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istumpysk · 2 years ago

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys VI (Chapter 36)

Ser Barristan wrinkled up his nose, and said, "Your Grace should not be here, breathing these black humors."

"I am the blood of the dragon," Dany reminded him. "Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?" Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick.

She's such a clown.

Later on we'll have to figure out whether Daenerys has the bloody flux (pale mare) or not. The above + the following,

. . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love . . . - Daenerys IV, ACOK

suggests she might become infected.

Not to worry, she won't die from it or anything. Where's the fun in that?

+.+.+

Jhogo rode before her, Aggo and Rakharo just behind, long Dothraki whips in hand to keep away the sick and dying.

Handy! Nice they got to keep those.

+.+.+

"Mother," they called to her, in the dialects of Astapor, Lys, and Old Volantis, in guttural Dothraki and the liquid syllables of Qarth, even in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "Mother, please … mother, help my sister, she is sick … give me food for my little ones … please, my old father … help him … help her … help me …"

I have no more help to give, Dany thought, despairing.

Pretty blatant mirror to Jon's trip to Mole's Town.

There's one small difference, only one is being treated like a Messiah.

+.+.+

Little children with swollen stomachs trailed after them, too weak or scared to beg. Gaunt men with sunken eyes squatted amidst sand and stones, shitting out their lives in stinking streams of brown and red. Many shat where they slept now, too feeble to crawl to the ditches she'd commanded them to dig. Two women fought over a charred bone. Nearby a boy of ten stood eating a rat. He ate one-handed, the other clutching a sharpened stick lest anyone try to wrest away his prize. Unburied dead lay everywhere. Dany saw one man sprawled in the dirt under a black cloak, but as she rode past his cloak dissolved into a thousand flies. Skeletal women sat upon the ground clutching dying infants. Their eyes followed her. Those who had the strength called out. "Mother … please, Mother … bless you, Mother …"

Well that's horrifying.

+.+.+

By the time Aggo returned with Grey Worm and fifty of the Unsullied loping behind his horse, Dany had shamed all of them into helping her. Symon Stripeback and his men were pulling the living from the dead and stacking up the corpses, while Jhogo and Rakharo and their Dothraki helped those who could still walk toward the shore to bathe and wash their clothes. Aggo stared at them as if they had all gone mad, but Grey Worm knelt beside the queen and said, "This one would be of help."

No criticism here. She feeds them and burns the dead when every one of her counselors advised against it.

+.+.+

When Daenerys returned to her pyramid, sore of limb and sick of heart, she found Missandei reading some old scroll whilst Irri and Jhiqui argued about Rakharo.

Strange little detail.

+.+.+

"You are too skinny for him," Jhiqui was saying. "You are almost a boy. Rakharo does not bed with boys. This is known." Irri bristled back. "It is known that you are almost a cow. Rakharo does not bed with cows."

"Rakharo is blood of my blood. His life belongs to me, not you," Dany told the two of them.

Nobody belongs to you, dipshit.

Why are you being territorial over a guy you don't care about?

+.+.+

Rakharo had grown almost half a foot during his time away from Meereen and returned with arms and legs thick with muscle and four bells in his hair. He towered over Aggo and Jhogo now, as her handmaids had both noticed.

Unreliable narrator George R. R. Martin. The author has managed to mix up his Dothraki bloodriders.

Credit to @aegor-bamfsteel for pointing out this blunder.

Jhogo is the youth.

Jhogo edged back, his hand on his arakh. He was a youth of sixteen years, whip-thin, fearless, quick to laugh, with the faint shadow of his first mustachio on his upper lip. - Daenerys VIII, AGOT

Rakharo is already a man.

Rakharo snorted contempt through his drooping black mustachios. - Daenerys III, ACOK

I'm not sure how a mistake like this is possible when he's given them such complex characterizations.

+.+.+

"This one heard the Astapori scratching at the walls last night," the little scribe said as she was washing Dany's back.

Irri and Jhiqui exchanged a look. "No one was scratching," said Jhiqui. "Scratching … how could they scratch?"

"With their hands," said Missandei. "The bricks are old and crumbling. They are trying to claw their way into the city."

"This would take them many years," said Irri. "The walls are very thick. This is known."

"It is known," agreed Jhiqui.

"I dream of them as well." Dany took Missandei's hand. "The camp is a good half-mile from the city, my sweetling. No one was scratching at the walls."

"Your Grace knows best," said Missandei.

The dragons are trying to claw their way out! They want to escape!

🌺 symbolism 🌺

For a moment he saw only the blackened arches of the bricks above, scorched by dragonflame. A trickle of ash caught his eye, betraying movement. Something pale, half-hidden, stirring. He's made himself a cave, the prince realized. A burrow in the brick. The foundations of the Great Pyramid of Meereen were massive and thick to support the weight of the huge structure overhead; even the interior walls were three times thicker than any castle's curtain walls. But Viserion had dug himself a hole in them with flame and claw, a hole big enough to sleep in. - The Dragontamer, ADWD

Rhaegal, still chained, was gnawing on the carcass of a bull. The bones on the floor of the pit were deeper than the last time she had been down here, and the walls and floors were black and grey, more ash than brick. They would not hold much longer … but behind them was only earth and stone. Can dragons tunnel through rock, like the firewyrms of old Valyria? She hoped not. - Daenerys VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

"Shall I wash your hair? It is almost time. Reznak mo Reznak and the Green Grace are coming to discuss—"

"—the wedding preparations." Dany sat up with a splash. "I had almost forgotten." Perhaps I wanted to forget. "And after them, I am to dine with Hizdahr." She sighed. "Irri, bring the green tokar, the silk one fringed with Myrish lace."

"That one is being repaired, Khaleesi. The lace was torn. The blue tokar has been cleaned."

"Blue, then. They will be just as pleased."

Should she be wearing green in the presence of Galazza Galare?

Across the pit the Graces sat in flowing robes of many colors, clustered around the austere figure of Galazza Galare, who alone amongst them wore the green. - Daenerys IX, ADWD

+.+.+

The priestess and the seneschal were happy to see her garbed in a tokar, a proper Meereenese lady for once, but what they really wanted was to strip her bare. Daenerys heard them out, incredulous. When they were done, she said, "I have no wish to give offense, but I will not present myself naked to Hizdahr's mother and sisters."

"But," said Reznak mo Reznak, blinking, "but you must, Your Worship. Before a marriage it is traditional for the women of the man's house to examine the bride's womb and, ah … her female parts. To ascertain that they are well formed and, ah …"

"… fertile," finished Galazza Galare. "An ancient ritual, Your Radiance. Three Graces shall be present to witness the examination and say the proper prayers."

"Yes," said Reznak, "and afterward there is a special cake. A women's cake, baked only for betrothals. Men are not allowed to taste it. I am told it is delicious. Magical."

And if my womb is withered and my female parts accursed, is there a special cake for that as well? "Hizdahr zo Loraq may inspect my women's parts after we are wed." Khal Drogo found no fault with them, why should he? "Let his mother and his sisters examine one another and share the special cake. I shall not be eating it. Nor shall I wash the noble Hizdahr's noble feet."

I'm torn.

I don't blame her at all for not wanting to observe these specific traditions.

On the other hand, I remember this girl enthusiastically eating a raw stallion heart and fucking Khal Drogo with an audience to immerse herself into Dothraki culture.

I won't touch this one, how about that?

+.+.+

"Magnificence, you do not understand," protested Reznak. "The washing of the feet is hallowed by tradition. It signifies that you shall be your husband's handmaid. The wedding garb is fraught with meaning too. The bride is dressed in dark red veils above a tokar of white silk, fringed with baby pearls."

The queen of the rabbits must not be wed without her floppy ears. "All those pearls will make me rattle when I walk."

"The pearls symbolize fertility. The more pearls Your Worship wears, the more healthy children she will bear."

"Why would I want a hundred children?"

That's the thing about Daenerys Targaryen,

Afterward, as Jhiqui was patting Daenerys dry, Irri approached with her tokar. Dany envied the Dothraki maids their loose sandsilk trousers and painted vests. They would be much cooler than her in her tokar, with its heavy fringe of baby pearls. "Help me wind this round myself, please. I cannot manage all these pearls by myself."

[...]

"Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers."

"Your Grace," said Missandei, "this one is so sorry, but you cannot ride in a tokar."

The little scribe was right, as she so often was. The tokar was not a garment meant for horseback. Dany made a face. - Daenerys VII, ADWD

she's only a mother to dragons.

+.+.+

Dany turned to the Green Grace. "If we should wed by Westerosi rites …"

"The gods of Ghis would deem it no true union."

I hope the old gods reach the same verdict.

+.+.+

Galazza Galare's face was hidden behind a veil of green silk. Only her eyes showed, green and wise and sad. "In the eyes of the city you would be the noble Hizdahr's concubine, not his lawful wedded wife. Your children would be bastards. Your Worship must marry Hizdahr in the Temple of the Graces, with all the nobility of Meereen on hand to bear witness to your union."

Get the heads of all the noble houses out of their pyramids on some pretext, Daario had said. The dragon's words are fire and blood. Dany pushed the thought aside.

+.+.+

"One more small matter, Your Worship," said Reznak. "To celebrate your nuptials, it would be most fitting if you would allow the fighting pits to open once again. It would be your wedding gift to Hizdahr and to your loving people, a sign that you had embraced the ancient ways and customs of Meereen."

"And most pleasing to the gods as well," the Green Grace added in her soft and kindly voice.

A bride price paid in blood. Daenerys was weary of fighting this battle. Even Ser Barristan did not think she could win. "No ruler can make a people good," Selmy had told her. "Baelor the Blessed prayed and fasted and built the Seven as splendid a temple as any gods could wish for, yet he could not put an end to war and want."

This guy might be the worst.

How does praying, fasting, and building a new temple help anyone? You bootlicking ham.

+.+.+

Dany told him of her meeting with Reznak and the Green Grace as she was pouring wine for him. "These rituals are empty," Hizdahr declared, "just the sort of thing we must sweep aside. Meereen has been steeped in these foolish old traditions for too long." He kissed her hand and said, "Daenerys, my queen, I will gladly wash you from head to heel if that is what I must do to be your king and consort."

He does.

The Graces brought forth an ivory chair and a golden bowl. Holding her tokar daintily so as not to tread upon its fringes, Daenerys Targaryen eased herself onto the chair's plush velvet seat, and Hizdahr zo Loraq went to his knees, unlaced her sandals, and washed her feet whilst fifty eunuchs sang and ten thousand eyes looked on. He has gentle hands, she mused, as warm fragrant oils ran between her toes. If he has a gentle heart as well, I may grow fond of him in time. - Daenerys VII, ADWD

Good on him.

As far as political marriages go, Hizdahr doesn't seem half bad.

+.+.+

Hizdahr crossed his long legs. He looked pleased with himself. "Yunkai will give us peace, but for a price. The disruption of the slave trade has caused great injury throughout the civilized world. Yunkai and her allies will require an indemnity of us, to be paid in gold and gemstones."

Gold and gems were easy. "What else?"

"The Yunkai'i will resume slaving, as before. Astapor will be rebuilt, as a slave city. You will not interfere."

"The Yunkai'i resumed their slaving before I was two leagues from their city. Did I turn back? King Cleon begged me to join with him against them, and I turned a deaf ear to his pleas. I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? What promises do they require?"

Major concession, but like she points out, it's a concession she already made.

You can be anti-slavery and still acknowledge this is a necessary step if she's to achieve long-term systemic change and peace.

+.+.+

"Be that as it may, they do not trust you. The men of New Ghis feel the same. Words are wind, as you yourself have so oft said. No words of yours will secure this peace for Meereen. Your foes require deeds. They would see us wed, and they would see me crowned as king, to rule beside you."

Dany filled his wine cup again, wanting nothing so much as to pour the flagon over his head and drown his complacent smile. "Marriage or carnage. A wedding or a war. Are those my choices?"

Am I supposed to feel bad for her? Is this supposed to feel like some great sacrifice that isn't totally standard within a feudal society?

Catelyn // Lysa // Sansa // Arya // Cersei // Myrcella // Margaery // Arianne // Asha

With the exception of Lysa's second marriage, do you see a single woman here who picked her husband?

Hizdahr zo Loraq is not gay, or a drunken abusive adulterer, or a dying corpse, or a psychopath, or 450lbs, or Tyrion Lannister. I think I'll save my tears on this one.

+.+.+

"Your Grace," he said, bowing, "I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought that you would want to know at once. The Stormcrows have returned to the city, with word of the foe. The Yunkishmen are on the march, just as we had feared."

A flicker of annoyance crossed the noble face of Hizdahr zo Loraq. "The queen is at her supper. These sellswords can wait."

Ser Barristan ignored him. "I asked Lord Daario to make his report to me, as Your Grace had commanded. He laughed and said that he would write it out in his own blood if Your Grace would send your little scribe to show him how to make the letters."

Looks like you have a choice to make! Hizdahr or the sellsword.

+.+.+

"Blood?" said Dany, horrified. "Is that a jape? No. No, don't tell me, I must see him for myself." She was a young girl, and alone, and young girls can change their minds. "Convene my captains and commanders. Hizdahr, I know you will forgive me."

"Meereen must come first." Hizdahr smiled genially. "We will have other nights. A thousand nights."

"Ser Barristan will show you out." Dany hurried off, calling for her handmaids. She would not welcome her captain home in a tokar. In the end she tried a dozen gowns before she found one she liked, but she refused the crown that Jhiqui offered her.

Yeah, thought so.

You are either a young girl or a queen. You don't get to be both.

+.+.+

"You're hurt," she gasped.

"This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile."

Bella Bergolts

+.+.+

"This blood is not mine. One of my serjeants said we should go over to the Yunkai'i, so I reached down his throat and pulled his heart out. I meant to bring it to you as a gift for my silver queen, but four of the Cats cut me off and came snarling and spitting after me. One almost caught me, so I threw the heart into his face."

I don't believe this story.

+.+.+

"Very gallant," said Ser Barristan, in a tone that suggested it was anything but, "but do you have tidings for Her Grace?"

"Hard tidings, Ser Grandfather. Astapor is gone, and the slavers are coming north in strength."

Is she going to let that slide?

+.+.+

"More turncloaks?"

"More brave men drawn to your noble cause. My queen will like them. One is an axeman from the Basilisk Isles, a brute, bigger than Belwas. You should see him. Some Westerosi too, a score or more. Deserters from the Windblown, unhappy with the Yunkai'i. They'll make good Stormcrows."

It's Quentyn!

Is that big brute with an axe supposed to remind me of Victarion?

+.+.+

Ser Barristan frowned at Daario. "Captain, you made mention of four free companies. We know of only three. The Windblown, the Long Lances, and the Company of the Cat."

"Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai'i." Daario turned his head and spat. "That's for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart."

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. Dark skin and white hair, the broken nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?

I'd caution against trusting men the dragons are fond of. :)

How would Brown Ben Plumm be her treason for love? She's so bad at this, it's astounding.

Brown Ben Plumm could be her treason for gold, but let's be real - he's not.

Ser Grandfather knows how to count.

Barristan's been teleported back to Joffrey and Cersei's court. Good.

+.+.+

"Continue as we planned. Gather food, as much as you can." If I look back I am lost. "We must close the gates and put every fighting man upon the walls. No one enters, no one leaves."

The hall was quiet for a moment. The men looked at one another. Then Reznak said, "What of the Astapori?"

She wanted to scream, to gnash her teeth and tear her clothes and beat upon the floor. Instead she said, "Close the gates. Will you make me say it thrice?" They were her children, but she could not help them now. "Leave me. Daario, remain. That cut should be washed, and I have more questions for you."

I'm not sure I can criticize her for this. Abandoning the common folk is normally frowned upon, but the bloody flux complicates this.

I don't know, how do you guys feel about it?

+.+.+

"Your clothes are stained with blood," she told Daario. "Take them off."

"Only if you do the same." He kissed her.

His hair smelled of blood and smoke and horse, and his mouth was hard and hot on hers. Dany trembled in his arms. When they broke apart, she said, "I thought you would be the one to betray me. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love, the warlocks said. I thought … I never thought Brown Ben. Even my dragons seemed to trust him."

The story's not over yet, Daenerys.

Even my dragons seemed to trust him.

Oh no, repeated. Jon? Euron?

+.+.+

She clutched her captain by the shoulders. "Promise me that you will never turn against me. I could not bear that. Promise me."

"Never, my love."

That was not a promise.

+.+.+

She believed him.

How can I question someone with such great intuition?

+.+.+

"I swore that I should wed Hizdahr zo Loraq if he gave me ninety days of peace, but now … I wanted you from the first time that I saw you, but you were a sellsword, fickle, treacherous. You boasted that you'd had a hundred women."

"A hundred?" Daario chuckled through his purple beard. "I lied, sweet queen. It was a thousand. But never once a dragon."

