#Moral of the story is that if I ever want to try needle punching ever again I should just buy a fucking punch needle

[moongothic]

So here's a stupid ass project I probably shouldn't have done

So I had this leftover yarn from my mom that I didn't really know what to do with because of its color, until I realized I could maybe make a blanket out of it for my aunt as a Christmas present. Problem is that I didn't have enough yarn to make a blanket out of it.

Now I wasn't entirely sure what yarn it was but after some guessing I figured it might be Istex's Lettlopi yarn. But I wasn't sure. And I didn't want to risk buying any of that yarn for the blanket if I wasn't sure it was the right yarn.

And then I remembered that for a while now I had thought it could be fun for me to try to cross stitch/tuft(/punch needle without a needle punch) a moon plushie. But if I wanted to make that, I'd need yarn for it. So I figured I could buy one ball of white Lettlopi, to confirm if it was the same yarn my mom had left me with. If it was, I'd know I could buy more of it, and if it wasn't I'd still use it for the moon plush.

I was right, it was the same yarn! And while I could've just gone off and buy the yarn I'd need for the blanket, I figured I didn't want to do that yet (because I was still in Knitting Jail at the time and didn't want to start any LARGE projects). But I figured, I had the yarn, and I was sick and tired of knitting. So let's just go do plushie.

It was easier said than done

Started by just drawing a moon shape onto some paper that I could then draw twice onto my scrap cross stitch fabric. I did use some other (purple) yarn (that my cat had stolen, played and chewed on so it was gross, covered in dust and went into the bin) just to test the stitch I wanted to use for the plush before jumping into it

But I jumped into it, began doing simple X stitches (and soon after cut the fabric piece once I felt like it'd work out and could Commit To It)

And yeah, it was slow

Also, I realized I fucked up. See, while I did test the stitch before jumping into it, the yarn I used was indeed an entirely different one, much softer and squishier than the Lopi and possibly a smidge thinner too. So when I did my test, the Xs were very soft and bouncy

But with the Lopi, they were dense as fucking hell

And like. I told myself it'd be fine and to not worry about it, because by the time I realized it was a mistake I just thought it'd be more effort to try to undo my work and start all over.

But no, not restarting was the bigger mistake. But alas, I was stubborn and committed to doing it the way I originally wanted to, like a dumbass

And after many, many, many, many hours I did complete the first side of the moon

(I did leave the edges unstitched because I figured it'd help with sewing later on)

But with the first side done, it was time for the other side. Now full disclosure, I can't remember if this was my plan from the begining or if I decided to do this after the first side went so bad, but I did decide I wanted to try to kinda tuft the other ("front") side of the plush to make it squishier

I did a very small test of how it'd feel if I did lots of these loops on the fabric and I did like how it felt, so I just got to it

Once again, this was a mistake

Like it might not be very obvious from this photo, but the loops were actually REALLY DENSE. I didn't realize it when I did my TINY TINY test, but after doing this much I realized that because I did a loop in every single hole of the fabric, the loops were too close to each other. So the loops actually lost their squish and were forcing the fabric to curl so they could spread out slightly

But once again, I was a stubborn idiot, and thought it'd be more effort for me to restart than to just continue on. So I just continued on. Like a fool.

But eventually I did finish the second side too

(Just for funsies, here's how the reverse sides of the two pieces looked)

With that done though, I should attach the two moon pieces together by their inner curve. Now I'm no seamstress but I figured that I just put these two pieces together and showed stuffing inside, I'd end up with a slightly thick moon-shaped yarn pancake. Like it'd just be flat. And I wanted it to be more 3D, and to do that I'd have to add a third piece to the outer curve of the moon. And in my mind it felt like it'd be easier for me to figure out how big etc that piece would have to be once I had the inner curve like sewn together

So yeah, onto the sewing, starting with simply attaching the two pieces (inside out)

And I just used more Lopi to do the sewing by hand, figured it'd just blend in the best

Turned the thing inside out and here's how it was looking

Definitely a mess but surely it'd still be workable

Still I figured I should do the tips of the moon too before anything else, so I first trimmed the excess fabric from the tips (to make it easier to get a nice point when turning it inside out)

