stumble to their feet with Bea wrapped over their shoulder, Winston lurched towards Luce, “fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Luce. Blanche, please HELP.” Tears sprung to their eyes. They hadn’t gone this far. They hadn’t done all of this to lose Luce now.

As she watched Bea’s body begin to shift, her knees curling in toward her chest, as though she’d only been sleeping, a wave of relief rushed over Luce. She was alive. She was back. She was safe. Luce did her best to smile at her sister, tears filling her eyes. But, her smile faltered. The magic that she’d been so focused on using to drive the ritual onwards, it was still flowing out of her. And, for the first time since she was a child, she could feel it seering against her. A foreign heat, snapping and wild, lashed out at her and scorched the skin of her chest. Her arms ached and fell to her sides as she was brought to her knees, her breaths coming in halting gasps. A pressure, heavy and unyielding, it weighed heavily upon her as she struggled to remain upright. Her vision began to go black around the edges, what little she could see an unfocused blur. She gasped for air, trying to will stubborn lungs to motion. All in vain. Darkness closed in and Luce collapsed to the ground. The last thing she remembered was seeing Bea and Winston, rushing towards her.

The feeling of Bea’s soul faded away completely, and all was silent. Something’s wrong. Blanche whirled around just as Bea’s strangled scream ripped through the field. They’re dying. Things happened so fast after that, Blanche registered the blood and skin peeling back on Nell’s arms, she didn’t even know what the hell was wrong with Bea, Winston on the ground and screaming, and Luce falling back into the grass. Triage. Luce was dying. Luce needed help the most. She moved instantly, fumbling for her phone. One quick message - Help. They’re dying. I need help. - later before she slammed into the ground next to Luce. She felt like she was going to puke. No, no. There was no time for that. “Everyone stay put!!” She yelled. “Stay where you are. Now.” It had been a long time since Blanche had taken a CPR course, but she was going to kiss whoever at UMAINE decided a First Aid course counted as a gym credit. She leaned over Luce, a couple hard prods to her shoulder. “Luce? Luce?” No response. She tilted Luce’s head slightly, lifting the chin and bending over her to listen to her breathing. Rather, lack thereof. She was supposed to wait 10 whole seconds before she started CPR. She remembered the instructor. Some uppity old woman who would yell things at them like they would remember it. Well, Blanche did remember it. Hands on too if each other, she was over Luce in an instant, delivering hard compressions to the middle of her chest, practically throwing her bodyweight into it. Fuck. Fuck. What was happening? Come on Luce. She tilted her head back, bending to give her a rescue breath before continuing chest compressions. “Whoever’s least injured, check on Bea!” Blanche demanded.

Nell knew Bea was the one who’d been brought back to life, but as she heard Beas voice’ changed though it was, she felt as if she’d been born anew. Bea was alive. And just like that it was like a dam broke in Nell, one that she’d been building up for weeks to hold everything behind, her anxiety steadily climbing until this point. But Bea was alive- she was here. “Bea?” she managed to get out through the pain, her arms still peeling all the way up to her elbows and not showing a sign of stopping. She didn’t know if it was from relief or pain that tears ran down her cheeks, the two emotions far too much for her to handle at a time like this. But in the same moment she gained a sister it seemed she was losing another, and the utter joy that had bloomed in her heart was instantly turned back to terror. “Luce?!” Somewhere in her mind, she knew her skin was still coming off in ribbons, the pain of it impossible to ignore as countless scars gathered from her blood magic over the years disappeared with her skin before her very eyes. And yet- there was no greater pain than losing a sister. She knew that from experience, and she wouldn’t let it happen again, not now, not so soon after they’d just gotten Bea back. They’d been whole for all of two seconds before the world was thrown into chaos again. Bea or Luce? Bea or Luce? She didn’t have to make the decision as Blanche rushed in. Nell knew she needed to stand back, let Blanche do her work no matter how much she might want to toss her aside to check on her sister. “Bea?” she asked again, instinctively reaching out for her sister, but pulling back as pain burned fiery hot through her again, her arms painted in red.