She raised her lips to his. "What are you waiting for?"

Fitting his beard switched to purple.

The fandom downplays how truly awful Daario is, and how damning this is to her character.

Final thoughts:

Let's assume two things.

Daenerys and Euron clash before Daenerys meets Jon.

Jon loses an eye before meeting Daenerys.

Would she not be incredibly triggered by his eyepatch? I need this.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #daenerys vi

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kanye--westeros · 11 months ago

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Top Albums of 2023

1. V - Unknown Mortal Orchestra (Favorite Track: The Garden)

2. Scaring The Hoes Vol. 1 - JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown (Favorite Track: Garbage Pale Kids)

3. STRUGGLER - Genesis Owusu (Favorite Track: The Old Man)

4. Let’s Start Here - Lil Yachty (Favorite Track: IVE OFFICIALLY LOST ViSiON!!!!)

5. Soul, PRESENT - Q (Favorite Track: Incapable Heart)

6. Lahai - Sampha (Favorite Track: Stereo Colour Cloud)

7. This Is Why - Paramore (Favorite Track: You First)

8. Why Does the Earth Give Us People to Love? - Kara Jackson (Favorite Track: rat)

9. My Back Was A Bridge For You To Cross - ANOHNI and the Johnsons (Favorite Track: Why Am I Alive Now?)

10. Praise a Lord Who Chews but Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds) - Yves Tumor (Favorite Track: Parody)

11. The Patience - Mick Jenkins (Favorite Track: Show & Tell)

12. DIAMONDS & FREAKS - BLY ODYSSY (Favorite Track: HONEYSUCKLE NECKBONE)

13. Higher - Chris Stapleton (Favorite Track: White Horse)

14. Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd - Lana Del Rey (Favorite Track: Paris, Texas)

15. PetroDragonic Apocalypse - King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard (Favorite Track: Dragon)

16. Time Will Wait For No One - Local Natives (Favorite Track: Just Before The Morning)

17. Snake Sideways - Do Nothing (Favorite Track: The Needle)

18. falling or flying - Jorja Smith (Favorite Track: Try Me)

19. NEVER ENOUGH - Daniel Caesar (Favorite Track: Toronto 2014)

20. Through & Through - Baby Rose (Favorite Track: I Won’t Tell)

21. Desolation’s Flower - Ragana (Favorite Track: In the Light of the Burning World)

22. But Here We Are - Foo Fighters (Favorite Track: Beyond Me)

23. Javelin - Sufjan Stevens (Favorite Track: Shit Talk)

24. UTOPIA - Travis Scott (Favorite Track: MY EYES)

25. MICHAEL - Killer Mike (Favorite Track: Something For Junkies)

26. Porches - REASON (Favorite Tracks: Caucasian Estates!)

27. VOLCANO - Jungle (Favorite Track: Candle Flame)

28. PANIC - TOBi (Favorite Track: Keep From Falling)

29. PHANTOM OF THE AFTERS - Kojaque (Favorite Track: Cabra Drive)

30. Unreal Unearth - Hozier (Favorite Track: De Selby - Part 2)

31. Everything Harmony - The Lemon Twigs (Favorite Tracks: Any Time Of Day)

32. That! Feels Good! - Jessie Ware (Favorite Track: Pearls)

33. JAGUAR II - Victoria Monet (Favorite Track: Smoke)

34. Fountain Baby - Amaarae (Favorite Track: Sociopathic Dance Queen)

35. MID AIR - Paris Texas (Favorite Track: Sean-Jared)

Honorable Mention:

F65 - IDK, LoveSick - Don Toliver, Lavendr - Muhteyoh, Across The Spiderverse Soundtrack - Metro Boomin, My 21st Century Blues - RAYE, Cracker Island - Gorillaz, A Reckoning - Kimbra, Maps - Billy Woods & Kenny Segal, Space Heavy - King Krule, The Great Escape - Larry June & The Alchemist, Ends & Begins - Labrinth, Masego - Masego, Red Moon In Venus - Kali Uchis, Alchemy - Disclosure, Sunburn - Dominic Fike, Quest For Fire - Skrillex, Gag Order - Kesha, AURORA - Daisy Jones & The Six, Slugs Of Love - Little Dragon, 72 Seasons - Metallica, Playing Robots Into Heaven - James Blake, Timeless - Davido, I Was Mature For My Age, But I Was Still a Child - grouptherapy., ...And Nobody Made A Sound - Model Home, Gold & Heaven - Cleo Sol, the record - boygenius, Radio Misterio - Pedro Martins, Scarlet - Doja Cat, Life Under The Gun - Militarie Gun, Sundial - noname, Desire, I Want to Turn Into You - Caroline Polachek, In Times New Roman... - Queens of the Stone Age, Water Made Us - Jamila Woods, nadie sabe lo que va a pasar mañana - Bad Bunny, Blanket - Kevin Abstract, Quaranta - Danny Brown, The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We - Mitski, Blondshell - Blondshell, The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess - Chappell Roan, Black Rainbows - Corinne Bailey Rae, Metamorphosis - Infinity Song, Soft Spot - JMSN, Paranoia, Angels, True Love - Christine and the Queens, The Art Of Forgetting - Caroline Rose, How Do You Sleep At Night? - Teezo Touchdown, Am I British Yet? - V V Brown

Albums Worth Checking Out Despite Not Making HM:

*Metropolis - Kahlil Blu, The Pink Tape - Lil Uzi Vert, Feed The Beast - Kim Petras, Business Is Business - Young Thug, For When It Hurts - Jake Isaac, Flounder - quinnie, Better Luck In The Next Life - Chiiild, The Age Of Pleasure - Janelle Monae, 4:23 - Mike Dean, Electrophonic Chronic - The Arcs, Once Upon A Time - Deante Hitchcock, College Park - Logic, EVERGREEN - PVRIS, THE RAT ROAD - SBTRKT, Rocket Power - Quavo, FORWARD - Jordan Ward, Fridayy - Fridayy, I Told Them... - Burna Boy, KAYTRAMINE - KAYTRAMINE, Hit Parade - Roisin Murphy, Magic 2 - Nas, Drumwork: The Album - Drumwork Records, Victor - Vic Mensa, CHAI - CHAI, And Then You Pray For Me - Westside Gunn, A Brief Nirvana - Khamari, Mirror To The Sky - Yes, Something To Give Each Other - Troye Sivan, For All The Dogs - Drake, The Above - Code Orange, Special Occasion - Emily King, another triumph of ghetto engineering - Open Mike Eagle, Future Reference - Yeek, Bewitched - Laufey, The Silver Cord - King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, Heaven Knows - PinkPantheress, Me You & God - Jidenna, Magic 3 - Nas, BB/ANG3L - Tinashe, VOIR DIRE - Earl Sweatshirt x The Alchemist, WON’T HE DO IT - Conway The Machine, New Blue Sun - Andre 3000, GUTS - Olivia Rodrigo, Multitudes - Feist, SUBMISSIVE - Destin Conrad, Jackman. - Jack Harlow, We Only Talk When We’re Fucked Up - Bas

Notable EPs/Mixtapes:

6 - Kenny Mason, BAD PREMONITION EP - Tei Shi, Clear 2: Soft Life - Summer Walker, High Profile - Nafe Smallz, Split Decision - Dave x Central Cee, Scaring The Hoes: DLC Pack - JPEGMAFIA x Danny Brown, The Estate Sale - Tyler, The Creator, RIP Human Art - Earthgang, RAVAGE EP - Rema, Scrapyard I-III - Quadeca, Flying High Pt. 2 - The Alchemist, Scary Hours 3 - Drake

Great Songs on Decent to Bad Albums:

“No God” by Sam Smith

“Everybody Hurts Somebody” by Lance Skiiwalker

“Lain (Phone Clone)” by Miss Grit

“Handstand” by Miley Cyrus

“white wine” by Kamal.

“Talk” by 6LACK

“Miracle” by Jonas Brothers

“Something Real” by Post Malone

“Over There” by The Japanese House

“Wall Paper” by Paul Wall x Termanology

“JEALOUSY” by Offset x Cardi B

“Motorbike” by Poppy

#top list #2023 #music #albums

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silvanils · 2 years ago

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there’s got to be a morning after

a prompt fill for @nirnwrote - ‘I feel like a stranger in my skin.’

Rating: T+ (for mature themes) Content Warnings: drug use, implied sex, swearing, self-deprecation

Felix has experienced a lot of morning afters in his life — some bad, some worse. The first time he tried skooma he woke up covered in muck and blood sharing a gutter with a pack of actual rats, his head still spinning. The morning after his binder with Sam he’d woken up practically naked in one of the Imperial City’s gardens being shouted at by a guard for “defiling” the statue of Dibella. (And the morning after that, he thought he’d never see the light of day again…)

Few have been as wild as the morning after he made his unlikely escape from that dungeon, when he’d woken up to find the inn he’d chosen to stay in had been stolen by pirates. Pirates! And led by an ex of his, to boot! And the lady that was supposed to be a one-night stand had swiped the precious amulet he’d been planning to sell and told him in no uncertain terms:

“No, actually, we’re going to see this through.”

None have been so pleasant as this one.

The sunlight filtering in through the old stained glass windows is dappling the whole room in bright, brilliant colors. There’s a splotch of rose-red on Martin’s cheek, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheek and a single wavy lock of his hair that’s cutting across his face. Behind him, Felix can just barely make out Iri’s smaller form — her bright hair dyed blue and gold from the glass.

Felix stays still as long as he can bear it, doing everything he can to fix this moment in his memory, then slips away gently, leaving his lovers alone for the time being. He tugs on one of Martin’s loose shirts, steps outside to light up a pipe he recently swiped from a pompous ass wondering if maybe, just maybe, smoking from it would make him feel richer, somehow.

Turns out, it still just tastes like smoke. Oh well.

He watches the embers burn in the ash, marvels that he still feels so warm inside. He wonders how long this will last — how long until he fucks something up, or they tire of him and move on, like everyone else has...

“Felix?” Martin’s voice is gentle enough that it doesn’t startle him, and as Felix turns he can’t help but smile as he takes in the man’s appearance — he’s wearing nothing but a pair of borrowed pants, his hair still a lovely tousled mess from the night before. “Is everything alright?”

“Never better,” Felix says. “Last night just gave me a lot to think about.”

Martin smiles, and Felix feels his heart stutter at how cute the dimples in his cheeks are. “Yes, it… was a little overwhelming, wasn’t it?” He wanders closer to Felix, leans against the small stone wall beside him, gazing up toward the heavens. “This is something I haven’t felt in a long time, either. I’d like to see where it goes, if... that’s something you want, too.”

Felix feels something clench in his chest, then, and suddenly there’s dampness on his cheeks. He knows the man was a priest for years, and part of that job is knowing the words people need to hear, but… he’s still surprised Martin’s so damn discerning.

“I’ve always felt like a stranger in my skin,” Felix says. The words spill out, just like the tears did. “Never really fit — never belonged anywhere. But I feel like I could belong here, with… you.”

And he’s scared. Scared to fall in love with the two of them because he knows it’s inevitable that he’s going to lose them. But Martin seems to understand that, too, because before Felix falls too far into his own head the other man pulls him into a comforting embrace.

Steady, certain, true.

“This won’t be a brief, fleeting spark,” Martin promises. “I want this to last, and I’m sure Iri feels the same way, too.” He pulls away enough to look into Felix’s eyes, strokes the hair out of his eyes and tucks it behind one of his ears. He chuckles, the sound deep and hearty. Felix thinks he could get used to hearing that sound. “I suppose it is a little funny, isn’t it? That three misfits like us… can fit so well together?”

Felix laughs quietly, the warmth of Martin’s touch and the sincerity of words banishing his fears, at least for the moment. He closes his eyes, allows himself to hold onto the hope that… they will stick with him, be willing to fish him out of the dark wells of despair whenever he falls into them.

“We do make quite a funny pair,” he agrees, smirking. “The three of us.”

#elder scrolls #oblivion #martin x male hero of kvatch #martin septim x hero of kvatch #martin septim #hero of kvatch #;follyshipping #;Felix Aelius #;Iriel Silvanil #;knight writes

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lyrker · 3 years ago

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fffucking piss balls shit why did i think it good idea to listen to a The Dark episode at three in the morning I NEVER LEARN I NEVER LEARNNN anyways sorry martin ): i love him sm he always sounds so scared making the statements, unfortunately Jon is out? saving the world? he’ll be back soon.

Melanie!!! Melanie. Elias. bitch should’ve just drank the stupid coffee i don’t care about what the texture is drink it you rat bastard but also don’t die you’re such a good character I hope you die a tragic death but also not !!! Horrid little man

Maxwell Rayner is officially the uhhh The Dark? Patroned? He’s the one that like. He. He has it. He’s Jon but for The Dark.

rethinking The Vast i thinkkk…Michael Crew (not elderly) is the Sky Guy he vasts the Sky he makes the sky Eat People. Simon Fairchild (elderly) however, makes the ocean eat people. Ocean vast. There can be multiple holders I assumes yes so they..share

#the fucking sandman is gonna get me #tma #uhhhhh #S3 ep98 #thqts it that’s the kate night podt

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shiftytracts · 4 years ago

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Stop Wanting More, part 1 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part two here.

…For almost ten thousand words (~5.1k in this half, ~4.3 in the other), beeeecause of course I did.

Content warnings:

Disordered eating (mainly of the statement variety, but mentions also the literal kind)

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Brief but not-ungraphic description of Jon’s (canon) Boneturning incident—so, injury, very mild body horror

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality (in part two)

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport (in part two)

—

Jon paused the tape recorder, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe. A statement’s second-to-last page was the hardest to get down. The dull ache that had begun under his ribs twenty minutes before now stretched down far enough to converge with the one in his stiff hips. His pulse throbbed in his stomach; he could feel it swell and recede beneath his hand with every beat. Nausea boomeranged up from somewhere under his navel. He reminded himself he could stop for now, finish this later—and, as always, that thought made him feel even colder than the sludge of other people’s fear pooling in his stomach. With his free hand Jon pressed Record again, and turned to 0101702’s final page. Oh, god, there was barely anything on it. Just the rest of this paragraph and then one more. He kept his eyes on the page, didn’t stop speaking its words, but fumbled blindly for another statement with his fingers.

“Knock knock,” Daisy said as she entered. “Christ—you’re still recording?”

In a flash Jon folded his hands on the table, sat up a little straighter, tried to suck in his gut. “Er—”

“Thought you said you were gonna do one more.”

“I’m almost done.”

“You’ve got another one right there.”

“I…” he considered I’m sorry, but then she’d say For what. “I don’t know what to tell you. It is my office.”

“Yeah, and your home,” Daisy scoffed—“and mine. Sort of.”

“D—did you want…? You’re welcome, to. Sit down, or….”

She did, on the arm of his couch. “I know, Jon. That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” To show he’d meant his welcome, Jon pushed his chair back from his desk and turned in it to face Daisy. Hopefully she’d remember he couldn’t ask What did you mean.

“I mean, don’t pretend this is work. How many statements have you had today? You don’t think that one can wait til tomorrow?”

Seven? Or would this one be eight. Jon forced himself to exhale out the portion of gut he’d been holding back since she arrived; it hurt too much to keep sucking in anyway. “A lot. I’m just.”

“Hungry, yeah.”

“Even when I’m stuffed I’m hungry.” He snarled a laugh, and set a rueful hand over his stomach like a fig leaf.

At first he’d tried sating the hunger with garden-variety food. That didn’t help much. Way back when he’d first transferred to the Archives Jon had fallen back into the old habit of forgetting to eat—which, yeah, not great, but, it did mean he remembered well how amazing it used to feel to cram down even a stale biscuit after too many hours’ inanition. All the hidden notes he’d found in yogurt and dry toast. He even remembered tearing up once at the taste of a banana, early in 2016. Before that he’d been sure he didn’t like bananas; afterward, for a short while he’d eaten one nearly every day, hoping vainly to recapture the ecstasy of banana after 14-hour fast. No luck, of course. After a few weeks he’d concluded he still didn’t much like banana as final course of healthy lunch. He’d especially disliked peeling them: how sometimes the stems bent without breaking, and the more times you tried the warmer, softer, more flexible they got. How little strings of peel still clung to the banana after you peeled off its main body, like static when you pull off a jumper. Or like the lint it leaves behind on your shirt. And the way bananas bruise, like people do. All these vestiges of its previous life—reminders it had lived to feed itself rather than him.