And I finished stitching the tips, adding the tufting (since I hadn't gone all the way to the edges yet), since it'd just get harder to do later

And while I was at it I also finished stitching the inner curve too, letting the tufting reach the backside

But with that done, it was time to finally do the final piece of the plushie, the part I'd hope would add like dimension to it

Only problem is that I did not know anything about sewing something like this, but you'll get to enjoy the results of my poor 3D imagining skills later

Anyway I figured that this part of the plush would end up being "the bottom" so it wouldn't ever really be visible, so I thought doing just a simple stitch would be good enough, no point in doing the loops. (Also didn't bother doing Xs, I had learned my lesson by this point and did not care)

Finished the stitching and cut the piece to size

I sewed the bottom piece to the front of the plushie, and filled out the empty part of the fabric with more loops since it was convenient to do it now

With it sewn on, the plushie was starting to get... 3D but also very wonky. This is when I realized I should've made that bottom piece much longer. But alas, it was too late for that. All I could do was pray that once the plushie was stuffed it'd look better

Speaking of stuffing

I have a fuck ton of upholstery foam for various reasons, and more importantly, a ton of small scrap pieces that I had hoarded for no good reason.

I figured, instead of buying some stuffing for the plush, I could just cut up those awkward tiny foam pieces and use that as stuffing instead- not like I had much else I could do with them anyways

This is not even all of foam pieces I ended up using, I just cut more and more as I crammed more in until the plush felt consistently filled

With the moon filled though, it was time to sew that hole shut

And to finish things off, do some stitching across the seam so you couldn't see the original fabric anymore

And boom, we have a wonky little moon plushie

Or as I like to call it, my fucked up little yarn croissant

It is misshapen and wonky as hell, holy fuck

Truly, I was not blessed with an understanding for sewing

Also, I regret doing the entire bottom piece in the simple stitch because it looks really strange when you look at the backside of the plushie, like, I should've done half of it with loops so it would've matched the front better

But it is what it is

Like, not gonna lie, I am really disappointed with how this turned out and regret most of my decisions with it, especially because of how fucking long this plushie actually took to make. Like, me taking multiple week long breaks aside, this genuinely took me from May to August to finish. (I just couldn't be bothered to post about it until now)

I know I shouldn't beat myself up about it, since it was my first plushie etc, you learn from your mistakes and I would genuinely be able to do a better job if I made another one. But it is still annoying

I don't know if it's good news or bad news though, but my cat has taken a great liking to this plushie. Like I kept it on my bed for a weeks as cute little decor until one morning I found it on the kitchen floor, and my cat has ever since tried to steal it so she could rip it to shreds. I even have to try to fix some loops she pulled out and clean dust off of it because because she dragged it around the house I literally have it hidden in my yarn cabinet to keep her from getting to it

Like it's cute she likes it but also that is a pure wool moon plush I spent multiple months painstakingly making one stitch at a time, I do not wish to have food crumbs on it Honey

[korkisobsessions]

The Oath

X. Scars

Heavy rain was falling on them, and the road was more and more muddy. Nilah was exhausted but she can’t believe she is out of the prison and with Yeongshin. She was laying in the back of the cart watching grey sky. She felt like she can take a deep breath after long time.

They were not talking, Yeongshin was leading the cart towards small village, that they saw in the distance.

She was worried about Yeongshin’s wound that was still bleeding. He was soaked with rain and blood was making huge stain on his shirt. But he looked like he didn’t even care.

“We stop there. You need rest.” He shout over his shoulder and grimaced, when that move stretched his injury.

They found man who let them stay in his house for small price. Yeongshin helped her down from cart, holding her hand and supporting her, when he noticed her limping. Her leg was after time spent in prison in bad shape. She almost can’t make a few steps without limping.

They both felt relieved when walked inside, out of the rain. It was just small room, with fireplace and place to sleep. For Nilah it was luxury after her time in prison cell. It was warm and dry.

Yeongshin put down his bag and started to making the fire. He was still silent and Nilah was nervous about it.

Light knock on the door made her jerk with fear. She was still scared that Sang-Ho is somewhere outside waiting for his chance to hurt her again.

“You two looked like you need something warm.” calm voice of old man soothed her. “I brought soup and some dry clothes. Don’t worry, I will leave it behind the door...”