Winston cowered by Bea. They were too weak and simultaneously too restless to do anything. They’d never felt this tired in their life and honestly the adrenaline of Bea’s warm body next to them was more then enough to keep them going but they knew that it was only a matter of time before they collapsed from sheer exhaustion. They’d actually done it. They’d done it and now something worse was happening. They listened carefully to Blanche, out of them and Nell they seemed like they were the least hurt and they did a quick once over of Bea. Though they weren’t sure that they were in any state to be administering medical attention. “Hey, welcome back, Blanche’s got Luce don’t worry,” Winston knew that they would likely have to physically restrain Bea, but it was important Blanche did this without distraction, “are you hurt? Are you okay? How do you feel?” They were doing everything that they could to not think about Blanche taking care of Luce. Doing everything they could not to panic about what might be happening to their friend. They said a silent prayer to a god they didn’t believe in. Not after everything. They couldn’t lose Luce now. But they needed to take care of Bea. Make sure she was okay. “Nell, shit, Nell your arms.” Winston didn’t know why it had taken them so long to notice their friend, but their phone was burning their skin right now and as they pulled it from their pocket and threw it on top of their bag they for the thousandth time wished they’d learned healing magic. “We’re going to be fine,” fuck. They had to be.

They kept screaming something but Bea couldn’t understand. Someone was on Luce. Who was that? Blanche? She let out another groan. “Luce! Nellie!” Her vision just kept getting worse. In her panic, she fell away from Winston, and began to crawl once again. Her arms gave out. Falling down she rolled over onto her back. Breathing in and out heavily, she struggled to calm herself. “I can’t see well. Everything is blurry.” How did they know to use necromancy? She had too many questions to ask now. Her head went back against the ground. She was exhausted. Struggling to keep her eyes open, she simply went, “It worked.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #last shadow on the sun #miss beasha #ch:bea #ch:luce #ch:winston #ch:blanche

22 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Last Request

When a tall, dark, mysterious man shows up at the funeral of sweet little old Beatrice Davies, speculation abounds about the elderly woman’s possible paramour. (1422 words; Warning for one slightly, mildly suggestive mention)

“Kimberly? Darling?”

“Yes?” The grieving woman sniffs. She blots cry-puffy eyes with a handkerchief, then turns towards the voice. When she sees the woman coming up behind her, her eyes light up for the first time all day. “Oh, Lydia!”

“Kimberly! I am so so sorry for your loss!”

“Thank you.” Kimberly takes her friend’s hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “And thank you so much for coming out here on such a dreadful day. I know you have your hands full, what with your grandchildren visiting.”

Lydia smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it. Your aunt Beatrice was such a lovely woman. So kind and caring …”

“And lonely.” Kimberly sighs, wiping a warm tear from her cold cheek. “No husband. No children. Such a shame. She had so much love to give, too.”

“Well, she may not have had kids of her own, but she had us lot.” Lydia bumps Kimberly’s shoulder playfully with hers. “Always dropping in unannounced, raiding her pie cupboards and tearing through her garden.”

“Probably why she didn’t have children after all.” Kimberly chuckles but sadly. “I bet we soured her on the idea.”

“Kimber! Lydie!”

The women glance up as a third friend rushes over, stepping into their circle and grasping their arms.

“Bianca! Oh, darling!” Kimberly greets her with a kiss on the cheek. “It’s been a dog’s age! Thank you so much for coming!”

“Absolutely! I loved your aunt Beatrice! Admired her a great deal.”

“That’s so kind of you to say. She would have loved to hear it.”

Bianca sighs, a specter of guilt clouding her grey-green eyes. “I wish I had told her when she was alive.”

“I know what you mean.” Kimberly looks at their joined arms, then over at her aunt’s casket waiting for the mourners to leave so it can be lowered into the ground. “There are so many things I waited too long to say. And now, I won’t ever get the …” She stops, her eyes unfocused as she stares into the distance, through the fine mist falling on the lush green grass, past the grey head stones, around the mourners huddled in groups, paying their respects. Lydia and Bianca watch their friend patiently, waiting for her to finish her sentiment, but when the pause goes on too long, they begin to get concerned.

“Kimber?” Bianca says. “Dearest? Are you alright?”

Kimberly’s eyes narrow, peering hard, peculiar thoughts jumbling about her head. A beat longer and she shakes herself, returning back to the conversation.

“Yes,” she says, oddly winded, breathless in a beguiled sort of way. “I’m fine. I … who is that?”