Since the coma, all people food—er. That was, all food intended for human consumption—tasted like that chase after a faded spark. Cloying and mushy and… organic, reminding him too much of the garden it came from. And the way it landed in his stomach was far worse. The original banana, the one Martin had pressed on him in the Archives in April 2016, had gone down like nectar, ambrosia, manna from heaven, &c.; the ones afterward, like an unwanted dessert always does. (Cloying. Mushy. A biology lesson mildly tapping its watch.) These days, though, eating regular dinner on a stomach empty of other people’s trauma felt like trying to fill up on cake. Not like cake after fourteen hours of nothing; Jon was pretty sure his 2016 stomach would have welcomed that. But like cake at dinner time. When you’re expecting, you know. Dinner. It gave him the brief, fake-seeming energy of a sugar high, and made him sick before it made him full.

Especially when he was otherwise ailing, for some reason? After Hopworth he’d treated himself to a lie down and a sandwich. The rest had helped, but he’d squandered most of the energy it gave him on the effort to keep the sandwich down. At that moment nothing, not even the coffin, had scared him so much as the thought of what it would feel like to throw up when you had only ten ribs on one side. He hadn’t expected losing them to hurt, at least not for long—had expected the rib to flow out of his skin into Jared Hopworth’s hand like an ice cube through water, which in retrospect was stupid given the testimony of Mr. Pryor in statement 0081103, but he hadn’t had time to reread that one beforehand and at the time Jon remembered only that Hopworth didn’t break his victims’ skin when he pulled out their bones. Turned out that wasn’t much comfort: he’d still had to break the ligaments attaching Jon’s ribs to his spine and chest. It had felt like a bad dislocation (four of them, technically), only instead of the feeling of bone pressing on things it shouldn’t there was an equally violating sense of tissue wallowing in holes that shouldn’t be there. He’d had this horror that if he were sick the flesh would crumple and pop where his ribs used to be, like when you try to suck the remaining water out of a near-empty bottle.

A few months after that he’d caught cold. (A point in the still-human column, Daisy had called it.) You know the first day or two of a cold, before the encroaching mucus takes out your ability to smell or taste properly, how innocuous olfactory phenomena like cheddar and laundry soap suddenly become Bad Smells, on par with the olive bar at a posh supermarket? Well, in a similar way, this one seemed to sharpen the dichotomy in his body’s opinions of people food and monster food. His lack-of-ribs had mostly healed by then though, so either vomiting with only ten ribs on one side did not cause the anomaly he’d feared, or, if it did, it hadn’t hurt enough for him to notice it in the cacophony (pucophony?) of other sensations.

(Daisy liked to play on words, so he’d been doing it more lately. This project the Eye seemed happy to help with, though in this case the suggestion arrived in his mind at the exact same moment as a reminder that, technically, the word cacophony can apply to sensations other than sound only by synecdoche.)

And then, a few weeks ago, when the whole Archives went down with norovirus… well, it wasn’t a fun time. He’d at first mistook the lethargy, weakness, trouble concentrating for signs of hunger—the new kind of hunger. Ms. Mullen-Jones’ statement about the Divine Chains cult hadn’t seemed all that bad, when he’d first recorded it. Scarier than if he’d read its events in a novel, of course; that was just how statements worked. He experienced them more vividly than stories, though less so than the events of his own life. (Because the people they happened to thought they were real! he’d told himself when he first took this job. It’s empathy, that’s all. Nope, sorry—evil magic.) When he read a paper statement these days, though, the knowledge it wouldn’t give him nightmares never quite left him. And he’d thought he was growing desensitized to the kinds of horror most people came to the Institute to report. Coming back up, though—maybe it was the fever, but god, the visions he got on that statement’s way out, of Agape and the soft, sticky hivecorpse of Claude Vilakazi’s followers—the way it made the donut he’d shoved down that morning (in a show of team spirit, god help him) come back up tasting like rotten rice wine—it was worse than the dreams. Worse, he could have sworn, than even the first time he ever dreamt Naomi Herne’s empty graveyard.

While hanging over the bowl of the Archives’ toilet waiting to see if he’d got it all up or if there was still more to come, Jon remembered thinking again of the banana Martin had given him. A few days earlier Daisy had made him watch the video of the I don’t understand this meme and at this point I’m too afraid to ask man vore-ing a banana; Jon had confessed to her, in a conspiratorial whisper-laugh, that for him vore itself had been one such meme until that very second, when the Eye had seen fit to inform him. But when applied to a banana, the term apparently just meant eating it peel and all. In 2016 Martin had broken the banana’s stem and pulled back a section of peel before handing it to Jon, so as to brook no argument. Was it really the banana itself he’d cried over? Not the gesture of friendship, when Jon deserved it so little? The thought of someone caring for him enough that when he got hangry at them they handed him a snack. Martin had been living in the Archives then, like Jon did now. Sleeping in Document Storage—a guest in a room owned by pieces of paper. Those bananas may have been the only thing that felt like his.

A Guest for Mr. Spider was about vore, technically. Not an uncommon topic in children’s literature. Some surmised that was where the fetish came from, though others maintained kinks like that were inborn, and the stories merely alerted their hosts to them for the first time. Red riding hood, three little pigs, little old lady who swallowed a fly. The Leitner touch was only the part where he drew you to his real-life lair and real-life ate you.

Looking back, that was probably the first thing he’d ever admired about Martin—how easy he’d made it look to skin a fruit. Not at the time admired, of course, but in those weeks afterward, when every banana Jon ate made him claw at the peel til his finger joints throbbed.

That stomach bug had struck the Archives with serendipitous timing, though. If he’d not found out how thin abstinence from the Hunt had made Daisy on the same day he’d barfed up a statement, Jon might not have pieced together what their combined evidence meant. Until then he’d put down his own post-coma weight loss to the fact he rarely ate more people food than a donut in twenty-four hours. Lots of avatars were scrawny, after all. Jane Prentiss, Mike Crew, Justin Gough, Annabelle Cane, John Amherst, Simon Fairchild. Jude Perry and Jared Hopworth could mold their respective fleshes however they wanted, so he didn’t count them as exceptions. True, Trevor Herbert’s bulk had struck him as odd; surely a homeless man wouldn’t waste cash on food his body no longer wanted. And what about Breekon and Hope? Did butterflies and a quartermaster’s pen and tongue sustain them? But maybe, Jon had told himself, it was like with alcohol. Maybe the avatars with more flesh on their bones had worked to develop a tolerance for (air quotes, heavy sarcasm) people food, for the sake of their physiques, or. So they could, he didn't know, eat socially? Without feeling sick, like Jon did whenever one of the others brought donuts.

Preposterously stupid, this theory seemed in retrospect. The truth was much simpler. It was like Jude Perry’d told him. She was strong and he was weak, because she fed her god with her actions, while Jon’s had had to resort to eating his flesh.

He wasn’t going back to live statements! That wasn’t an option; he knew that. He couldn’t feed his god with his actions. But he could have more paper ones. Maybe they were like the candles poor Eugene Vanderstock used to bring Agnes—the ones she’d sat over for hours. Hours and hours, inhaling the suffering that made them. They’d kept her strong enough, right? At least in body. All those people in charge of her care, all so much in her thrall—if she’d looked hungry one of them would’ve mentioned it in a statement.

During Jon’s school days, back when he was still trying to learn how to be a girl, this brief window had opened up right around age thirteen where the girls around him had enough self-consciousness to start developing eating disorders? But not enough to keep them secret. Thirteen had been this phase of, like, I’m a teenager now, see? I’ve got the teen angst now—SEE?! Where after they’d finished the day’s maths assignment, or while setting up microscope slides, one could overhear girls swapping self-harm anecdotes and tips for how best not to eat. Anne, whom he’d been almost friends with, went through two packs of chewing gum a day for a while. She would shove three or four sticks at a time in her mouth, then spit them back out into their wrappers as soon as they lost their flavor. Eventually they made her sick, and she switched to chain-sucking butterscotch discs. (Most artificial sweeteners, as the Eye now informed him, had mild laxative properties—including those used in gum.) Other acquaintances had brought comically large thermoses of coffee to school every day, and scurried to the toilet between classes. But it was another polyurious crowd that Jon kept thinking of, these days—the kids who would chug water every time they felt hungry. Trying to fill up on paper statements felt just like that.

He’d never understood that urge until now. Hunger was already a bad sensation; why would it help to add the further bad sensations of nausea and stomachache and cold? But now it made sense: feeling better was not the point. The point was to stop wanting more. He couldn’t get rid of the hunger, exactly—not in a way that mattered. Not the shards of glass in his belly, not the itch in his esophagus like a finger tapping behind his gag reflex, not the way simple motions like soaping his hands made his whole body ache. Not the sharpening of his senses to such a fine point that he jumped whenever Thérèse in the office above him shut her desk’s sticky drawer. (He hadn’t known that was what made the squeaky noise until a few weeks ago when the Eye decided he might like some office gossip. Even now he didn’t know which of the faces he sometimes passed up there belonged to Thérèse. She had no statements to make.) Nor the fog in his mind, though he tried sometimes to blame that on the Lonely. He couldn’t sate his hunger with paper statements—couldn’t make himself full, in the rosy way we usually connote that word. All warm and carefree and pleasantly sleepy. But he could cram the hole inside him with enough stale horrors that the temptation to chase down a fresh one momentarily left him.

And that was the new plan—to stuff himself with paper statements.

Tomorrow would mark two weeks since the day he’d first tried it. Brian from Artefact Storage had a statement to give him, Jon could feel—either Stranger or Spiral, it was hard to tell quite which. Something that caused paranoia. Not a great fit for that department. Good fit for a temple of the Eye, Jon supposed, remembering Tim and Michael Shelley. But Artefact Storage? God help him. He wondered if Elias had done it on purpose, hiring a paranoid man to work in a room full of objects that wanted him hurt. If so it must’ve been this one—this purpose. And on Wednesday mornings Brian manned the place all alone. Poor soul was already clinging to this job by a thread, though (so, Web…? That could cause paranoia too, as Jon well knew). Surely if Jon made him relive his trauma that would break it. Though perhaps that’d be a mercy. And but besides, two weeks ago Melanie had still lived here, and sat all morning between Jon’s office and Artefact Storage. Until she went to lunch. But by that time the woman whose laugh Jon could sometimes hear through the walls (Pooja, the Eye had since told him her name was) would have joined Brian. And it’d just be too weird, too risky, to go in and ask him about it with a third person in the room. Even if it wasn’t also evil.

So he’d read 0132210—the statement of Sierra Talbot, regarding a swimming pool whose depth changed every time she entered it—in hopes that’d make him quit thinking about the paranoid man down the hall. It didn’t, not really; paper statements didn’t take up as much of his attention as they used to. But he couldn’t get up and walk to Artefact Storage in the middle of one. When he finished and still couldn’t think of anything but Brian, he dug out another statement (this one from 1938, regarding a bad penny). Just to keep himself chained to his desk til lunch. And then a third (Liza Ho, attack of the killer seagulls). And by the end of that one he felt too heavy and cold inside to want to go anywhere but the couch. It made his stomach swell until it hurt to sit up straight, and the thought of shoving anything more inside made him feel sick—exactly like chugging water every time he felt hungry.

Basira had said maybe the Web just wanted to keep them so afraid of their own impulses they sat and did nothing so they couldn’t be puppeted. Maybe she was right. He’d never felt more like a spider, with his weak, skinny limbs and bloated stomach. Lying on the couch massaging other people’s horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him. Thank god he’d already given up tucking in his shirts, when he came back after the coma. Jon had worn the same trousers for three days in a row, now—shucked them off at the end of the day, hoping if he left them on the floor that’d convince him they were too dirty to wear again, and then slipped them back on over clean boxers in the morning. They were the only trousers he had that stayed up with the button left unfastened.

(Technically, the noun bloat refers to the feeling of weight or tightness in the abdomen. To describe a belly which has expanded beyond its typical size, one should use the word distended. Though these phenomena can occur separately, most people conflate them under the single word bloated. This trivia had seemed worthless when Beholding told him of it. But now he knew better. Every morning he woke up feeling like he’d had his whole torso replaced with the aching void of space, empty but for silver glints of pain that were the stars. And then he’d look down and find his belly still distended.)

Melanie and Basira didn’t know—at least not officially. They both seemed to have noticed how much more often lately they’d walked in on him recording, but Jon was pretty sure they suspected him less of bingeing on statements, more of pretending to record so as to avoid talking to them. He welcomed this misapprehension.

It was also possible they knew but declined to comment, since. Well, it was kind of a pathetic habit? Physically, a bit pathetic. Morally, though, such a big improvement over compelling statements by force that maybe they figured they ought to let him have it. If so he should be grateful, he reminded himself. Their pity, after all, was humiliating only in principle; Daisy’s teasing and concerned questions embarrassed him in practice.

“Enough navelgazing,” Daisy scoffed, but when Jon looked over at her he could see a smile creeping its way onto her face. “Look—finish the one you’re on, then come over here and I’ll. Tell you a story.”

“I—what?”

“Don’t know if it’ll count as a ‘statement,’” she said, with air quotes; “not much fear in it, more just.” She looked at the floor, then shrugged. “But it seems worth a try, yeah? Might make you feel better.”

“I-I, er. I really shouldn’t?” He meant in case it had a taste of human blood effect, but set his hand on his stomach again in hopes she’d think he meant he was too full.

“Yeah, you should. I want you to hear it.” Daisy shrugged again. “Think it might do you good to know.”

Jon turned back to his desk, unpaused the recording and wrapped up the statement. He’d quit bothering to record end notes on most of these—told himself he could add them in later, like he used to when he’d first taken this job. How proud 2016 Jon would have been to see how many statements the 2018 Archivist got through in a week.

He paused for a moment before standing up, to take as deep a breath as he could manage when stuffed full of paper. The end of that statement had gone down easier, since he’d had that few minutes’ break talking to Daisy, but he still didn’t love the idea of standing and walking. Especially since he knew once he got to the couch he’d be glued there by fatigue. If he didn’t pee now, he’d spend most of the night far enough into sleep to be paralyzed, but not far enough to numb his bladder. He excused himself to Daisy, promising to come right back. Then hauled himself up, with help from his cane and one arm of his chair.

Six limbs it took to maneuver this body now. Two more and he’d’ve gone full spider.

Three quarters of the way to the bathroom—that’s how long it took before the ache in his legs outpaced that in his stomach. He arrived on the toilet seat shaky and out of breath, as always. Months ago he’d given up standing to pee. When you sat you could rock back and forth, and cross your arms tight over waves of quease.

Not much came out, as was also usual lately. As far as Jon could tell, his body now required only enough water to keep his mouth from drying out while recording. Dehydration no longer made his head hurt, so, why bother. Good thing, too, he supposed—the last two weeks he hadn’t needed much non-metaphorical water inside for his body to parse that as needing to pee.

He let his trousers stay pooled around his ankles until after he’d washed and dried his hands. Then pulled up his shirt, to judge from his reflection whether they’d stay up with the fly undone. If he kept his hands in his pockets, yeah. Could you tell the difference, visually, once he put his shirt tails back down? Not for such a short distance. They wouldn’t have time to get disarranged.

It didn’t matter; Basira didn’t even glance at him on his way back, and all Institute staff who didn’t live here had gone home.

Jon opened the door to his office, said hello to Daisy but didn’t manage to look at her, and sat himself down on the other side of the couch. From the corner of his eye (or someone’s anyway) he saw her rise to her feet. “I’m gonna pee too,” she told him, picking her way toward the door; “get yourself comfortable, like you’re going to bed.”

“Where will you sit.”

“I’ll squeeze in.”

“I don’t mind leaving room for—?” Finally he made himself look up at her, in time to see her shake her head. Daisy hadn’t been strong on her feet either, since the Buried; she held herself up now with a hand on the doorjamb, elbow bent so her shoulder leant against that wrist. He regretted quibbling. “Never mind; I’ll just.”

“Really? You’re comfortable like that? You look like a sheep in clover.”

The knowledge came to him before he could ask her what that meant—complete with a nasty visual of what happens in cases acute enough to require rumenotomy. Jon swore he could feel himself swelling to accommodate this tidbit. His eye twitched in discomfort.

“Think I prefer ‘windbag,’ if it’s all the same to you.”

She made a face like that was grosser than what she had said. “You ruined my joke. I was gonna say I won’t let you have any more leaves til you look less like you might explode.”

“Sheep in clover suffocate,” Jon frowned; “they don’t explode. You must be thinking of how they cure them when—”

“Leaves. In. A. Book, Jon. That joke.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” He made himself chuckle.

Daisy sighed and shifted on her feet. “I’ll be right back. Just lie down, alright? Like you’re going to bed.”

Jon agreed to lie down, but couldn’t decide whether to face the wall (as he would to sleep), leaving her to slide in between him and the back of the couch the way she had a few times before when she’d walked in on him catnapping, or whether he should lie on his back, where he could see her as soon as she opened the door. It was important to make sure she knew he appreciated her offer to give him a statement. Or, no—to tell him her story, he meant.

Ultimately he picked the latter course.

“You sleep like that?”

“Sometimes."