Nilah opened the door and smiled at the man.

“Thank you sir. You are very kind, but can I ask you, for little favour? Do you have needle and thread?”

Man smiled and give her tray with soups. Next to bowls were thread with needle and clean bandage.

“I thought you will need it. I saw your companion.” He nod towards Yeongshin who has his back to them.

“You are very kind.”

She closed the door and stood in silence. Yeongshin was facing the flames like statue.

“Can I treat your wound?” She whispered, too scared to broke the silence.

He just nodded and sat straighter. He was still in wet and cold clothes. Nilah sat down in front of him, carefully untying his blue jacket. He was avoiding her eyes, looking on wooden floor.

Her hands were lightly shaking, when she untied his shirt and brushed it over his shoulders, revealing his torso. Her breath hitched and she covered her mouth, when she saw his chest. She knows that after being chakho and his time at war must leave marks, but this was more than she expected.

Three thick scars from his collar bone to opposite hip were roughly crossing his chest. She carefully touch it with her fingertips. It must be old scar, but she was scared that it can still hurt. Skin there was lighter and softer. He closed his eyes and released breath she didn’t knew he was holding. His body was like testimony of his hard life.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered “for all of these.” Maybe one day she will know every story behind each of his scars.

But no matter how sorry she was because of his scars, her eyes were drawn to his form. His strong chest and straight shoulders. She saw a lot of naked man. She lived with soldiers and exposed torso was very usual. But she never felt like this. She wanted to touch and kiss him. To feel his body pressed against hers. To feel how warm his skin is against hers. To let his inside fire heat up her cold body. But suddenly something dreadful woke in her guts. That feeling she had, when Sang-Ho was violently moving inside her. How she felt disgusting and weak after that.

Yeongshin touched her shaking hand when he noticed her hesitation. “You are safe.”

“I know. I’m just scared that I will woke up back there.”

She quickly cleaned his wound and made few stitches. He didn’t even wince, when she was piercing his skin with needle. After she was done, she wanted to stood up, but he caught her hand.

“Nilah, I...” he took a breath but words stuck in his throat. He didn’t knew how to put his feelings in words. “I’m sorry. I...” he bow his head. “I failed you.”

“Don’t say that.” She said with tight voice. She didn’t want to cry, she didn’t want to be weak anymore, but she felt like she was slowly falling apart. “You are the only one who never failed me.”

She stood up and turned her back to him. She just wanted to take of her wet clothes. But when she removed her shirt she heard his intake of breath.

“No...” he whispered. She completely forgot about her scars from lashing. It was nothing against prison and Sang-Ho’s torturing. She quickly covered herself and took bowl with still warm soup. Her stomach was empty for too long, she almost forget how food taste.

Yeongshin took other shirt and join her. His eyes carefully watching her. And then he saw it. Little wooden swallow hanging on thread around her neck. Beom Pal must gave it to her. Warm feeling fill his inside and it wasn’t because of soup.

Yeongshin prepared place for sleep and nervously look at her. He didn’t want to ask her, if she would mind him sleeping next to her. He was scared she will refuse him. He understands if she wants to sleep alone, but he was almost desperate to feel her next to him.

She didn’t say a word, just laid down on his worn out blanket and make space for him. He took care of fire and laid down next to her.

It was dark and he heard her breathing. He knows she wasn’t sleeping, even she had her back to him.

“When I was a kid, my brother told me, that before my mother died, she gave me my name. She named me after one flower that grow in mountains.” She whispered to the dark.

“Is it beautiful flower?” he asked the most stupid question, but he was tired and nervous.

She laughed and turned her face to him. “No. It’s stubborn weed. Farmers were ripping it of their fields and it still grows there. Even after fires, it was first sprouts that grow from the ash. Nilahillgresi.” She wiped away single tear that left her eye. “I’ll be good. It will take me some time, but I will grow again. But now, I feel lost. I don’t know who I am. I’m not wealthy lady, I’m not soldier anymore. I don’t know what to do with my life. Where to go...”

Her voice was lightly trembling.

Yeongshin turned to her a held her hand. “Stay with me.” His heart was beating so fast he can heard it pulsing in his ears.