Lydia and Bianca’s heads pop up, turning in the direction Kimberly had been staring. They see the man right away. Amid a sea of black suits and dresses, bowed heads and umbrellas, it’s not hard to tell whom she’s referring to. Both women are privately surprised they hadn’t noticed him before – tall and slim in stature; wearing an expensive suit and shoes being sacrificed to the rain; a black Panama hat shielding his somber face; fire red hair; and sunglasses too stylish for such an occasion, their obsidian lenses hiding his eyes so completely nothing can be seen of their color. He stands beyond the ring of family and friends, lovingly caressing a long-stemmed white rose, the petals so pure in color it glows in his gloved hands.

“Do you recognize him?” Bianca asks, suddenly conscious of her slumped shoulders. She pulls them back, rectifying her posture.

“Not a hair,” Kimberly replies, briefly considering pulling her compact out of her purse and adding a hint of color to her cheeks. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life!”

“Are you certain?” Lydia adjusts her pillbox hat, lifts the veil covering her face.

“Was he a friend of Bea’s?”

“If he knew my aunt, she didn’t mention him. And I definitely didn’t invite him.”

“He’s quite the dish, isn’t he?”

“Bianca!”

“Well, he is!”

Kimberly stares at her friend, blue eyes scolding, but the grin she’s fighting manages to break through. “All right! He is!”

“Shh! Don’t look now, girls! He’s coming this way!”

But they don’t avert their eyes. They can’t stop staring. He has a commanding presence; walks with a strange, sinewy gait; pulls the attention of everyone near and far. The party falls silent, parting as the man walks through. He has an unusual effect on them. The men suck in their stomachs. The women lengthen their necks. But he doesn’t seem to notice them, walking straight to the mahogany casket bathed in flowers without stopping to address anyone or offer his condolences.

He stops at the casket, breathes in poignantly. He reaches out and rests a hand on the wood. He remains quiet for a long time, head bowed as if in prayer. Then his chest shudders.

“Oh, Beatrice,” he whispers in a broken voice. “My beloved Bea. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. May the road rise up to meet you, and Heaven open its gates to embrace you. I know they will but … they don’t deserve you.”

Slowly, he brings the rose to his lips. He kisses the bud gently, his lips lingering on it, making a few of the more enchanted mourners swallow hard, then lays it atop the other flowers on the casket. He tarries a moment longer, undeterred by scrutinizing eyes, then straightens, turns, and walks away.

The family watches as he leaves the way he came, without a word to anyone, and with that same exaggerated hip sway, heading to where a vintage car waits, parked beside a distant curb. Regardless of the curiosity eating up their insides, not a soul dares follow him to inquire after his identity. Whoever he is, there’s an air of danger around him, one that demands they keep their distance.

And they do.

Speculating is more fun anyhow.

With any luck, he came to the service and signed the guest book. Once they have his name, the sleuthing can begin.

It seems that they may not have known sweet, conservative Beatrice Davies as well as they previously thought. Could their eighty-nine-year-old relation possibly have taken a younger lover later in life? If so, is there any evidence of him? They’ll have to comb through everything – pictures and letters and journals back at Beatrice’s house to try and find it.

If nothing else, discussing it will be a great diversion from their sadness for the remainder of the afternoon.

***

Crowley opens the driver’s door to his car and slides into the front seat. He takes off his hat and, with a flick of his wrist, miracles it away. Sitting in the seat behind him, a little old lady in a smart black frock beams, gazing at him the same way Icarus once looked at the sun.

“That was beautiful,” she gushes.

“I’m glad you liked it. You deserve it.” He finds her reflection in his rearview and gives her a wink.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Crowley. You are a lovely demon, helping out an old lady like this.”

“My pleasure, Beatrice.”

“Yes. And your eulogy was quite the touch.” Sitting in the passenger seat, Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the soft smile lifting his lips. Crowley acting the part of the mysterious mourner, possibly even a secret paramour, may have been a bit tacky for Aziraphale’s tastes, but no harm done. If anything, the scandal of it all will keep Beatrice’s name on her family’s lips for years to come.

Besides, it made her so happy to finally have this one moment in the spotlight.

“And you, Mr. Fell …” Beatrice puts a hand on the angel’s shoulder, gives it a delicate squeeze “… thank you for letting me hide out in your bookshop. It really is a wonderful place.”

“You’re very welcome.” He places his hand over hers and pats it fondly. Of all the ghosts that wander in and out of his bookshop, Beatrice has been one of the nicest, the most polite. He doesn’t get too many requests from his spiritual visitors. They’re mostly content to haunt passively, maintain some small connection to the living. But Beatrice’s request to see her family gathered together one last time, he couldn’t resist.