“I’ve never seen you sleep like that. You always face the wall.” Daisy crossed her arms, blew hair out of her face. “That for the tummy ache, or for me?”

“Uh….”

“Would it hurt you to face the wall.”

“No, I just.”

“Turn around, then. I’ll squeeze in,” she said again.

“I-if you’re sure.”

He rolled onto his side, gritting his teeth as the cramps in his stomach swirled in new directions. What made it slosh like that, he wondered. While he fought to regain his breath Jon watched Daisy climb up onto the back of the couch on shaking elbows and knees, then avalanche down hands- and feet-first so she fit between him and its cushions. He’d never watched her do this before—always either startled out of a doze at the sound of her thumping down next to him, or simply woken up to find her there.

“You’re just like the Admiral,” he informed her.

“True words spoken in jest,” muttered Daisy. Too quietly for him to hear what she said over the couch’s tortured creaks, but half a second after she finished speaking the words appeared before his mind, in white, all-capital letters with a black background like closed captions on the news. “That’s Georgie’s cat, right?” she said aloud.

“Yes.”

Her knee jostled the cap of his; when it made him gasp she snarled under her breath. “Sorry. Can you move your leg?”

“Yes, it’s fine, just—”

“I mean would you move your leg.”

“Oh.” He did so.

“Thanks. Ugh—you’re cold,” Daisy accused him; “where’s that blanket.” He pointed behind her to the arm of the couch where it lay folded. She shook it out, and draped it over both of them. Reached around behind him to make sure it covered his whole back. Jon tried to ignore the way his stomach lurched every time Daisy’s weight shifted against the cushions. Finally she settled next to him to catch her breath. Their foreheads touched; her stomach pressed into his, though not as tightly as the last time they’d lain like this. “Can you breathe or am I crushing you?”

“Not at all, you’re fine—in fact, if the couch cushions are chafing you too much you can—”

Daisy huffed, and scooted herself in closer to him. “That better?” She set her warm hand down right where his belly diverged from pelvis. Jon tried to keep both voice and tremor out of his exhale. Since the coffin, Daisy’s hands and feet suffered at night and after any exertion from the same excess of heat his sometimes did. So the cold inside him probably felt nice on her hand, if not to the rest of her.

(Like snuggling up to a hotel mattress, she’d described it, after the first time she joined him for a nap when he’d just had a statement. Cold, hard, covered in lumps and dents, and creaks when you roll over on it. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he’d replied, while praying her elbow wouldn’t come any closer to the crevasse where his ribs used to be.)

“Christ you’re stuffed,” commented Daisy. For emphasis she lifted her fingers, then set them back down on his gut.

“I don’t know what you expected.”

“You won’t pop if I tell you a story?”

“Not literally,” Jon said, blinking.

“Of course not literally,” she scoffed; “you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Will it make you sick. Don’t want you throwing up on me; this is Melanie’s shirt. If you ruin it she’ll hit us with her cane, and I don’t trust you to hit as hard back with yours.”

“Mine’s shorter and thicker,” he mused. “I don’t have to hit as hard.”

“Stop. Avoiding. The question.”

Jon sighed to show her he capitulated. Then thought about it. He felt cold and sick, but the idea of saying no to a statement made those feelings worse, not better. And the sharp clusters of pain in his belly were harder to sleep through than quease.

“I’ll be fine,” he decided. “It’ll help.”

“Alright. When you’re ready, ask me what I used to do when I got shaky between hunts.”

Read part two here.

#stuffing #nausea #stomachache #hunger kink #a shifty tract #nonsearchable tma tag #other titles i. jocoseriously considered include 'divine chains' (like the cult from 153 get it?);#'too much information' and 'a movable-type feast'.#also for a long time the file on my computer was called 'statement eating: the moive' because alas i was a teenage h/omes/tuck

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goodmeowningcols · 4 years ago

Note

could you list your top ten jonrya moments?

Hi Anon and thank you for the question! 🥰 I love the question because Jonrya is chockful of canon content straight from the books, and this isn’t even including George’s 1993 original outline. We have to thank George RR Martin for that. And surely, with Jon’s death, Arya will be thinking of him a lot in TWOW. In the 5 released books, they have so many moments and memories about one another that serves as a firm foundation for both of them to be each other’s favourites and the person they love and miss the most with all their heart. Let’s do a countdown, shall we? Not necessarily in order.

10. At the crypts

Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. "There are worse things than spiders and rats," he whispered. "This is where the dead walk." That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya's hand.

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. "You stupid," she told him, "you scared the baby," but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

9. The closest of their siblings and defending each other

...A dozen spectators, man and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb’s voice the loudest among them. She spotted Theon Greyjoy beside him, his black doublet emblazoned with the golden kraken of his House, a look of wry contempt on his face. Both of the combatants were staggering. Arya judged that they had been at it awhile.

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.

...

Reluctantly, Arya surrendered her sword, wondering if she would ever hold it again. Her father turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with his thumb. “A bravo’s blade,” he said. “Yet it seems to me that I know this maker’s mark. This is Mikken’s work.”

Arya could not lie to him. She lowered her eyes.

Lord Eddard Stark sighed. “My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?”

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father.

...

"Lumpyhead," corrected Lommy. "He prob'ly stole it."

"I did not!" she shouted. Jon Snow had given her Needle. Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn't going to let them call Jon a thief.

8. The woman is important too!

She watched her little brother whack at Tommen. “I could do just as good as Bran,” she said. “He’s only seven. I’m nine.”

Jon looked her over with all his fourteen-year-old wisdom. “You’re too skinny,” he said. He took her arm to feel her muscle. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one.”

Arya snatched back her arm and glared at him. Jon messed up her hair again. They watched Bran and Tommen circle each other.

“You see Prince Joffrey?” Jon asked.

She hadn’t, not at first glance, but when she looked again she found him to the back, under the shade of the high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.

“Look at the arms on his surcoat,” Jon suggested.

Arya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the prince’s padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh. “That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can’t fight, why should she have a coat of arms?”

Jon shrugged. “Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

7. Seeing one another in other people

"NO!" Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look. He said it with me, like Jon used to do, back in Winterfell. She missed Jon Snow the most of all her brothers.

And...

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya.

...

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever?

And...

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You’re not scared?” The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart.

“Let him be scared of me.” The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

“Winter’s lady.” Jon squeezed her hand.

6. Missing each other the most

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half brother" since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.

...

As he rode, Jon peeled off his glove to air his burned fingers. Ugly things. He remembered suddenly how he used to muss Arya's hair. His little stick of a sister. He wondered how she was faring. It made him a little sad to think that he might never muss her hair again. He began to flex his hand, opening and closing the fingers. If he let his sword hand stiffen and grow clumsy, it well might be the end of him, he knew. A man needed his sword beyond the Wall.

...

No one talked to Arya. She didn't care. She liked it that way. She would have eaten her meals alone in her bedchamber if they let her. Sometimes they did, when Father had to dine with the king or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her "little sister" and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn't even talk to her unless Father made her.

...

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone.

...

"I'm a girl," Arya said, exasperated. If the old man was down from the Wall, he must have come by way of Winterfell. "Do you know my brothers?" she asked excitedly. "Robb and Bran are at Winterfell, and Jon's on the Wall. Jon Snow, he's in the Night's Watch too, you must know him, he has a direwolf, a white one with red eyes. Is Jon a ranger yet? I'm Arya Stark." The old man in his smelly black clothes was looking at her oddly, but Arya could not seem to stop talking. "When you ride back to the Wall, would you bring Jon a letter if I wrote one?" She wished Jon were here right now. He'd believe her about the dungeons and the fat man with the forked beard and the wizard in the steel cap.

...

"My lady?" Ned said at last. "You have a baseborn brother . . . Jon Snow?"

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. "How do you know about Jon?"

"He is my milk brother."

5. Keeping her secret identity as Arya of House Stark in the House of Black and White: Needle was Jon Snow’s smile.

At the water’s edge she stopped, the silver fork in hand. It was real silver, solid through and through. It’s not my fork. It was Salty that he gave it to. She tossed it underhand, heard the soft plop as it sank below the water.

Her floppy hat went next, then the gloves. They were Salty’s too. She emptied her pouch into her palm; five silver stags, nine copper stars, some pennies and halfpennies and groats. She scattered them across the water. Next her boots. They made the loudest splashes. Her dagger followed, the one she’d gotten off the archer who had begged the Hound for mercy. Her swordbelt went into the canal. Her cloak, tunic, breeches, smallclothes, all of it. All but Needle.

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time …

… but it wasn’t.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

4. After breaking his Night’s Watch vows for her alone, Jon’s dying thought is of Arya: Stick them with the pointy end.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

3. I want my bride back... I want my bride back... I want my bride back...

Jon walked to the edge of the Wall and gazed down upon the killing ground where Mance Rayder’s host had died. He wondered where Mance was now. Did he ever find you, little sister? Or were you just a ploy he used so I would set him free?

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he’d had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he’d told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl.

...

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night's Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

"I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said.

2. What do you know of my heart priestess? What do you know of my sister?

“The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.”

“I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?”

“Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly…”

1. Needle!

“I have one more farewell to make,” Jon told him.

“Then I haven’t seen you,” Robb replied.

Jon left him standing there in the snow, surrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. It was a short walk to the armory. He picked up his package and took the covered bridge across to the Keep.

Arya was in her room, packing a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than she was. Nymeria was helping. Arya would only have to point, and the wolf would bound across the room, snatch up some wisp of silk in her jaws, and fetch it back. But when she smelled Ghost, she sat down on her haunches and yelped at them.

Arya glanced behind her, saw Jon, and jumped to her feet. She threw her skinny arms tight around his neck. “I was afraid you were gone,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “They wouldn’t let me out to say good-bye.”

“What did you do now?” Jon was amused. Arya disentangled herself from him and made a face. “Nothing. I was all packed and everything.” She gestured at the huge chest, no more than a third full, and at the clothes that were scattered all over the room. “Septa Mordane says I have to do it all over. My things weren’t properly folded, she says. A proper southron lady doesn’t just throw her clothes inside her chest like old rags, she says.”

“Is that what you did, little sister?”

“Well, they’re going to get all messed up anyway,” she said. “Who cares how they’re folded?”

“Septa Mordane,” Jon told her. “I don’t think she’d like Nymeria helping, either.” The she-wolf regarded him silently with her dark golden eyes. “It’s just as well. I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully.”

Her face lit up. “A present?”

“You could call it that. Close the door.”

Wary but excited, Arya checked the hall. “Nymeria, here. Guard.” She left the wolf out there to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags he’d wrapped it in. He held it out to her.

Arya’s eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. “A sword,” she said in a small, hushed breath.

The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. “This is no toy,” he told her. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.”

“Girls don’t shave,” Arya said.

“Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa’s legs?”

She giggled at him. “It’s so skinny.”

“So are you,” Jon told her. “I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won’t hack a man’s head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you’re fast enough.”

“I can be fast,” Arya said.

“You’ll have to work at it every day.” He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. “How does it feel? Do you like the balance?”

“I think so,” Arya said.

“First lesson,” Jon said. “Stick them with the pointy end.”

Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. “I know which end to use,” Arya said. A doubtful look crossed her face. “Septa Mordane will take it away from me.”

“Not if she doesn’t know you have it,” Jon said.

“Who will I practice with?”

“You’ll find someone,” Jon promised her. “King’s Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do …”

Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together. “… don’t … tell … Sansa!”

Jon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.”

Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.”

“Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?” He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. “I better go. I’ll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer.”

Arya ran to him for a last hug. “Put down the sword first,” Jon warned her, laughing.

She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses.

When he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. “I almost forgot,” he told her. “All the best swords have names.”

“Like Ice,” she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. “Does this have a name? Oh, tell me.”

“Can’t you guess?” Jon teased. “Your very favorite thing.”

Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:

“Needle!”

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

Bonus: Only her father had ever called her pretty. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes.

#asoiaf #jon snow #arya stark #jonrya #a song of ice and fire #jonarya #the purest love #thank you grrm #house stark #edited: supple as sin

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lymazhu · 4 years ago

Text

Lingering Effects

rating: PG

pairing: Jon/Martin cw: loss of time/disorientation, accidentally being compelled to answer a question

written for Day 6 of TMAHCWeek with the prompt accident, with a bit of confusion/delirium.

set between 159-160

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189176

The dull throbbing that filled his mind before the haze of sleep could even dissipate made it clear that today was not going to be one of his better days. It was hard to even force his eyes open. Beside him the bed was cold and empty. Jon must have made it as best he could without disturbing Martin, so it was only the sounds coming from the kitchen that pushed away the momentary fear that gripped him. No, he told himself. Their time at the safehouse wasn't just a foolish dream. If he walked out of the bedroom he would see Jon making breakfast. Jon would look up at him, and there would be a soft, fond expression on his face that he’d long ago abandoned hopes of seeing until the first time it actually happened. That was real; it was the mist of the Lonely that wasn’t. Not anymore.

Being under the covers was stiflingly hot, but as soon as he made a move to leave the warmth of the bed his skin erupted in goosebumps. He'd never had much problem with lower temperatures or dampness before, not with living in London for so long. Now, though, the chill crept so easily into his bones. Drowned out everything that had changed from normal and comforting to oppressive and overwhelming. It had been getting better the longer he was away from the Lonely, but his dreams the night before had been full of fog and Peter's voice casually speculating about whether Martin would work more efficiently if he had a little chat with the Archivist's assistants.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice broke the silence, shaking him out of a daze. Martin wasn’t entirely sure if the man sounded distant because he was still in the kitchen or if it was just the way his brain was processing sounds at the moment. He realized it was the former when Jon continued, getting louder as he drew closer. Too loud. “I’ve made you an omelette with some of the herbs we picked up the other day. It, ah, should be to your liking but if not I-” Jon’s voice faltered as he reached the doorway, and Martin forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes. A variety of unpleasant feelings twisted within him. He must look particularly awful if he made Jon stop short. He didn’t want to give Jon time to confirm it, so he forced himself to speak.

“Thank you. I’ll be there shortly.” Please leave me alone, Martin left unsaid.

By the time he’d managed to make it to the table, having given up on trying to fix the rat’s nest his hair had become, the food Jon had put effort into making was barely lukewarm. It would probably have been delicious on another day. He managed about half of it between sips of over-brewed tea before he set his fork down. The sound of metal against porcelain was jarring enough to make him flinch, even though he was the one who’d done it. Old guilt rose in him at the idea of letting good food go to waste, but the thought of trying to force down another bite made his throat feel tight.

“I’m not very hungry.” He didn’t add that he wasn’t very anything right now, but from the looks of it Jon knew. Part of him resented that, even though it wasn’t exactly something that would require superhuman knowledge to catch.

“Not feeling well today, I take it. I...wasn’t up for eating this morning either. Perhaps we caught something in the village.” Martin knew that on a better day he would have appreciated that olive branch. Would have agreed, or maybe even made some joke or another despite both of them knowing perfectly well that their relative states had nothing to do with the flu. Today, though, the reminder that Jon hadn’t even bothered to make himself food was the last thing he wanted. He’d noticed that there was no second plate in the sink, but he’d been trying not to think about it. Not to mention that the way Jon had avoided asking him a question spoke volumes.

After Jon had cleared away the dishes and Martin had pretended not to see the way the man’s hands trembled or the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, they sat together in the main room. At first Jon had sat beside him, but his weight against Martin’s side didn’t have its usual comforting effect. It had been stifling, and every shift of the man’s body or sound of a flipped page made Martin tense. At some point, Martin wasn’t sure how long after they’d sat down, Jon had pretended that he had left something in the kitchen and settled in the armchair upon his return.

More of the day passed that way; from time to time Martin would register that the direction of the muddled sunlight coming through the windows had changed, but mostly his thoughts were faint and distant. Lost as soon as they’d registered, except for when some sound or another would cut through everything to send a stab of discomfort through him. He could feel Jon’s eyes on him. It wasn’t comforting. His skin prickled under the man’s stare, and he was about to ask him to stop when it happened.

“What’s wrong, Martin?” Martin had long enough to look up, shocked, before the compulsion forced the words from his mouth. “I woke up this morning with Peter’s voice in my head and thought I was still in the Lonely because your side of the bed didn’t even look slept in. I don’t remember the last time I saw you eat and that scares me. I can see you’re in withdrawal and I still remember that woman who came to me describing what you did to her, every single sound and bright color and taste is overwhelming today and part of me is still waiting to find out this whole thing is the punchline to a particularly unfunny joke.”

As everything poured out, he could hear Jon apologize, tell him in a panicked voice that he didn’t mean to. It didn’t remove the effect, though, and by the time he had control over himself again he didn’t particularly want to tell Jon it was okay. He didn’t say anything more at all before he stood and walked out of the room. Jon was still speaking, but there was nothing supernatural to his tone anymore so Martin wasn’t forced to listen or comprehend what he was saying.