And her silence was killing him. He saw just faint features of her face. But what he saw clearly was shaking of her shoulders.

“I can’t.” She sobs. “I can’t go with you Yeongshin.”

It was like hard punch to guts. He felt like his heart is falling apart. But she continues and he can’t believed his ears.

“I love you.” She whispered with broken voice. “But my father is monster. If he ever found me...us. He will kill us both. And that is price I’m not willing to pay. He can kill me, I deserve it. But I can’t stand just idea, that my love will be your death.”

“You love me?” He was stunned. His heart hammering in his chest, full of warm pleasurable feeling. He was glad that there was dark so she can’t see his face. He felt heat in his cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter, I can’t...” she stuttered like she was surprised that all he get from her speech was that three simple words.

But he’s got enough. She loved him. That was all that matters. He crashed his lips to hers with desperation.

“Please don’t...” she cried, but still she grasp collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, her lips hungrily savouring his.

He hold her closer in his arms caressing her face, so happy that after two long years he can hold her in his arms, touching her and love her like he wanted from the start.

“I’m scared. I can’t loose you.” She whispered to his lips, holding his face in her palms. In the dark he saw just light gloss of her eyes.

“Nilah, I killed tiger that slaughter hundred of men...” he was overwhelmed by her presence, but this was clearest thing in his mind. For few seconds, he stopped kissing her and became serious.

“...I was at war and I killed Samurai with my bare hands. I fought with dead, with bravest woman by my side.” He held her hand and laid it on his chest over his heart. She must knew how serious he was. “Your father can come and try to take you away from me. He will fail.”

She let out sob, but her lips found his with desperation.

“You really want me?” she asked with worries. “Yeongshin I’m damaged. You must know it.” She shifted away from him, and sat up. His arms were suddenly empty and cold. She hug her knees and hid her face. “Sang-Ho...he...”

“I know,” he sat next to her, carefully touching her shoulder. “and I wanted to killed him for it, but if I did, then we would became outlaws. I want you to have rightful and calm life.”

“So, you want me, even after you know that I’m broken.”

He felt rage boiling inside his veins. He wanted to head back to Sangju and killed that man. To give him hundred deaths for what he did to her.

“You are not broken, you are survivor.” He held her hands, kissing her palms. “I should be asking, if you want to be with me. With man without morals. Everyone despise me and nobody trusted me.” His lips touched her wrists, feeling light scars from fire.

“I always trusted you. And I want you with my whole heart. I will always love you with pride.”

He was kneeling in front of her his face illuminated just by weak light of dying fire. And she saw how glossy his eyes were.

“Pride?” He can’t believe his ears. She was proud of him. He laid his head down to her lap and hug her around the waist. She gently stroked his face wiping away few tears he shed.

Suddenly he felt like it wasn’t her who needs to be healed. It wasn’t just her broken body. It was his broken soul.

 “Mother, please...”

He was sitting on his heals on dirty ground, with dirty worn out clothes full of holes. His little brother was playing in the corner with dirty little doll he made him from old piece of rope. His face covered of mud and dust.

“You will bring just shame on us!” His mother was pale but her face was hard. “Don’t you know what people said about them?”

“I just don’t want to be a farmer’s helper.” He was desperate. Even if he wanted to be, there was nothing to do. No livestock to take care of, no field to crop. They know just hunger and desperation.

“So, you are doing this for yourself, boy?” His mother’s voice was cold as ice.

“No, I’m doing it for you and for brother. I can earn money, if I will be good enough.” he wanted to hold her hand. To plead for her trust. Instead he bowed his head when his mother laughed with bitterness. It hurts him badly.

“You are just poor boy. Deal with it. You will never be some noble palace guard. You were born in mud and you will die in mud.”

“mother please, just give me your blessing. That’s all I want. I will be back with money. I will take care of you.” He cried. He saw scary man standing behind fence of their village. It was old chakho with thick scar over his face,  that came for him.

“Just leave! You are lucky that your father is dead already. He would die of shame that his first son became chakho!”she almost spat on the ground, face full of disgust.

His mother hated chakho forces from the bottom of her heart. They were always took as a men of questionable morals who do anything to survived. He heard rumours and legends about them eating tigers hearts, and some of them eating heart of men they defeated to get their strength. He didn’t believe that. But what if...