Unbeknownst to him, she went to Crowley with the rest.

And he’d been more than happy to oblige.

“But we need to get along now, my dears. Let’s get Miss Beatrice back upstairs where she belongs.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes

138 notes · View notes

for-peace-war · 6 years

Text

Gone with the Wentworth

I’ll be leaving my thoughts on Season 6 here, which I’ll be honest has made me rename it Whingeworth.

Without any spoilers, it can be stated that I always took offense with Wentworth being compared on any substantive level to Orange is the New Black from S1-S4. S5 was largely experimental and S6 has been the first step in what will become of the series. For that reason, I have to say it: things are looking very grim.

Beneath are spoilers.

It has to be said that Wentworth was always a visceral and compelling series because it didn’t put kid gloves on any of its characters. We were introduced to Bea “Red” Smith and immediately began to watch the meteoric rise of a woman who seemed hard done by to becoming a ruthless,clinical and unquestionable “top dog.” She was clever and she was willing to do whatever it took to win: between allowing herself to be cut mercilessly, to eventually sacrificing her life as a supposedly final blow to her arch-nemesis.

But that sort of writing came to an end with Bea’s life.

People will laud Wentworth for having the courage to kill off its title character and it’s definitely a ballsy move, but as Caesar said in HBO’s Rome: “It is only hubris if I fail,” and hubris seems to be the result of this brave new move.

Wentworth’s storylines have gone from being focused on one person’s emergence as a sociopathic messiah, to being about a smattering of lives that the writers have clearly developed sentimental attachments to.

The “rules” that we came to understand: don’t snitch, don’t hit the panic button to stop a fight, a top dog has to be fair -- those are all gone. Odd, “sentimental” morality has replaced otherwise compelling narratives.

And then we get to the issue with S6: the new cast.

It isn’t bad. In fact, there are some amazing characters. I fell in love with Susan Porter’s Marie Winter immediately. Yeah, she had a bit of “Jax” in her, but in the Bea way where you know there is more that is simmering under the surface and hasn’t appeared yet.

Rita Conners was also a great character, and Dragovich served a... somewhat hamefisted purpose.

But then there were others: Ruby, whose story was “plucky tough girl” and Allie (who isn’t new, but still doesn’t have a place) just wore thin quickly.

What happened to the heart-wrenching moments? What happened to the jeopardy and suspense? If they just keep putting the new characters on the line, the adrenal response wears out.

My issue with sentiment is that at this point it’s clear the writers are protecting characters which doesn’t allow new characters to expand as they might. Even Sonia Stevens, with her cat-like smirks and world-class character representation, was thrown aside to further establish... Kaz? Am I supposed to see Kaz as “more realistic” now that she betrays her morals? I don’t. All she had was her morals. Now she’s just a bad excuse for a Bea, and really she’s never been that compelling as a top dog. She had Mr. Jackson, but...

Well, much like her spotlight, Marie stole that away from Kaz, too.

And I think that’s the issue. There’s an almost schizophrenic need for the show to both attack a point and bolster it at the same time. Is Marie supposed to be sympathetic? Is Kaz supposed to be “bad” now?

Kaz’s “great acts of kindness” have become protecting repeated snitch and now dementia suffering liar, Liz Birdswerth. Yes, we all see the writing on the wall: we’re supposed to feel sorry for Liz, but why? She’s a liar, she’s a snitch, and she does whatever she can to protect herself. She’s become the death of scenes and their sentiment for her just drives that home further. I wish she’d taken the hot shot, then at least there’d be some drama.

The show is in essence represented by Boomer in that it can’t ever make up its mind and has just descended into Orange is the New Black like character arcs which lead nowhere. Even the “who’s blackmailing?” reveal left a lo to be desired and the finale as a whole... just didn’t go anywhere.

Does this face-off mean that Marie and Rita will be going head to head rather than Kaz and one of her potential successors? Marie lost her enforcer (that loved her -- an odd confession to make randomly!) and now gets to what... build support from a cast of loyalist characters? We saw that with Joan’s arc. Not interesting. Might as well steal another page from OITNB and just have them switch up the prisons for a new cast that the writers aren’t obsessed with.

And the finale, the finale was... what was that? Compare it to the previous ones: Joan being buried alive, Bea being killed, Joan Undertakering Crazy Baby Killer, Bea murdering Jax’s son... I mean, these were iconic and in the end, with this one you had a nebulous and drawn out load of nonsense.