The next time he came back to himself, the sun was low in the sky. Long shadows and rich orange light stretched across the floor. His thoughts were still clouded and his body heavy, but he was at least able to move without feeling out of sync with his own body. There had to have been more to the day than the few scraps of memory he could pull out of the fog. Something more than food that turned his stomach and Jon compelling him. But what it was, he couldn’t recall.

He remembered clearly the way it felt to have the answer forced out of him, but the actual words he’d said were another story. All he knew was that he’d been so tired and so angry. That he hadn’t wanted to listen to Jon’s desperate apologies. Part of him still didn’t, but he knew they needed to talk. He’d made his choice; being by Jon’s side, loving him, sometimes meant dealing with things that he shouldn’t have to. And Martin knew that Jon tried his best not to use his powers on him but he’d been getting weaker as the days went by. It was probably only a matter of time before he slipped, and it was better that it happened now rather than when they were out in town. That still didn’t make it okay, but he needed to look at things objectively.

Jon was still in the armchair when Martin found him, staring out the window. Given the way he startled when Martin’s hand came to rest lightly on his shoulder, he hadn’t heard him approach. The look of shock on his face was quickly replaced by shame. “O-oh, Martin...I really am so-” “Jon.” It wasn’t unkind, but Martin’s tone left no room for interpretation. “I’m aware things are difficult for you, and I know that you’re trying, but- please never compel me again. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure I would have chosen my words better if they hadn’t been forced from me. I know I’ve been doing better the longer I’ve been out of the Lonely, but today was bad. Still is, really, but I can actually keep thoughts in my head long enough to be able to talk.” A sigh escaped Martin as he made his way to the couch, motioning for Jon to join him. His instincts pushed for him to soften his words a bit more, to reassure Jon that everything was fine, but it wasn’t. Drawing limits, having boundaries, that wasn’t something unacceptable. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt a bit to see how cautious Jon was as he sat down, carefully avoiding sitting too close to him.

“You’re right. I mean, o-of course you’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve had a statement, and that tends to affect my interest in regular food. Among...other things. But that doesn’t excuse my forcing an answer out of you. Nor does the fact that I didn’t do it intentionally. I am sorry, but that doesn’t mean you need to forgive me.”

“I know.” Martin didn’t quite feel up to smiling, not yet, but he placed his hand over Jon’s. “We can talk about it more later, work out a system. Figure things out. For now let’s just...agree that it’s on hold.” He brushed a lock of loose hair from Jon’s face, tucking it behind the man’s ear.

“I love you. That hasn’t changed.” Martin added after a few moments. The silence that fell between them this time, as Jon leaned wordlessly into his touch, had a much different quality. If he wasn’t still oversensitive to sound, Martin might have missed Jon’s eventual response, soft and buried in his jumper as it was.

#tma #TMAHCweek #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #the magnus archives

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chicagocityfclanspromoblog · 4 years ago

Photo

Dakota English → Summer Bishill → Rat Shifter

→ Basic Information

Age: 36

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Born or Made: Born

Birthday: October 11th

Zodiac Sign: Libra

Religion: Deism

→ Her Personality Dakota is a beautiful, strong-willed, powerful, highly intelligent, and self-made woman, who does not allow the world to stand in the way of her ambition. She is considerably powerful and influential. Dakota swings way above the depression and anxiety line, having her work and social life in order despite having to routinely deal with incredibly dangerous missions and warlocks. She is fierce and she always stands her ground no matter the circumstances. She gives a feminist element to the pack in the most cunning and intelligent way. Although at first sight, she may seem superficial, Dakota is a keen observer; whose specialties are gossip, competition, and drama. Dakota has shown to be the most rational of her teams during stressful situations, often being mistaken for cruel and bitter, when in truth she is pragmatic, focusing on what needs to be done instead of her emotions.

→ Her Personal Facts

Occupation: Team member of BOND and GOLD

Scars: Missing her right eye

Tattoos: None

Two Likes: Morning after Mission Breakfasts and Gold jewelry

Two Dislikes: Warlocks/Witches and Jameson

Two Fears: Watching someone she loves hurt/killed while she can do nothing about it and being eaten alive by fire ants

Two Hobbies: Archery and Tai Chi

Three Positive Traits: Loyal, Daring, Pragmatic

Three Negative Traits: Standoffish, Calculating, Cut Throat

→ Her Connections

Parent Names:

Rina English (Mother): They have a perfect mother, daughter relationship. She confides in her with everything, from bad days at work to her struggles with West’s addiction. Rina was the only person who had an inkling West and Dakota were eloping when her daughter asked for something old and blue from her. Dakota can’t keep anything from her mother, and wouldn’t want it any other way.

Michael English (Father): Dakota has always been a daddy’s girl; his pride and joy. Michael believes that she deserves only the best and it’s what made him decide to take West under his wing. He knew that his head strong little girl was set on the gangly boy and decided to shape him into a good, respectable man.

Sibling Names:

None

Children Names:

None

Romantic Connections:

West Freemen (Mate): Dakota married her best friend. They fight and argue, smile and laugh, irritate and cry for each other. West loves her and she loves his weirdness and the man he has become. She wants to spend her time with him and respects his decisions. His drug habits annoy her but they’re a two person team that no one else is allowed to join. But she refuses to let that habit stop them from being together. They resolve their problems and bounce back to normal after every misstep.

Platonic Connections:

Louis Martin-Rovet (Head/Friend): Louis is her “at-home” head and stake out partner. He’s incredibly smart, and Dakota has learned a lot from him. Louis is the only one of her bosses who has treated her like she’s still capable, and allows her in the field.

Neaera Jayweed (Acquaintance): Dakota really likes Neaera and her complete and utter confidence in going against Nick. She thinks she’s probably fun and wants to get to know her more.

Jo Floyd (Confidant): Jo is the only rat who knows she’s looking into trying to find a way to get her eye back. She has been cautiously supportive and has even investigated links with her, but a part of Dakota knows she’ll tell Nick as soon as it gets serious.

Judson Clerigh (Only Lead): Judson mentioned to her in passing he could make her a new working eye, but Dakota is terrified of the consequences. She knows Louis would not be ok with her doing that and she knows the dangers of accepting magic and the hidden costs that come with it. Still it’s been the only thing she’s found that’s an option.

Hostile Connections:

Flower Hanes (Dislike): Dakota kept getting tripped up and caught in vines one day, only to find Flower and Belle laughing.

Roman Clerigh (Dislike): Roman Clerigh is like a necessary evil to her. His potions are safe for West, but she wished that West wasn’t hooked on them. And it’s easier for her to blame Roman than address the actual problem.

Minsky Edison (Scared of): There is something truly horrifying about mind control to Dakota. She’s head strong and unwavering in her beliefs, and to have someone be able to take that from her is incredibly frightening to her.

Nick Hamelin (Annoyed with): Nick has banned her from BOND missions since she lost her eye. She keeps trying to convince him to let her back in the field, but she’s pretty sure that now he’s keeping her out due to spite.

Pets:

None

→ History Dakota was Michael and Rina English’s miracle baby. With both having high stress teams (her’s GOLD, his BOND) the likelihood of Rina getting pregnant was slim, but right before they were about to stop their aging again, she began getting sick. Both knew she would be their one and only and strived to give her the best life they could. Immediately they began reading parenting books, and strategize how to best bring their child up. When Dakota finally arrived her parents became dedicated to teaching her how to be the smartest and strongest person they could.

Her cleverness became evident when Dakota was in second grade. She’d seen one of the rat kids getting bullied. She collected as many rocks as she could carry and started her assault. The bullies quickly scattered quickly after the rat boy did. She found him later and introduced herself, and from there the greatest friendship of her life began. Dakota and West became inseparable that Summer and spent most of it getting back at the bullies in rat form. From that year West became a part of the English family, with Rina taking care of him like he was her own son. Unfortunately that didn’t mean he was immune from his own parents’ comments, and Dakota felt him slipping away from her in their teen years. She tried supporting him the best she could, keeping his secrets and helping him hide his hangovers from the older rats. When he was 16, West got caught. He told her everything that had happened with Jalissa, but it wasn’t until his parents outed his problem to the whole pack. Rina and Michael eventually heard and pulled their own daughter aside, wanting to know how involved she was in everything. When she finally broke down and told her she had to make a choice of whether she cared about West’s health or his friendship. It woke her up to what could happen to him and the feelings she had for her best friend. She began actually helping keep him safe. Making sure she was always there if he went too overboard, or couldn’t protect himself. Their friendship quickly blurred the lines into a relationship, and her parents caught them. Michael decided to train West to take a spot in BOND, while Rina offered to train her for GOLD. Dakota knew she’d be good for BOND and begged Ray to train her. He took her under his wing, after months of bothering, and by the time she hit 18 she was team mates with her father and boyfriend on BOND. She and West went to the University of Chicago together and after graduation became mates.

She and West became a reliable team for BOND, being capable of taking on most of the “couple” assignments, as well as just having a good understanding of each other. But West fell back into drugs, and especially potions, and began taking larger risks. During a mission in Prague, West needed a fix and got his supply from a random witch, who wanted something way more than a usual payment. Dakota offered her own sacrifice for him, and gave up her eye to protect him from the witch’s magic. After that mission West mostly cleaned up his act, but alternated babying her while endlessly apologizing, and sinking into a deep depression spurred on by the comments from others in the pack, especially his mother. The wrath and rage that had come from losing her eye was released onto those who felt like her lost eye was their business. She got him to eventually see her as the same woman she was before, and they came out in the end stronger.

→ The Present It’s been about a year and a half since Dakota gave up her eye for West. She’s gone through most of the stages of grieving over it and is finally looking into fixing it. She’s looked all over for any kind of remedy. Since it is a magical wound, it’s never going to heal naturally. Which means she’s stuck looking for a magical source to fix it. She’s currently looking into witches or warlocks both locally and out of town for solutions but her sources are not readily forthcoming with that kind of information. Dakota’s also making great strides to hide it from her pack, parents, and especially West. She wants to put on a brave face for them, and it took West months before he trusted himself again. She’s accepted it the way she looks now, but still yearns to have both eyes back. Jo stumbled upon her researching at a cafe and got her to spill, and is now trying to assist in her search. Ultimately Dakota is aware Nick is going to find out, and so will the rest of the pack, but she wants to have a plan to show before that happens.

West and Dakota recently were outed as married by an accidental opening of mail. She knows the pack was thrown by it, and that Nick is pissed, but she is waiting to let someone else pick the fight. She has something bigger to fight. Dakota would really like West to stop relying on potions and try out therapy to deal with his inner emotional turmoil. His parents truly messed him up and Dakota knows how he could be even more incredible if he didn’t have their criticisms hanging in her head. She’s gotten the higher ups in the pack to approve of sessions for West and is now trying to think of how to pitch it to him.

→ Available Gif Hunts (we do not own these)

Summer Bishil (Dakota English) [1][2][3][4]

#Summer Bishil #mature rpg #oc rpg #fantasy rpg #supernatural rpg

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doof-doofblog · 4 years ago

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"What Is It? Patrick? Patrick?!"

Thursday 7th January 2021

Good evening everyone! Hope you've all had a good day! I'm thrilled to be back posting another blog tonight! I feel so happy to finally be up to date and catch up to the same point as the rest of you! Just want to take this moment again to thank you all for your on-going support. If there's anyway I can improve my blog, please feel free to send me any suggestions!

Now tonight's episode, oh my goodness - quite a few shock factors I have to say! Firstly I'm going to start with Sonia. Clearly she is still behaving out of sorts, lashing out at people for no reason, and yet still we can see clinging on to a little piece of jewellery. I am still convinced that this necklace or chain has some significance, I'm unsure what, but I feel if we see her continuing to handle it, more will be revealed. During the scene where she's at hospital with Ash, she mentions that she can't recall the last time she had a break or even a decent rest. This makes me think that with Sonia being a nurse, I think the thing that's getting to her so much, must be her job. It's true that the NHS have been working around the clock, day and night, 24/7 to fight this virus. What if EastEnders have decided to show us how it must be for some of the people working for the NHS and how much pressure they've been under to fight the virus and how it's has affected them? Physically? Emotionally? Mentally? I feel that this could be Sonia's big story, being a nurse and fighting off Covid-19. It would make sense really, what do you guys think?! Could Sonia be in such a big bubble that she feels no one understands the pressure she's under, how many people she's seen die due to the pandemic? It could very distressing but a very vital and important to show!

Secondly, I want to mention Sharon. She is still putting on a huge front to everyone on the Square, more importantly to Kathy, that she's actually in love with Ian and their marriage is for real. I do feel for Sharon but I do also feel that she's going way in above her head. There are many ways in which she could get revenge on Ian, marry him and take him for every penny he has, not really needing to poison the man. When she finds Kathy approaching Gray for some legal advice, she informs her and everyone else that she and Ian are going to be celebrating their marriage/wedding with a party at the Vic, so everyone can see how committed they are. Even though this is part of her plan, I truly don't know how long she'll be able to put up with it. There is only so much she can take, surely? I mean - Kathy even mentioned whether they had actually consummated the marriage, for some reason I do think that Sharon is going to have to act upon that, just show she'll be able to carry on with her plan and prove their marriage is real, even though she'll hate every single minute of it! But I do feel what she did in tonight's episode was a huge step too far, after realising she was running low of pills to give to Ian, she did the desperate act and approached Jean, using the excuses that she needed tinsel for her upcoming party. Only as soon as Jean was out of the room, she rummaged in the poor woman's handbag and nicked, what I'm assuming was, Jean's bipolar medication. This is going to look awful, not just on Sharon, but also for Jean and the Slater's. What if Jean notices her medication is missing? Or even Stacey? Could it cause Jean to go on a downward spiral? Who knows? I do fear that Sharon's actions could have some serious repercussions for an innocent party.

Thirdly, let's talk about Martin, Ruby and Kush! After being kicked out of the Slater household, Kush is now living with Martin and Ruby. Even though he has no where else to stay, Kush is only staying there because he threatened Ruby by telling her that he'd reveal her involvement in his set up to flee Walford with Arthur. It appears to be the morning after and Martin still isn't interesting in forgiving his best mate. As Martin leaves the room, Kush sits down with Ruby and they begin to talk about Martin, Ruby still hasn't told her husband about her involvement but she seems to feel that Martin isn't talking to her like the way he should, he always seems to be going to Stacey for advice and to talk about things. Kush tries to console Ruby by telling her that Martin is a good Dad, and with Stacey being the mother of his kids, she has to accept the fact that she'll be a part of his life forever, with Ruby looking solemn he makes the very important statement that Martin lives for his kids. It looks as if these words seem to play on Ruby's mind. Meanwhile, while Ruby and Kush are having their discussion, Martin has caught up with Stacey in the Cafe, she openly admits that she understands Kush's actions, however this does not mean that she's forgiven him. Martin is completely surprised by her attitude towards it all, he seemed to expected her to be livid, but she voices her understanding that people do crazy things when they panic, they don't think straight and attempt to do a runner - was Kush acting the same way anyone else would? Stacey's words play on Martin's mind and later he finds his wife at her club, he admits to her that she was right about Kush and that he should forgive his friend. However when he admits that he had spoken to Stacey about it, it upsets Ruby as she begins to feel that her husband doesn't listen to her, as she states that she said the exact same thing that Stacey had told him. Martin seems to think that her wife is jealous or maybe a bit insecure, she questions him whether he actually does love her - he tries to reassure her that he does love her and that his ex's (Stacey and Sonia) are just good friends, plus the very important fact is that they're mother's to his children. BUT THEN - Ruby drops the huge bombshell that she's pregnant! "So am I!" she claims! Leaving Martin looking confused and, honestly, not at all excited! When he asks her if she's truly pregnant, she subtly nods her head. BIG RED FLAG GOING UP!!! I'm telling you all now, she IS NOT pregnant! This will be her plan in an attempt to keep hold of her husband and grasp the attention from him that she so desperately wants, plus it'll also be an attempt to keep him away from Stacey! Only, with this being a lie - this may mean she'll have to become pregnant really quickly, otherwise he'll soon find out she's lying. Will she trick him into sleeping with her? Or could she even blackmail someone else to get her pregnant? Kush maybe?! Ooooo this is going to be a dramatic one I can see it coming!!