He didn’t wanted to leave, but with mother’s words burned to his brain, he can’t stay. How could he stay when he knew how simply she reject him.

He had broken heart for the first time. He didn’t expected it will be by his own mother.

Tears were running down his face when he took his little bag and left Sumang. He herd his brother’s cry and it was breaking his heart even more.

“You stink like rat’s ass.” Chakho spoke with raspy voice. His face was tan, with lot of wrinkles and scars. It must be sun and cruel winds that made him look like that. “Don’t cry kid, or you will looked like one too.”

He tried to calm down but mothers hateful words were echoing in his head.

“You are doing her a favour. One hungry neck less is better.”

“I know.” He nod and wipe his nose. “I just...I will miss my brother.”

“I’m your new brother. My name is Byung-Chul.”

~o~

Heavy rain was falling on his shoulders. He was wet to the bone, cold but still he remained in the forest lean on the tree. Mist was covering valley in silk dress, hiding all the dirt and poverty. He loved misty days, everything became small and safe. But now, bad news finds its way to his safe heaven. He held letter in his shaking hands fighting with tears.

Sumang was hit by disease. Leper got his mother. She was dead.

No matter how she treated him, how she despise him as chakho, it was still his mother.

When he returned to Sumang sometimes, to give her money and visited his brother, he always must see him in forest; hid from curious eyes of neighbours. His brother was always happy when they met. Listening his stories with excited eyes and so much questions. When he showed him his new scars on chest, his face got pale and eyes big.

“Hyung, did you ate heart of your enemies.”

“No, you silly.” He smiled and gave him little wooden soldier he carved for him. “We ate their brains, it taste better.”

They laugh together like fools.

His little brother was like glowing spark in his dark life.

-Your mother is death and brother is sick.- was all that’s been written in the letter.

“You looked worried, kid.” Byung-Chul came from nowhere. Sometimes he was like ghost.

For a while he was using his name, but after Yeongshin almost pissed himself, when thief shoot to his face, but forget the bullet for Yeongshin´s luck, he was just ‘kid’ again. But he didn’t mind. Byung-Chul was almost like his father, so he can called him like he wanted.

“I must back to Sumang.” He wanted to say ‘home’ but he didn’t know if Sumang was still his home. He was gone for too long.

“Yeah, you should.” His old master drank from his flask. He always take just little sip. ‘Not to get drunk, just calm my nerves. If I didn’t drink, I would rip off your dumb head’ he always said. “We will see each other soon enough, kid. Too soon to my liking. There is war coming, and King will call us to arms.”

Rain suddenly tasted bitter on his lips. War was bad thing. Unnecessary thing.

“Enjoy your time with your baby brother. Until death will came for us.”

He smiled on Byung-Chul. “I will find you, so we can die side by side.”

[manjehaal]

Ignite the Stars: Chapter 7

Read on A03

Something felt wrong.

It must be the intuition that had always whispered to him in the darkness. Or perhaps something more. The Force, as Laure had called it, held inside his blood and fueling the pounding heart that rumbled at his fear. Or maybe it was just a feeling. But it was a bad feeling. Something was clearly off.

He passed a hand over his finger, twisting at the silver ring that felt a bit too modern to be paired with his grimy and sweat-soaked robes. Neither his aunt or uncle had ever adorned jewelry, other than that wooden anklet that his aunt would wear on occasion. Some of the kids in school would wear small rocks in their earlobes and he could remember on occasion a few of the girls wearing necklaces made of japor snippets. But the bulky ring on his right ring finger was metallic. It reflected the blue of the lit sky. If the ring was made of silver, he wouldn’t know. Silver and gold were things meant for the rich. Not a farmer in an oversized rag.

If not for the timely moment when he glanced up and the warning from Artoo behind him, he may not have seen the harrowing image before him.

Adrien looked down at the sea of corpses, just a heap of Tattoine’s monsters. They had once been the Jawas, just a few hours earlier. But now, like a flashing warning sign, the once formidable monsters were nothing but empty vessels wrapped in their small cloaks.