In the end, I just don’t know what there is to look forward to and that saddens me. Wentworth is definitely one of my favorite series but I suppose eventually if a show doesn’t end peacefully then it will die a slow, agonizing and frustrating death. Having seen this with Dexter, the Sopranos, and Lost you might think I would look away now and just count my losses, but I can’t...

Because even in its depressingly mediocre state, Wentworth is still a whine worth having.

So I’ll watch S7, I guess... and I’ll probably be let down then as well. I don’t think shows, particularly this late in their run, are able to recover from that kind of fall. But for the sake of 1-4, I’ll have it out.

#wentworth #wentworth season 6 #spoilers #wentworth spoilers

2 notes · View notes

innuendostudios · 7 years

Text

I Want It To Hurt: Thoughts on Night in the Woods

[massive spoilers ahead, but I’ll warn you before we get to them.]

I’ve been thinking a lot about the ending of Night in the Woods. Finished the game a couple weeks ago; it’s pretty much the only game I’ve managed time for other than 20-minute bursts of Nuclear Throne when I’m waiting for footage to render or just decompressing between obligations. I have a weird jumble of feelings about the game, many of them deeply appreciative and some... confused.

These capsule reviews aren’t meant to be any kind of consumer advocacy, but if you’re waiting for me to tell you whether or not you should play the game: yes. Whatever else I say, yes, you should go play Night in the Woods. You may not know what you think of it by the end, but if you’re the kind of person who reads my stuff, you aren’t going to regret playing it.

The game’s protagonist, Mae, seems exquisitely designed to remind a certain type of person of themself. I might be one of those people, or, at least, I was when I was Mae’s age. Mae is a 20-year-old college dropout living with her parents in her jerkwater hometown, unsure of what to do with herself and generally unwilling to talk about it. Her town's economy is drying up and it’s a lingering question whether it will still exist in a decade or two. Everyone’s out of work or working for less than they deserve. Most of her friends from high school are still there, working the same jobs, playing in the same bands, eating the same crappy pizza.

It’s horribly familiar. When I was 20, I was piddling around community college with no motivation to transfer to a university. My dad had been laid off during the pre-Recession recession and hadn’t seen comparable pay since. I spent most of my time hanging out in coffee shops in my own jerkwater town, chatting up all the kids who’d never moved away, killing time. I worked my first job at the video store that was also a liquor store, around the corner from the hardware store that was also a deli. Our local businesses were also dying, save the few that secured a spot on Main Street, though by the time I was 20 my town was becoming a bedroom community for San Francisco and, instead of turning into vacant buildings, the local shops were getting muscled out by Peet’s Coffee and Jamba Juice. We even had our own parallel to NITW’s annual Harfest, but we called it Pumpkin Festival.

Admittedly, I was never a delinquent like Mae, and never managed to play in a band, even badly, so the sequences when I got to smash fluorescent lightbulbs and play bass were a kind of wish fulfillment (Mae’s bandmates sound for all the world like they’re covering Joy Division). And it’s moments like these that create the simple pleasures of Night in the Woods. It’s a game where stealing pretzels to feed to some rats you found in an abandoned parade float constitutes a major time sink and a minor, beautiful victory. Like, maybe I’m a fuckup but I can keep some rats alive and that’s not nothing. It’s a game where the conversation trees talk about the selling out of the working class, about punching fascists, about anarchy. It’s a game where the critical decisions you make are about who you want to hang out with on a given evening. (For the record: I agree that Gregg rulz ok but as soon as I realized that Bea didn’t like me very much I decided, oh no, I’m gonna make this girl my friend. So I saw pretty much none of Gregg’s or Angus’ optional content in my efforts to be best buds with Bea, and I regret nothing.)

So this game is something special. Play it. Let’s talk about the ending.

*SPOILER TOWN*

If I had sum up my overall impressions of Night in the Woods, I guess it’d be a more extreme version of my feelings on Oxenfree - somewhere over the course of the game I went from actively liking it very much to just kind of respecting it. Only more complicated than that.

OK, so Night in the Woods hints at a larger, darker plot from pretty early in the game, and such a thing was directly teased in the Kickstarter pitch, so by the time such things make their way into the game we’re all amply prepared for it. We’ve known all along that "there’s something in the woods.” I’m still not sure how to put into words my feelings on what that something is.