The next thing I want to mention is Katy and Frankie! First I just want to say how great it is to see Frankie back! It's been a while since she's been in the soap, I'm hoping now she's back and everything's been revealed, I hope she'll come to realise the truth about her Mum and go and be there for Mick! Will Linda learn to accept her? Could she become a part of the Carter family? Who knows? Either way, I'd love to see her remain in the soap! I think it's a bit unsure as to where Frankie has been, it's clear she hasn't been living with her Mum, and she certainly hasn't been in Walford, where actually has she been?! I think it's very clear and obvious to say that Katy has been completely on edge after Mick confronted her about her abuse towards him. Did Katy reach out to her daughter in pure panic? Making her believe that she has a better chance at life if she was to go to Australia and work in a bar with her God-Mother? Of course, we can tell straight away that it's an attempt to get rid of her daughter before she finds out the awful truth! Only it looks as if Frankie can smell a rat from a mile off, I truly don't think she trusts her Mother - after even having her suspicions about Mick, something mustn't feel right, surely?! The only thing I found pretty impressive in these scenes was the sign language used, even though Mick and Tina never used sign language in front of Frankie (probably because they don't know how) - but Simone Lahbib must've learned how to use sign language for those specific scenes. It's not every day that sign language is shown in a soap, I particularly was impressed with that!

Finally we need to save the best part till last! Patrick! Oh Patrick!!! I want to say how much I've enjoyed seeing so many scenes involving Patrick over the past couple of episodes. It's so nice to see him at the front for a change, Rudolph Walker is an absolutely brilliant actor and EastEnders are so lucky to have him!! The scenes between Patrick and Phil were fantastic, two characters we hardly get to see share a scene together, I have to say I enjoyed every minute of them! We need more of that! Don't you think? I do feel for Patrick, he's trying to keep everybody happy and safe, even though he's going behind Denise's back and letting Phil see Raymond, he's clearly only doing that because Phil promised to keep them safe from Lucas - so I guess it's fair to say that he was stuck in the middle of doing right for both parties. I did feel for him when Denise learnt the truth about him going behind her back, he was clearly devastated as she announced that she felt he betrayed her and her trust. Earlier in the episode when Phil took Raymond out for a kick about, Patrick was getting himself worked up, informing Phil that they should make their way back to the Square, only he suddenly had a bit of shock and had to sit himself down, it look like he had some kind of pain or scare of some kind? Only when Lucas appeared as his front door and barged his way in, Patrick was confronting the murderer, when suddenly he collapsed right in front of him. At first I thought it might've been a heart attack? But then I remembered, a couple of years back Patrick suffered a horrendous stroke and it took him months to learn how to walk and talk again. For a split moment, I thought Lucas was going to help - we know Lucas is evil but could he really stoop so low in letting an old man die right in front of him?! The episode ended with him hesitating to call an ambulance!

I would be absolutely devastated if EastEnders were to kill Patrick off, especially considering the character has only just come back after battling Coronavirus! How bloody awful! I plead that Patrick will survive, I hope maybe Denise, Jack or even Kim might come to the house in time and call an ambulance. I have to say I'm looking forward to tomorrow's episode, I just hope Patrick will be okay! EastEnders would be making a huge mistake if they were to let Patrick be killed off! What do you guys think? I'd love to hear your thoughts, please feel free to leave me a message or comment! I'll be back tomorrow following tomorrow's episode! Enjoy the rest of your night folks! Love you all xXx

#eastenders #lucasjohnson #patricktrueman #philmitchell #denisefox #rubyfowler #martinfowler #staceyslater #kushkazemi #soniafowler #sharonbeale #kathybeale #ianbeale #katylewis #frankielewis #mickcarter #grayatkins #jackbranning

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Biggest Movie Traitors and Backstabbers in Cinema

https://ift.tt/3u8zB6p

Last week, as part of the streaming service’s ongoing plan to bring Warner Brothers’ slate of theatrical releases to audiences at home HBO Max premiered Judas and the Black Messiah on the same day it opened in theaters. Directed by Shaka King, the incendiary historical drama centers on the rise of Fred Hampton, the charismatic Black Panther Party leader, and his tragic betrayal at the hands of FBI informant William O’Neal. Daniel Kaluuya stars as Hampton, a scorched-earth performance that attempts to recreate the magnetism and magma-like intensity of the revolutionary figure, but Kaluuya is somehow not the star of the film.

The film’s true protagonist is O’Neal, played by LaKeith Stanfield. After getting himself into some hot water, O’Neal is propositioned by FBI agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons) to either infiltrate the Black Panther Party and report back on his findings or face jail time. At first O’Neal seems to luxuriate in the kickbacks he’s given by Mitchell for his intel but he quickly learns how dangerous it is to lead a double life. O’Neal also has to try to reconcile betraying the very movement he’s spent real time and energy trying to build.

Stanfield’s performance is filled with queasy anxiety and paranoia but also cockroach-like survival tics. It’s an all-time great turncoat performance, worthy of the biblical reference in the film’s title. To honor Stanfield’s turn as “Wild” Bill O’Neil, here’s a countdown of some of cinema’s greatest backstabbers.

Fredo Corleone – The Godfather Part II (1974)

Fredo Corleone, the least intelligent and most ineffectual of Don Vito’s children, has become something of a pejorative term used against anyone deemed to be the lesser sibling in a famous family. Played with a sense of melancholy and knowing pity by esteemed character actor John Cazale, Fredo’s betrayal of his brother Michael is due more to petty jealousy than it is to Machiavellian scheming or dreams of leading the Corelone Crime Family.

As the character pathetically rages, “‘Send Fredo off to do this. Send Fredo off to do that. Let Fredo take care of some Mickey Mouse night club somewhere’… I can handle things! I’m smart! Not like everybody says!” The worst part about Fredo’s actions against his family is that it’s unclear if Fredo actually knew what was being planned against his brother or whether he was just blindly jumping at the opportunity to be important and have something for himself.

Lando Calrissian – Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back (1980)

Perhaps the most lovable backstabber on the list, Lando at least shows some backbone and tries to make up for his nearly unforgivable alliance with the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader. While serving as Baron Administrator of Cloud City in The Empire Strikes Back, Lando is visited by Vader and bounty hunter Boba Fett and told to help trap his old friend Han Solo and the Rebels seeking sanctuary in Cloud City in exchange for the safety of the city’s citizens.

After selling his friend out, Lando has a change of heart when he overhears Han being tortured and realizes that Vader and the Empire were already reneging on their promises. He helps Leia and Chewbacca escape, and is able to evacuate Cloud City before the Empire is able to retaliate. Later he participates in the near-incompressible plot to rescue Han Solo and serves as a key general in the Rebel Alliance. Still, even back when he’s on the wrong side of the fight, Billy Dee Williams is able to turn Lando an appealing character, making his eventual redemption that much sweeter.

Henry Hill – Goodfellas (1990)

Ray Liotta plays the ultimate rat. After a long and fruitful career as a capo for local boss Paulie Cicero, Henry Hill’s mafia lifestyle comes to a final, screeching halt after he’s arrested by narcotics agents while trying to facilitate unapproved drug deals with his Pittsburgh associates. Henry’s good friend Tommy jokingly posits that Henry would crack under questioning earlier in the film, but Henry’s damning testimony against his associates Jimmy Conway and Paulie is all about survival: Henry knows that if he doesn’t cover his own ass, Jimmy will have him and his wife killed.

Culture

The Real Goodfellas: Gangsters That Inspired the Martin Scorsese Film

By Tony Sokol

Movies

The Godfather Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone Proves a Little Less is Infinitely More

By Tony Sokol

Becoming the very thing that mafioso’s hate most of all, Henry turns on his friends and is forced into the witness protection program. All Henry ever wanted was to be a gangster, but in the protection program, he’s reduced to “an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.” It’s a fate that may be worse than death for him.

Mr. Orange – Reservoir Dogs (1992)

Arguably the villain of the story, depending on who’s side you’re on, Mr. Orange is actually L.A.P.D. undercover cop Freddy Newandyke. Looking to bring down crime boss Joe Cabot, Mr. Orange infiltrates his crew and takes part in diamond heist gone bad. In the ensuing chaos, Mr. Orange is shot and ends up killing an innocent civilian in retaliation. Played by Tim Roth, Mr. Orange screams and cries as he believes he’s fatally wounded, but it’s also possible that he’s airing out the guilt he feels in letting his undercover operation get so out of hand.

Without going into all of the bloodshed in the conclusion of Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs, Mr. Orange’s double agent status is so sound that it eventually leads to the demise of almost all of Cabot’s colorful crew, and Orange then feels compelled to confess his deception, resulting in an ambiguous ending that most believe concludes with his death.

Dennis Nedry – Jurassic Park (1993)

Wayne Knight’s Dennis Nedry is probably the most cartoonish Benedict Arnold of the bunch, and if you think about it, the only human antagonist in the original Jurassic Park film, if you’re not counting short-sighted, megalomaniacal John Hammond. The slovenly Nedry is chief architect of the computer system at the fledgling Jurassic Park theme park, and he’s miffed by perceived low pay. So he decides to take an offer from Lewis Dodgson (“DODGSON, WE GOT DODGSON HERE!) of rival biotech company Biosyn to steal embryos of 15 dinosaur species in exchange for $61,500,000.

To make his grand escape with the embryos, Nedry shuts down the park’s security systems, including the electric fences surrounding the dinosaur paddocks. He also uploads a self-aggrandizing computer virus to prevent the systems from being quickly turned back on. However, a perfect combination of his own harebrained scheme and a nasty storm leaves Nedry stranded and at the mercy of a young Dilophosaurus. It does not end well.

Cypher – The Matrix (1999)

Cypher’s betrayal of the Nebuchadnezzar crew in The Matrix is pretty easy to see coming, and not just because the character is played by Joe Pantoliano, who’s portrayed many malcontents throughout his career. Cypher being a red pill dabbler and wishes he had taken the blue pill instead. He also outwardly makes his disapproval of Morpheus known throughout the movie. Using “ignorance is bliss” as his mantra, he strikes a deal with Agent Smith to return him to the Matrix and erase his memory of ever awakening from it in exchange for selling Morpheus out.

Movies

The Matrix 4 Already Happened: Revisiting The Matrix Online

By John Saavedra

Movies

Jurassic World: Top Jurassic Park Deaths by Dinosaurs

By David Crow

After tipping Smith off to a meeting with the Oracle, Cypher goes full villain and unflinchingly kills Dozer, Apoc, and Switch before finally being stopped and killed. At least he’s free from the reality he hated so much.

“Mad Eye Moody” (aka Barty Crouch Jr.) – Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)

What’s a bigger betrayal: Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr. revealing that he’s been impersonating Alator “Mad Eye” Moody for the entirety of Harry Potter’s fourth year at Hogwarts, or Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling revealing herself to be a transphobe, betraying many of the themes of her beloved book series? We’ll leave that one to you, dear reader.

However, Barty Crouch Jr. (David Tennant before he was the Doctor) memorably betrays Harry Potter and the Hogwarts community by using the Polyjuice Potion to impersonate the former Auror and ensure that Harry would get into the Triwizard Tournament and ascend to the Third Task, which was a trap to help Lord Voldemort return to a body of his own. At least the real Mad Eye didn’t actually turn his back on those that revered him (like Rowling).

Colin Sullivan – The Departed (2006)

The biggest rat in a film full of “gnawing, cheese-eating fucking rats,” Sgt. Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) is the criminal counterpoint to Leonardo DiCaprio’s undercover cop Billy Costigan, an undercover gangster who serves as the personal mole to Irish mob boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson).

Played with smarm and cowardice by Damon, Sullivan eventually double crosses the police and Costello when he discovers that Costello is an FBI informant—a rat leading rats. Scared but trying to retain his high-ranking job, Sullivan misguidedly tries to position himself as a hero and tie up all loose ends, resulting in a shocking, bloody finale that finds cocky Colin Sullivan miraculously as the last man standing. Or at least the last man standing for the moment, as a final, forgotten loose end returns to give the audience what they want; another dead rat.

Robert Ford – The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007)

Well, it’s all right there in the title, innit? Played with a jealous, insecure bent by a creepy (in multiple ways) Casey Affleck, Robert Ford starts off as a Jesse James fanboy, desperate to join the outlaw’s gang with his brother Charlie (Sam Rockwell). When he finally gets close to the mythical criminal (a shadowy Brad Pitt), Bob begins to resent the man, eventually brokering a deal with the Governor of Missouri to either capture or kill Jesse James in exchange for a substantial bounty and full pardon.

Movies

Hamilton: The Real History of the Burr-Hamilton Duel

By David Crow

Movies

News of the World Review: Tom Hanks Western Has Rugged Warmth

By David Crow

Bob Ford cozies up to Jesse James even further, eventually earning the man’s complete trust, before cowardly shooting the man in the back—although in the film both carry an air of expectation that it needs to happen. Ford then lives out the rest of his days known as the coward punk that betrayed Jesse James until his eventual murder.

Aaron Burr – Hamilton (2020)

Close knit allies but ideological opposites, Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton both fought in the Continental Army for independence from the British. However, when it came time to actual govern the new country that they fought to begin, the men drifted apart.

It’s unfair to call Burr the only backstabber in this relationship, because both men betray their former friend. Burr (Leslie Odom Jr.) becomes jealous that Hamilton (Lin-Manuel Miranda) constantly has George Washington’s ear, and switches political parties to defeat Hamilton’s father-in-law in an election, ending their mutual admiration.

Burr also inadvertently pressures Hamilton to publicly reveal an affair, which strains the rivals’ relationships even further. However, when Hamilton endorses Thomas Jefferson (Daveed Diggs) in the third presidential election, a man that he doesn’t even like, to block Burr’s political malleability from the presidency, it becomes the final straw for Burr, who challenges Hamilton to a duel. In the ensuing gunfight, Hamilton throws away his shot, and Burr seals his fate to be remembered as the villain who killed Alexander Hamilton.

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lighten-up-squirt · 4 years ago

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2, 6, 22 ☺️

I have only just seen this so im hoping I answer from the right set of questions!!

2: is there a band with only one song you like? as much as it pains me to say... Coldplay have that song The Scientist and it’s a good song I can’t deny. They used it on Cold Feet in one of the early seasons and it makes me think of that episode. it’s a good song well done chris martin

6: is there an artist whose solo career you prefer over their work with their band(s)? Well... sort of? I LOVE josh klinghoffer and his solo stuff is under the name Pluralone and it’s amazing. He’s not in the chilli peppers anymore but I guess this is kind of the answer to the question!

22: list 10 favourite songs by your top 10 bands (each) this is going to be a big one haha Radiohead: Let Down, Idioteque, Fake Plastic Trees, Stop Whispering, A Wolf at the Door, Pyramid Song, Lift, I Will (No Man’s Land), Go To Sleep (Little Man Being Erased) & The Daily Mail

Suede: Beautiful Ones, Flytipping, The Wild Ones, Everything Will Flow, Whipsnade, The Chemistry Between Us, Trash, Lazy, By The Sea, My Dark Star

Interpol: Pace is the Trick, Lights, Obstacle 1, No I In Threesome, My Desire, Try It On, NARC, My Blue Supreme, Everything is Wrong, Specialist

Manic Street Preachers: Design For Life, The Everlasting, Motorcycle Emptiness, The Girl Who Wanted to be God, Archives of Pain, If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next, Your Love Alone Is Not Enough, I Live to Fall Asleep, A Song for Departure, She is Suffering

Pink Floyd: Young Lust, Learning to Fly, Wish You Were Here, Comfortably Numb, Money, Brain Damage, Eclipse, Hey You, Have a Cigar, Echoes

HIM: Circle of Fear, The Sacrament, Disarm Me (With Your Loneliness), Pretending, The Kiss of Dawn, Sleepwalking Past Hope, Salt In Our Wounds, Heartache Every Moment, In Joy and Sorrow, Bury Me Deep Inside Your Heart

Pluralone: Steal Away, Seque, Rat Bastards At Every Turn, Save, The Night Won’t Scare Me, I Hear You, Carry, Was Never There, Crawl, Barreling

Tamino: Reverse, Intervals, Tummy, Habibi, Indigo Night, Crocodile, w.o.t.h, Cigar, Verses, Sun May Shine

Placebo: Bosco, Begin the End, A Million Little Pieces, Too Many Friends, Commercial for Levi, Without You I’m Nothing, Teenage Angst, Song To Say Goodbye, Infra-Red, My Sweet Prince

Franz Ferdinand: A Glimpse of Love, Slow Don’t Kill Me Slow, Stand on the Horizon, Ulysses, The Fallen, Walk Away, Do You Want To, Auf Achse, Love Illumination, The Academy Award

Thanks so much for the tag! This was really fun

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years ago

Text

What’s Left of God’s Light (May Not be Enough)

AN: I have been playing A Plague Tale: Innocence and very much enjoying it. I said I shouldn’t plunk the squad in there.

I did it anyway. For, um. Expanding my writerly horizons. Or something.

I totally did it for fun.

Also on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956727

* * *

The air is thick with the stench of bodies, smoke, and terrified horses. Men are screaming. The ground, already marshy, is growing wetter with spilled blood. The creaking of the towers and the sounds of the catapults are so, so loud and to make matters worse, it’s starting to rain.

They’ve been here for three days. Three hellish days of death and pain and fear. Antoine thinks they’re losing. They started out organized but both sides have since devolved into the sort of savagery he hopes never to see again. At this point, all he wants is to make it out alive.