They weren’t the monsters who beat him senseless, but the crafty ones. They sold spare parts and droids. And these seemed to be of the same tribe that had negotiated with his uncle just a day ago. It all felt wrong in his gut, at the significance of the Artoo unit treading behind him and the Jawas now dead. There was a connection between the two deeds that he didn’t want to acknowledge. If his mind went there, he felt sick.

“It was the Sandmonsters,” he said, as Laure came beside him, looking around at the bodies. She began inspecting, with a thoughtful expression passing as she ran a finger over the burnt material.

“No,” she said, moving to look at another burnt hole caused by blaster fire. “But we are meant to believe that. The tracks are side by side,” she said, pointing to the mark across the dunes. “Sand monsters ride single file to hide their number.”

Adrien felt dread overwhelm him as he looked closer at the fallen Jawas. “These are the same Jawas that sold my uncle Threepio and Artoo.”

“These blast points are two accurate for the Sandmonsters. Only imperial stormtroopers are this precise.”

Something didn’t add up. The fear emanating in his body told him enough, and he could see the answer clear as day, but he asked the question. “Why would imperial troopers slaughter Jawas?”

Laure didn’t answer, a frown sweeping across her face.

Adrien suddenly felt worse, as if somebody had punched him hard in the stomach. “If they traced the droids here, they may have learned who they sold them to.” His hands shook, pointing his gaze at the darkening night sky. If Imperial troops did this to the people who sold the droids, what would they do to the people who purchased them? “And that would lead them back…”

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even allow himself to think about it.

            '

           *          .

                  *       '

             *                *

There had always been two different ways Adrien would react to fear.

Most of the time, he had an instinct to take action, whether he was capable or not. He always wished to fight back rather than cower, even if it resulted in a loss. He had a tendency to end up in a state of fight-or-flight, and that's where he found himself, pressed to his speeder, moving at a speed that he hadn't even known was possible.

The other way he dealt with fear was to not deal with it at all. It wasn't quite hiding, not like when he was small, but it was a state of inactivity. It was him now, standing at the edge of his family's property, unable to process what he was seeing.

Laure had called after him, warning him of the dangers of running back on his own, even in the safety of his speeder, but he couldn’t listen. He couldn’t stop himself. He had to get back. He had to get back so that he could see his aunt and uncle safe. He needed the sight of his aunt's soft smile and his uncle’s commanding eyes. He wanted to be screamed at. Punished. Rebuked. Anything. Anything that could possibly put the breath back in his lungs.

  *   '*

          *

               *

                      *

              *

                    *

But he felt nothing as he stood by his homestead, stopping the speeder and staring blankly for a good moment. The billowing black smoke in his eyes tore him away from the sight before him. His home, underneath a cloud of black, heavy air, and a dead scent. Home was no longer home. He couldn’t breathe, but his legs were moving, and he was walking into the fog, letting the smoke burn his eyes.

He felt nauseous as he stood by the front opening, unable to recognize the two corpses that were now just skeletal, lifeless creatures in his walkway. He couldn’t make the connection. He couldn’t make it a concept. He just couldn’t believe it.

But then, at the sight of Laure approaching, with the two droids riding behind her, he felt it. The realization. The oh, hollowly climbing up his throat, bursting through his chest as he felt his knees sag into the sand. For a moment, the flames that were now ghostly on their bones raged inside his hands, as he slammed them into pits of sand, with teeth clenched to restrain the noise shooting from his lips. Tears stung on his cheeks, scraping at his chin, and ridiculing him.

But he swallowed it down, forcing himself to his feet as his gaze passed over the corpses, as rage built up in his chest. If the Empire was responsible for this. If the Empire was asking for him to rage against it, then he would, without doubt, be following Laure into the danger. He would run right toward the Empire, cataclysm ready,  and he would make them pay.

 *  .  . *       *    .        .        .   *    ..

.    *        .       .      .        .            *

   *.   *          .     *      *        *    .

Sabine had been wise enough to offer a warning, even before Marinette was old enough to fear it, that there may be a time when her resistance would be tested. Whether that be her morals, her loyalties, or her pain tolerance. Sabine had been clear that it would not be easy, but it would be important that she have the strength to resist.