OK, OK, here goes: in the early stretches of the game, Mae has dreams that hint at what her mental state is up to, but as the game goes on, the dreams become more and more consistently about confronting giant animal gods. She also sees what appears to be a ghost man kidnap a kid at Harfest, but no one else sees this. Mae becomes convinced that there’s some kind of ghostly power that’s getting inside her head, while her friends worry that she’s cracking up. Still, they help her investigate various ghost stories around town, for her sake, and Mae’s health visibly declines and her dreams get more intense, until one night she finds herself communing with what may or may not be an utterly indifferent God who does not care about her or anything that lives on Earth.

Eventually, Mae and her friends track the ghost men into the woods and it turns out they’re not ghosts, they’re local men in hoods who are some kind of death cult. They believe they can keep the town from dying by kidnapping and sacrificing undesirables to the demon goat who lives deep beneath the old mines. They tell Mae that this is what’s been visiting her in her sleep.

So: Mae thinks she may be dealing with ghosts or God, the cultists think it’s a demon. Meanwhile, Mae’s friends think she may have some poorly-treated cognitive issues - turns out Mae had some kind of psychotic episode years back where she hospitalized a boy because she just couldn’t see other people as people anymore, and she’s been grappling with this disconnection for some time and going to college without good treatment may have made it all much worse. And maybe all this talk of careless gods and demon goats is just Mae dealing with the ugly parts of her own psyche.

Anyway, so Mae’s friends straight up shoot one of the cultists with a crossbow and then cause a mine cave-in that dooms the rest, which is, no matter how you slice it, a pretty sharp tonal shift from what most of the game has been. And, before escaping, Mae has a vision of sorts, where she feels herself sucked underground and once again confronting some kind of supernatural being.

And she just talks to it. She says she’s done disassociating from people. She knows that maybe nothing lasts, that maybe her friends will all drift apart and her town will die, but if that’s what’s going to happen, she wants to accept it. If everything disappears in the end, she wants it to hurt when it does.

The question, then: in this moment, are you, the player, talking to God? A demon goat? Or the dark parts of a mind in need of treatment? Or, a similar question: is the town dying because of the stagnation of wages, the shipping of jobs overseas, the failure of government to support small towns? Or is because the town needs to sacrifice to the beast that lives in the mines?

The game doesn’t have an answer for you. Instead, the game’s stance seems to be: whatever the answer, it’s out of your control. Be it economics, fate, religion, superstition, or mental illness, it is not a mystery you can solve, a villain you can shoot. It’s something you will have to live with, day by day. It is inexorable that, on a long enough timeline, everything ends. Maybe it doesn’t matter why. When you stare into a void, maybe it doesn’t matter whether you’re talking to God, a demon, or your own broken mind. Maybe what matters more is what you say.

You may never know the truth. So hold on to what’s good and live with uncertainty.

I feel like this is a very profound thing for a game starring an anthropomorphic cat to say. I also can’t shake that it felt more profound when I typed it out just now than when I experienced it myself.

As a person from a jerkwater town, who’s spent his entire adult life working his ass off and yet perpetually broke, who’s spent the last five years grappling with depression and anxiety and the radical acceptance it takes to know that his thoughts can sometimes be extremely alien to him, and who has walked the long path from Christianity to wishy-washy agnosticism to weary atheism, I feel this moment should have slugged me in the gut. I can’t think of a single game that would say such things, and I can’t think of a game that seems more explicitly tailored to my sensibilities and experiences.

But while I respect the hell out of Night in the Woods’ ultimate message, I still feel conflicted about how it plays out. I don’t think the game is wrong to veer into odd genres at the end - so many of its themes are internal and philosophical that literalizing them in order to build to a climax feels like a smart decision. I don’t know if it’s that the game spends such a long time raising questions and then kind of rushes the answers. I don’t know if it’s that Mae and her posse seem a lot more credible cracking wise and worrying about money than shooting people with crossbows. It’s certainly hard for a game about normal people with normal problems to throw in highly abnormal problems for the final hour.

I don’t know if I maybe just need to play it again.

I feel like the more I think about the ending, the better I understand it, but I still can’t say with confidence that I like it. And my appreciation of the game seems deeply rooted in the front half and not the final third.

And I don’t know when I’ll have time to go back in and play it again. For now, I’m glad I played it once. Whatever it was, it was certainly something.

#capsule review #night in the woods #adventure games

125 notes · View notes