Night is falling, but with the sky already dark it almost doesn’t matter. He’s just pulling back to try and gather new bolts when there’s a new creak, a big creak, almost directly above him.

One of the towers is...very wet. Glistening, rain or no rain. And it smells of oil--oil--

“Move!” he shouts, unsure if there’s anyone that can hear him anyway. “Get out, get away from the--”

FWOOSH!

He scrambles backwards, trips on a body and ends up on his back in the mud.

God, please--

“We got ‘em on the run, boys!” Fucking English scum. “Keep after ‘em--what the hell?”

The ground’s shaking. He’d thought it was the tower, or even just the sheer number of people. But then the earth...it. It bubbles up, a few feet away from the tower. And then it just sort of...pops, like a boil, and black gunk spews out.

No. No, not gunk. Rats, it’s thousands of goddamn rats--THE BITE--

There’s a soldier, not twenty feet from him. He’s shadowed, making it impossible to tell which side he’s on. The swarm of rats stops, just for a second, and then, as one, they see him. And they rush him.

Antoine’s never seen anything like that. But he thinks maybe they’re scared. Bugs run at people, sometimes, and so do common mice. Maybe they’re scared.

“No, no-no, no--AUGH!”

One minute, the man is standing in the mud. The next, they’re all over him they’re all over him. And then...then he’s...he’s not there, anymore. When the swarm moves on, Antoine can just make out white bones before they sink into the muck.

There’s more rumbling, and the squeaking reaches a new volume that nearly drowns out the screams of men and horses alike. In the distance, he can see more earth-boils spewing rats. God, where is he supposed to--what can he--

“The light!” That sounds like Jason. Where is he…? “Get in the light, come on! Move!”

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles as close to the burning tower as he dares. In the distance, he can just make out a horse and cart stopped by a small torch, but that torch won’t last in this rain.

“Here!” he shouts. Come on, come on, there has to be something--there! A heap of straw, if it’s not too damp. “I’ll try to light that, be ready to move!”

“Okay!” Mark’s voice. Why is he out here? Never mind…

He’s always been a little skittish, shooting fire at anything. There’s no time to aim, hardly, and one mistake…

But this has gone beyond battle and straight to the end of all things.

By the grace of God, the haystack lights up and the cart is moving, careening over bodies and rats alike to get to it. It stops, just for a few seconds, before going again, this time towards Antoine.

There’s three people, all told. Frank, who’s driving, Mark, who’s clutching a barely-burning lantern, and Jimmy, who looks green. The horse is terrified, eyes rolling in panic, but he’s still enough, blowing hard but not looking completely likely to bolt.

“Easy, old man, easy,” he murmurs, more out of habit than anything. His voice shakes in his own ears and he doubts the horse is soothed in the least. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” Frank sounds just as bad. “I don’t know, they came out of nowhere--”

“I saw--”

“Why are they acting like this--”

“God in Heaven--”

“Stay in the light!” Where is he? “Stay in the light, they’re afraid of it!”

The rats rush something. Antoine doesn’t know what, he can’t see and he doesn’t want to and--

There’s a terrific THUD! followed by angry squeaking and Trent’s thunderous voice going, “Get back, you sorry little bastards!”

Trent’s easier to spot, especially when he rears back and brings his flail down on a section of rats just outside the reach of his flickering torch.

“Here!” he shouts. “Make a run for it before the fire goes!”

“What do we do?” Jimmy’s whispering. He’s in Mark’s personal space, but Mark either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “This isn’t...I’ve never seen rats act like this, what’s happening?”

Trent narrowly avoids skidding into the cart, Riley slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Riley’s not hurt, but he is the one holding the torch.

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No. No, we heard Jason, just after the ground opened up, but we didn’t see him.”

The screaming has scaled way back. No more horses, fewer men. The storm’s picked up, though, and Antoine is suddenly struck with the fear that the burning tower...might not stay burning.

It’s dark. It’s so damn dark, except for the spots of torchlight dotted throughout the field. And the ground’s still moving, the rats swarming over the bodies. Three days’ worth of corpses, two armies of men, and they’re going through it like pigs go through corn.

He doesn’t want to die here.

He steps back, closer to the horse and the fire, and strains to see anything, anything at all besides the writhing ground.

“There!” What? What now? “I think that’s--Jason! Is that you?”

Oh. There’s a bit of light. Not a lot of light, but a bit. Enough, for the moment.

“Yeah!” The figure jabs the light at the encroaching shadow and it recoils, squeaking. “How many made it?”

“Six!”

“I’ve got another one!” But for how long? “Is there.” He stops, suddenly, and maybe the world is going to end, because Antoine’s seen this idiot stare down a sword to his throat and laugh. Frank had been furious. “Is there any way you can make a path for us?”

They can’t make it to them with a torch, not in this rain. But...there’s piles of plant matter, and a handful of stick bundles they’ve all been using for tools and torches and weapons.

“Are either of you injured?”

“No!”

Good. Okay.

“I’m going to light you a path!” he calls over. “Be ready to run!”

The first stack of plants goes up just as the other light goes out and they all cringe, bracing for the screams. But they don’t come, and a second later, there’s two figures in the firelight. Maybe they can pull this off. It’s only maybe...four, five more lights to get to them. They can do this.

Eventually, they’re close enough that Antoine can see who Jason’s got with him. It’s Martin, a kid-literally, he’s maybe fifteen-who got caught up in all the lies about glory and what-have-you. Antoine’s relieved to see him alive.

“All right,” Jason’s saying, half-shouting to be heard over the downpour, “you go first, and I’ll be right behind you. You ready?”

“Yes.”

“Go.”

They sprint for it, ground shrieking as they dash through, and Trent thrusts an arm out to half-lift Martin into the safety of the light. Jason skids in after him, gasping for breath and nearly bowling Antoine over before he can stop.

There’s no more screams, now. Just skittering and squeaking and...feeding noises.

“What now?”

Frank jerks his head towards the cart.

“You may as well get out of the mud,” he says. “Away from the...from the edge.”

It’s the best they’ve got. They clamber in and Frank tugs Martin against his side with a soft, “Just don’t look anymore. You don’t need to see this.”

“They’re everywhere--”

“Shh. Don’t. Just don’t.”

They sit quietly, just breathing and shaking and stealing glances at the carnage in the dark. The horse stomps the mud and Antoine leans over to give it what he hopes comes off as a reassuring pat. Horses are either paranoid idiots or obscenely understanding, and there is no in-between.

Jimmy’s the one that finally speaks, voice thick and shaky.

“Think there’s anyone else?”

Jason shrugs.

“I don’t know. I didn’t--I didn’t see anyone, but maybe...maybe...I don’t know.”

“We’re gonna die,” Martin whispers frantically. “We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die--”

“Shh.” Frank rubs his shoulders. “We’re gonna be fine, we just have to…”

“Is anyone hurt?” Antoine’s never been gladder to hear Mark’s ‘give me no horseshit or on my mother’s grave, I’ll beat you with your own severed limb’ tone. So there’s a shake to it. That’s understandable.

There’s a chorus of ‘nos’ and a head-shake from Riley. It’s something.

“You’re all sure? Nobody was bitten?”

More ‘nos’. Riley hops out to check the horse, which doesn’t terribly appreciate the poking, judging by the suddenly flat ears.

He gives them a thumbs up, though, before hefting himself back into the cart. Good. Good. Antoine’s not sure if animals can be...Bitten...but he’d rather not contend with a crazy horse or anything.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We pray,” Trent says tiredly. “That’s the best idea I’ve got.”

Nobody else has a better solution, and they all join hands. On an afterthought, Antoine leans over to put his hand on the horse. It deserves to be included. Martin apparently agrees.

“You may as well lead us, then,” Jason tells Trent. “This is your idea.”

In better circumstances, that might have been met with a, what, you’d rather me struck down than you? followed by a friendly back-and-forth. But tonight, Trent just nods, takes a deep breath, and rumbles, “Our Father in Heaven…”

Now they just have to hope the tower continues to burn until...theoretically dawn, but...maybe there won’t be a dawn. Maybe the world’s over.

God, he doesn’t want to die out here.

THE END

#plague tale innocence #the squad #AU #Jason Todd #thing I said I shouldn't do: plunk the squad in the Plague Tale verse #thing I did: that #warning: rats #wrath of God-style rats but still #any warnings that apply to the game totally apply here #fusion fic

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themurphyzone · 6 years ago

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First Impressions Recap

OK so I had to recap this episode cause it reveals a lot about our favorite characters! Plus it’s my favorite out of the season so far!

Who made a Steam game that conveniently has creatures Milo’s dealt with so far?

I like how this short scene reveals a lot about how Brigitte’s pregnancy went.

1. Brigitte and Martin didn’t know if they were having a boy or girl. Whether this is due to a deliberate decision on their part or if Murphy’s Law prevented did something to prevent them from viewing an ultrasound is unknown. Personally I like to think they wanted to be surprised.

2. Murphy’s Law first expresses itself when the mother goes into labor.

3. Judging from Sara’s “Yeah, I got it, call an ambulance” reaction, they prepared her really well!

Can we get more of Brigitte in overalls? Honestly, Brigitte just has a beautiful design she’s one of my favorite supporting characters

MOM OF THE YEAR

LITTLE DIOGEE WHAT A SWEET PUPPER

“Hi, I’m Melissa Chase, Age 6. I’m Puhcocious!”

I love her introduction.

Melissa tends to matter-of-factly state things she observes, like Milo having a ton of bandages and his backpack being huge.

Melissa’s first experience with Murphy’s Law. Milo is already pretty adept at using his backpack!

Aw, Diogee is just a little escape artist!

Amanda playing with her bear is precious

Milo being upset when Melissa doesn’t want to sit by him is heartbreaking. He was so excited to make a friend, but this is the first time he’s probably been hit with the reality that people might not want to be his friends cause of Murphy’s Law.

And even without Murphy’s Law, this scene is so poignant because I’m sure we’ve all been in Milo’s position before. You’re a kid who hasn’t been hit with life’s harsh truths yet, and you go to school excited because you wanna meet some new friends. Then your new friend is a little scared to be friends for whatever reason, and you’re alone and thinking it’s something you did when it’s not your fault. Once you overcome those nerves, then you can have a friend for life.

Melissa’s first impression of Milo is that she’d been in active danger if she went near him. Milo’s first impression of Melissa is that she doesn’t want to be friends.

Ah yes, this scene looks familiar.

NEMESIS SONG YESSSSSSSSS

Though this does bring the timeline into question, because Melissa states her age is 6, and they’re 13 in the present, and it would be impossible for Perry and Heinz to meet seven years ago because the Flynn-Fletchers adopted Perry 5 years prior to ATSD, and PnF and MMLtake place in roughly 3/4ths of a year (disregarding the length of PnF’s summer here).

This is fucking worse than trying to figure out the timeline for the Pines family (there had to have been a teen pregnancy somewhere).

I would buy a Kindle if it looked like this

Also, Cavendish. I love his thick glasses and hair part. Though damn he went gray early

I just find this funny

Plus the way he just says “This deserves a lolly!”

I LOVE HOW DAKOTA JUST CARJACKS HIM

ALSO FLOOFY HAIR

AND THAT GREASER OUTFIT YO

That’s rude Dakota

I like how the lady is so offended when Cav calls her burritos lousy

And she smiles when Dakota thinks they’re awesome and delicious

Cav’s first impression of Dakota is that he’s got no sense of personal boundaries, no sense of other people’s property, and that he’s completely selfish in risking their lives just for a burrito. Dakota’s first impression of Cav is that he’s a stickler for doing things by the book.

Melissa trying to sneak up on Milo is precious

He has such a cute frowny face

Melissa has Pinkie Pie teleportation powers?!

She just needed a little time to think about it first.

Grappling hook!

Baby Bradley! With a bowlcut and buckteeth!

I can’t unhear Phineas saying these lines now

“THERE ARE RULES, MAN!”

The way Swampy delivers that is hilarious. And ah yes, the age old tradition of Cav leaning into Dakota when he’s angry

And this is Cav’s first instance of seeing Dakota risking himself to save others.

When you wanna look cool for your boyfriend

Don’t hop over the hood of a car

This is how you do a badass action sequence Dakota

Cav’s knowledge of the car’s mechanics combined with Dakota’s risky maneuvers save the day!

I think we can officially consider this their first date

FRIENDSHIP

What a beautiful beginning

So salty

I can’t believe Doof just said ‘cool story, bro’.

Cavendish saying Dakota was a good man to have around when you’re in trouble is so beautiful.

And Block’s just “I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TWO HAVE A MAKEOUT SESH IN MY OFFICE I WILL DUMP YOU IN THE TIMESTREAM AND LEAVE YOU STRANDED FOREVER”

Conclusion: First impressions don’t give you the full picture of a person.

Milo learned that Melissa wanted to be his friend after all.

Melissa learned that Milo has a huge backpack to help protect himself and others, and that while bad luck persists around him, he’s just a nice kid who wants friends.

Cavendish learned that Dakota will risk himself to protect kids he doesn’t know.

Dakota learned that Cavendish’s knowledge can come in handy and that Cavendish won’t rat him out because he broke the rules for a good cause.

And in PnF, Heinz’s first impression of Perry as his nemesis doesn’t encompass the entirety of their relationship.

#mml spoilers #balthazar cavendish #vinnie dakota #melissa chase #milo murphy's law

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sharperthewriter · 6 years ago

Text

14th Annual Kim Possible Fannies Awards - Final Round of Voting

Hello and good evening to everyone in the Kimmunity.

Now that the first round of voting has come to a close, I am happy to tell you that we have approached the final round of voting. This is going to decide the winner of each of the 29 categories

Now, before the voting can commence, I need to go over a few house rules with y'all on this very important round of voting.

Rule #1) You can pick any category you desire, but you only get one choice per category. No more than that. Authors may vote on their own stories up to 5 categories.

Rule #2) You cannot split your votes.

Rule #3) You can submit your vote in either one of two approved methods

A) You can submit the form by PM to the Kimmunity Fannies fanfiction account (if you have an FFnet account) The link is here: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2622561/KP-Fannie-Committee

B) You can submit the form by an email to the Kimmunity Fannies Yahoo email account. The email address is [email protected].

You cannot, however, do both. It will screw up the system.

Rule #4) You have to submit your vote by June 14th at 11:59 PM (Central US TIME). No votes will be accepted after this date.

Rule 5) You have to put your normal screen name (be it Tumblr, Twitter, DA, FFnet, the active KP forums, or Instagram) under your vote so that it'll tell me who has voted.

Rule #6) And this is the most important rule of all -- You CANNOT share your vote on any social media site (be it Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Facetime, Kik...etc.). The Final Vote Round of the KP Fannies has been private in the past and we, as members of the Council, want to retain it as such as part of our tradition in this fandom.

Rule #7) In the event that a tie emerges in a category, it will go into a runoff to determine a winner. And if still tied, the Sharper Eye test will come into play. (i.e. the story with the most faves and follows will win out in the end.)

With all the house rules in play, may the best author win.

EDIT 1: Had to put in the actual email address to submit votes. :P

Below is the nominees list:

1) Best KP Style Name

Rebecca Starlet (Nacos and a Movie) - StW

Geneous - (Dynamic Reversal) - Emperor of Dreams

Otto Bahn & Lynn Accuarate (What's the Alma Mater) - MrDrP

BattleSkarr & S'ordcClash (All Things Probable) - Slyrr

2) Best Original Character

Anna Stoppable - This Is Our Year: Sightseeing - F86Sabre53

Otto Bahn & Lynn Accurate (What's the Alma Mater) - MrDrP

Rebecca Starlet - (Nacos and a Movie) - STW

Emmie & Jennie Gold - Possibles Pure Love Road -kmtdiccion

Cappuchino - RJ & Martin - Emersonian

Rhino - I'm Scared Too - Magic Flying Spud

3) Best Minor Character

Monique - That's So Monique - NeoTyson

Tara - The Mad Scientists Assistant - Neo the Saiyan Angel

Bonnie, Monique, Camille, Tara, & Junior - Nacos and a Movie - STW

Bates - A Servants Loyalty- Daccu65

Connie & Lonnie Rockwaller - Fun with Con and Lon - Icarus the Foxkidd

Monique - Center Will Not Hold ... Or Will It - SimplyShelbs16

4) Best Villain

Bonnie, Camille & Junior - Nacos and a Movie - STW

Monkey Fist - (RJ & Martin) Emersonian

Dementor - Sophmore Slump - SimplyShelbs16

KP, Drakken and Shego - I'm Scared Too - Magic Flying Spud

Gemini - This Is Our Year: Postgraduation - F86Sabre53

DNAmy - Sheryl - GerbilHunter

5) Best Songfic

The 12 Days of a Possible Family Christmas - STW

KP Never Lets It Go to Her Heart - Ozzy-Zike Fan 10.57

6) Best AU Story

STD 2018 Feels - Jimmy1201

S Plus D Equals K - Neo the Saiyan Angel

The New Fearless Ferrett - Neotyson

KP: Gifted - LJ58

Two Tickets For Murder - eoraptor

A Journey Through Time - DisneyChannelLover

7) Best Crossover-Fusion

Possibles Pure Love Road - kmtdiccion (fusion)

Sky Blue, Ocean Blue - purplegirl761 (Steven Universe)

Turbo a KPPR Story - brycewade1013 (Power Rangers)

A CO N*** Mole Rat in the Schnee Mansion - daccu65 (RWBY)

KP: A Tale of Promethus - LJ58 (KP/Frankenstein Fusion)

The Grim Adventures of Kim and Ron - shadowwriter329 (Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy)

8) Best Alt-Other Canon Pairing

Bonnie & Junior - Nacos and a Movie - STW

Ron & Tara - Today My Life Begins - kmtdiccion

Bonnie & Shego - MrDrP - Picture This

Bonnie & Tim - MasterDuelistMichael - The Tweeb and the Queen B

Bonnie & Ron - Honey Pot - Mr Aanonymous

Ron & Shego - Your Loss is My Gain - Kixen

9) Best Kigo

Canadian Wedding - Von Uriken

I Forget - obscurebeing

Through the Timestream -RedWolfBlack

KP: A Blonde Moment - eoraptor

Acid Rain - VoltageStone

Morning Conversations - FeudorLaurent

10) Best Drakgo

Assorted Ficlets - purplegirl761

Expiration, Pudding and Plums - Imyoshi

S Plus D Equals K - Neo the Saiyan Angel

Unlike the Others - nobody3456

Evil Family - MaRci3o9

11) Best Kim/Ron

Last Dance- Whitem

Nacos and a Movie - STW

Possibles Pure Love Road - kmtdiccion

Lesson One - Eoraptor

Eternal - Neo the Saiyan Angel

Could It Be - Shasta627

12) Best Comedy

Nacos and a Movie - STW

Possibles Pure Love Road - kmtdiccion

Midsummer Nightmare - SimplyShelbs16

The Mad Scientists Assistant - Neo the Saiyan Angel

Ron at the Symphony - Mahler Avatar

Picture This - MrDrP

13) Best Romance

Last Dance- Whitem

Nacos and a Movie - STW

Turkey Day - Neo the Saiyan Angel

This is Our Year: Sightseeing - F86Sabre53

Could It Be - Shasta 627

When the Ball Drops - GerbilHunter

14) Best Friendship

It Came with the Lanyards - SimplyShelbs16

Check the Name - Magic Flying Spud

Assorted Ficlets - purplegirl761

The Mad Scientists Assistant - Neo the Saiyan Angel

Just Like Old Times - nobody3456

The Tweeb and the Queen B - MasterDuelistMichael

15) Best Action-Adventure

Possibles Pure Love Road - kmtdiccion

Lesson One - eoraptor

I'm Scared too - Magic Flying Spud

MMP Twist: Exchange - Czech8

The New Fearless Ferrett - Neotyson

This is Our Year: College - F86Sabre53

16) Best Drama

Awkweird- SimplyShelbs16

Dead Man Switch - Sentinel103

KP: Gifted - LJ58

The Line - Icarus the Foxkidd

Standards - eoraptor

Eternal - Neo the Saiyan Angel

17) Most Unlikely-Unique

Coffee Shop Nights - Magic Flying Spud

Two Diverged Into One - DisneyChannelLover

Too Close for Comfort - James SunderlandsPillow

S D Equals K - Neo the saiyan Angel.

Groundhog Daze - Mahler Avatar

KP: Gifted - LJ58

18) Best One-Shot

Lesson One - eoraptor

Check the Name - Magic Flying Spud

Turkey Day - Neo the Saiyan Angel

Ron at the Symphony - Mahler Avatar

Could It Be - Shasta627

Christmas Surprises - F86Sabre53

19) Best Novel-Sized Story

Nacos and a Movie - STW

Possibles Pure Love Road - kmtdiccion

STD 2018 Feels - Jimmy1201

RJ & Martin - Emersonian

KP: Gifted - LJ58

I'm Scared Too - Magic Flying Spud

20) Best Short Story

Awkweird - SimplyShelbs16

The Initiative and Other Interruptions - Jimmy1201

Motherhood - Taurusdoodles99

The Adventures of Anna Stoppable: Trip to Japan- F86Sabre53

The Tweeb and the Queen B - MasterDuelistMichael

Reunion: Memories & Resolution - Nathaniel E. Kenway

21) Best Series

Center Will Not Hold Series - SimplyShelbs16

Blonde Moment Series - Eoraptor

S Plus D Equakls K Series - Neo the Saiyan Angel

Where the Wind Blows Series - LJ58

This Is Our Year Series - F86Sabre53

I Let Her Lie Series - Nathaniel E. Kenway

22) Best M-Rated Story

Possibles Pure Love Road - kmtdiccion

STD 2018 Feels - Jimmy1201

My Kind of Hero - DismalOrc29177

An Average Day - Neo the Saiyan Angel

My RonRon Time - NeoTyson

KP: Impossible Journey- LJ58

23) Best New Author

SimplyShelbs16

DisneyChannelLover

nobody3456

reapergrimm

F86Sabre53

IcarustheFoxkidd

24) Best Single Line

Nacos and a Movie - (Chapter 26: The Fight: Round 2)

"Shego's battlesuit, meet Kim Possible! Kim Possible, meet Shego's Battlesuit!"

Drakken presented Team Possible with a nasty surprise (Shego's Battlesuit made exactly from the specs of Kim's Battlesuit) and said suit was presented dramatically (i.e. a thunderstorm).

Sky Blue Ocean Blue (purplegirl761) Single lines:

"Don't say that!" Drakken hollers. "You think there isn't a part of me that wants that more than I care to admit? You think there isn't a part of me that would still love to do exactly that? Well, there is! And every time I listen to that part of me, horrible things happen to me and the rest of the world! Ruin! Chaos! Tragedy! Mutant termites! Despair! Fast food restaurants warped beyond recognition! Screaming people! Brainwashed people! People tortured – forced to sit on ice cubes until their rears freeze!"

-from the latest chapter of Sky Blue, Ocean Blue

Last Dance - Whitem: "The two were now standing in the middle of the room, enveloped in silence, and Kim noticed that Ron was floating away from her.

"Please Ron… don't go!" A frail hand reached out to the man she had loved for her entire life. "I… I want to go with you."

Ron's slowly fading form smiled as he answered. "I'm sorry Kim, but you can't. It's not your time. You still have a few more good years left. I waited for you during my lifetime, and I can wait for you in eternity. I love you KP."

Lesson One - Eoraptor Best line: "KP, Ninja school? Sounds cool, but so totally not for me. I spent my first day tangled in, or out of, my own clothes; couldn't eat a meal for like a week, and almost wrecked the joint with a magical sumo stomp. And on top of all that? No fast food!"

"But then I realized — I'll never defeat you. You're smarter than me — than most people — and boy do you know how to win a fight. You see Kimberly Ann," Drakken lectured. "What started all of this was one little thought: If I can't take over the world, maybe she can." - I'm Scared Too

(Magic Flying Spud)

arandomshipper - KP The Princess Bride -

From behind her she heard the sound of many swords being drawn. She sighed. "You reeeeeaaaally don't wanna do this, boys."

"We have our orders."

"If you were ordered to jump off a cliff, would you do that, too? This isn't any different, when it comes down to it, except this way will be more painful."

Butterfly's Wings by Vyrkerion again

-- build up to line: [I could paraphrase a more succinct explanation, but eh it's just a nomination] His skin was pale, and somewhat translucent revealing embedded circuitry and mechanical bits hidden below the surface. Even still then the faintest hints of where freckles used to be dotted across his cheeks. His eyes were a soft brown punctuated with a brilliant glowing red emitting from the depths of his pupils. Most of his head was burnt and scarred, the remnants of the machines fusing with his body, but patches of dusty blonde hair could still be seen sticking out from his scalp.

Kim choked, "Oh… Oh god… no. NO." And with that, Kosch the Killer released his grip on Kim Possible's throat and sent the girl plummeting.As she fell, she could see Kosch mutter something and in her last moments of conscious barely lip-read the words:

-- the actual line I'm nominating:

Die. Kay. Pee.

Die KP.

25) CPNeb Kimmunity Award

SimplyShelby16, Magic Flying Spud, Jerridian, Tennente, Legionniare24601, and Neo the Saiyan Angel.

26) Kimmunity Achievement Award

Whitem, MrDrP, Neo the Saiyan Angel, Jimmy1201, Mahler Avatar, Molloy

27) Best Reviewer

Invader Johnny, MrDrP, Mindless Violence Fan, Jimmy1201, Neotyson, Uberscribber.

28) Best Story of 2018

Nacos and a Movie- STW

Possibles Pure Love Road - kmtdiccion

I'm Scared Too - Magic Flying Spud

KP: Gifted - LJ58

This is Our Year: Sightseeing - F86Sabre53

Step Up - Icarus the Foxkidd

Another Kind of Drama- Novashiro

Honey Pot - Mr. Aanonymous

29) Best Writer of 2018

STW, Kmtdiccion, Eoraptor, SimplyShelbs16, MagicFlyingSpud, Neo the Saiyan Angel, IcarustheFoxkidd, Jimmy1201.

#kim possible #fannies awards #voting #14KPFA

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martinfreemangossip · 6 years ago

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A friend just sent me the full Amanda Abbington article for those who wanted to read it (I don’t) and don’t have a subscription.

Amanda Abbington: ‘The split shook me. I had no self-esteem’

The actress talks about finding love after breaking up with Martin Freeman

Back in early 2014, when I last interviewed Amanda Abbington, she was taking a bashing on social media over her role as Dr Watson’s bride in the BBC series Sherlock. What I could not know was that she was about to go through a far worse time with the man who played him, Martin Freeman, her partner and the father of her son and daughter. Two years after that interview, they separated. Today, encased against the winter in a hat with long earflaps that conceals her newly darkened hair, she tells me about the break-up, how it destroyed her self-esteem and threatened her children’s wellbeing but also, crucially, why it didn’t dent her faith in romance.

The online abuse flung at Abbington five years ago came from Sherlock obsessives who wanted Holmes, played by Benedict Cumberbatch, and Watson to have eyes only for each other. Obviously, the trolls added nepotism to their charge sheet against her, to which her defence to me was that, after 13 years together, it was about time her association with Freeman got her a gig.

It was all nonsense — she was outstanding as Mary Watson. Her performance took an actress well enough known from ITV’s Mr Selfridge to international fame, a starring role in Netflix’s crime serial Safe and now, on stage, to the part of Anne, a wronged woman already portrayed by Gina McKee and Lia Williams in the first two parts of the French writer Florian Zeller’s acclaimed domestic trilogy. The Son, the sequence’s conclusion, centres on Anne’s clinically depressed teenage son Nicolas, laden with suppressed rage at his parents’ break-up.

Zeller described The Mother and The Father as “dark” or “tragic” farces, but reading The Son it is hard to find the laughs, although Abbington insists that the cast at the Kiln Theatre in northwest London are locating some in rehearsal. “I think it will upset a lot of people. It is melancholic and it is sad,” she says, but adds: “I like going to the theatre sometimes and feeling uncomfortable, and not because the performances are bad, but just because it’s nice to sit there and question stuff and think: ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ ”

Except, of course, to an extent at least, she has gone there. I ask if she was reluctant to be in a play about a divorce. “No, I don’t think so, because with mine and Martin’s break-up we were kind and we made sure that [their children] Joe and Grace came first, and that their needs and their feelings were taken into account more than ours,” she says. “And, actually, we’re all right. We get on and we talk and we’re still in touch. There were flashpoints where it was very accusatory and angry, but generally we’re in an OK place and we are there for our children, which is the important thing.”

She will not go into detail about what derailed them three years ago, but there is no doubt that the 18 months during which Freeman spent up to four months at a stretch in New Zealand filming The Hobbit contributed to it. Freeman, she says, does not have a new partner, but a newspaper did report rumours of friendships that maddened Abbington at their home in Hertfordshire.

“A few things happened during the last couple of years of our relationship that were the straw that broke the camel’s back,” she says. “I thought: ‘We can’t do this anymore. We aren’t happy. It’s time to be strong and say let’s not do this because we’re just not making each other happy. We’re not making the kids happy. The best thing to do is just be happy apart.’ And, actually, I’m much happier now.

“I wasn’t depressed, but I was very low, low for months, and very tearful and it shook my confidence. I still have no self-esteem. None at all.”

Because of that? “Because of the fallout of that.”

She felt rejected? “Yes, and I felt really old and stupid and unattractive, and you can’t recover from that overnight. He hadn’t left me for anyone, but things were happening within the relationship that made me feel like that. You know, I’m getting older. I’m in my forties — all these things help make you feel less of a woman, less feminine, less female.”

She will be 45 this month, but she has always lacked confidence in her looks. “Since I was a little girl. I never, ever think I’m attractive enough or good enough to be, you know, at the party.”

She conceals these feelings from her children, especially from Grace, who is ten and, like her mother at that age, tiny. “I was bullied for being small and insignificant, but she’s like a little powerhouse, whereas my son, who is 13, is heartbreakingly sensitive.”

She regularly checks on how the pair are doing emotionally. “It was a big thing that happened to them and it shook them a lot. Martin and I get on 95 per cent of the time, but if they feel a small imbalance in our little unit they get very scared. They pick up on everything. Because they’re so young and not cynical and much more open, they sense things in people, but we’re very careful. It’s all about being careful.”

Which is the problem with the divorced parents in The Son. They haven’t been careful. “No, they haven’t.”

The husband certainly hasn’t. “No, he hasn’t, and Anne has been very vocal about her anger towards him and [his girlfriend] in front of Nicolas.”

She shared her own anger with four close friends, who were able to provide some perspective. Her parents, who live down the road from her in Potters Bar, remain hugely supportive and look after the children when she is working during the day. Freeman, who lives in north London, takes them at weekends. She has buckets of respect for single mums. Mothers remain children’s first call, she says.

Equally, while she has had to turn down four months’ work filming in Romania, Freeman would not. “From time immemorial that’s been the case. That’s fair enough. I’m the mother and I suppose that’s what people expect. It’s ingrained, but I think it’s a shame because women’s work is equally as important as men’s.”

Did she fear that she would be alone for ever? “No. No. I’m a firm believer in love. I love love. I’ve seen people get really untrusting and cynical and angry when they were hurt, and I was hurt. I was really hurt. It really shook me, but you can’t carry that on into the next part of your life.”

She noticed the Northern Irish actor Jonjo O’Neill when they performed in a gala night at the Royal Court theatre in November 2016 (I noticed the 40-year-old in BBC Two’s The Fall). On the night, she was watching him from the audience with the actresses Jessica Hynes and Lesley Sharp on either side. They said that if she did not ask him out, they would do so for her. “So at the end of the night, after the gala, I went up to him and said: ‘I think we should go for a drink.’ He was: ‘Yeah, OK.’ We were following each other on Twitter and it was really nice, but then I met him and it was like: ‘Oh, you’re lovely. I’ll be brazen.’ ”

He has met her children, but not moved in — not yet at least. If he does, he will share a home with three rescue dogs, an abandoned cat and a tarantula. He will be spared two pet rats, recently deceased. “Proper grey rats. I loved them. They used to sit up and eat cheese.”

It is almost a definition of Abbington’s low self-esteem that she fails to realise how attractive she is. I don’t think she misses how funny she is. We agree she should do more comedy.

I assume that the Sherlock trolls evaporated. “Oh yes. I don’t think they were very happy with the last series. I think it got very complicated. I love Steven Moffat [the co-creator], but I think they started to pander to the fans, involving a lot of fandom stuff. I thought: ‘You should just stick to the stories, because they’re much more interesting.’ ”

Such blasphemy does not stop her from campaigning for a part in Moffat and Mark Gatiss’s next project, Dracula. “I’d be a good vampire,” she says, modesty going to hell. She is so talented and such fun that I’d put money on her getting the job, whatever heresies she risks against Sherlock.

AMANDA ABBINGTON’S PERFECT WEEKEND

Ski holiday or beach break? Beach break

Mindfulness or mindlessness? Mindfulness. Always. Always practising mindfulness

Tiger mum or free-range parent? Free-range. I’m protective, but they need to go off and do their own stuff. I have an app on my phone called Life 360 so I always know where they are

Barry’s Bootcamp or Yin Yoga? I’ve never done yoga, but I do go to the gym a lot

I couldn’t get through the weekend without . . . A roast dinner. My grandmother taught me how to make a really good one

#aa #gossip #martin freeman

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