“If you choose to accept what you have been given, if you choose to hold the power of creation, it is impossible for you to do so without being tested. Tests that may bend, or break, and may hurt. Tests that will beg the question of whether you are worthy or not to harness such power.”

Marinette blinked away her weariness. “Yes, Maman.”

“I tell you this because I know how difficult it can be. I want to prepare you.”

Sabine took her daughter's hand, leading her to the edge of the terrace where it overlooked the gardens. The wind was soft on her bare skin, sending ribbons of purple fabric floating behind her. It was feather-soft, like her upbringing, perhaps making the thought of anything less than, seem hard to imagine.

“Will I be tortured?”

“You will be their greatest threat,” she responded, cupping her daughter's face with fingers too calloused for royalty. “I hate to imagine it. But if you choose this path, I can’t promise safety. I can only promise this.”

“What?”

“That the Force will be with you.”

       *  *    .  *      .        .  *   .

 .        ..    *    .      *  .  ..  *

     *    *            .      *   *

It was easy to grasp faith without a chance to test it. Wide-eyed trust felt free when she was sixteen, but the gradual tension in her shoulders, and the unthinkable possibilities of her fate, were enough to rock her sturdy grasp on the whole thing.

The Force will be with me, she whispered, allowing her senses to breathe. She reached out with a shaky palm, feeling the cold wind of Mayura, and the impending pressure on her ribcage, poking at the bravery of her heart. Silencing the steady voice of her mother, urging her to resist the pain, encouraging her to trust.

She swallowed hard, knowing Lady Mayura was near, accompanied by several officers and a lethal IT-O interrogator droid. Her methods, and the methods of such droids, were things she had only heard of from fellow rebels. But many spared little detail, and most never lived to tell the story. She had always avoided their accounts anyway, living in a constant state of denial that she would ever be captured in the Empire’s claws.

She heaved another breath, whispering, “The Force is with me,” again, as the cell door slid open. Mayura already looked sadistic, with a pretty glint in her eye that broke the dullness of her usual stoic expression. With the confident click of the lady’s boots, Marinette could only interpret that glint as excitement.  

Her officers followed her, circling around the Princess as if they were to all take part in devouring their prey. But Mayura stood ahead of them, stepping closer to Marinette than comfort with her usual accusatory expression.  

“Now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden rebel base.”

Marinette did not flinch under Mayura’s intense stare, but her eyes shifted to the two hovering droids that emerged behind her. They were black domes, humming dauntingly, extending several needle-like objects out of their vibrating cores. She tore her eyes away from them, trying to ignore it altogether. Giving in to her fear would not keep her safe. It would only make her weak.  

She shut her eyes, only flinching for a moment when she felt the needle prick her skin.

“There are two ways this can go, Princess,” one of the officers said proudly. “The easy way or the hard way.”

Truth serum, she mused, feeling the cold substance flow beneath her skin. She had heard from several reports that Kaminoan scientists had developed a foolproof serum back during the clone wars, and to the Emperor’s demands, the serum had been improved significantly. Marinette knew about the one-hundred percent success ratio. She was well aware that the Empire hardly walked away without breaking their prisoners. To the Empire, she would become just another statistic.

Marinette took a deep breath, leaning into the soft presence of the light. Despite the rigidness of her folded hands and rapid jittering of her knees, she could feel relief at the power beneath her skin. She knew well what her mother had taught her. She knew well that the Force was stronger than any truth serum. Even Mayura knew that.

Luckily for Marinette, Mayura didn’t know that she was powerful. She didn’t know that she didn’t fit in with the other statistics.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. She could feel her mind going cloudy and the lure to feed Mayura information. She almost looked softer with the veil of the serum, almost innocent, beneath her cold eyes. A part of Marinette wanted to give it to her. She wanted to help the Empire. The Empire didn’t quite feel evil at the moment. The serum didn’t feel bad. It felt nice. It felt like her truest self. To open up and speak. To rid herself from the lies that she was raised to tell.

The Force is with me, she said to herself, shifting where she sat. And she had people to protect.

“You have a lot of resistance, Princess,” Mayura commented, scrutinizing her. A new idea seemed to bleed into her eyes as she neared the Princess. “Very few people can hold on this long.”

Marinette forced a confident glare, trying not to worry about the suspicion in Mayura’s voice. It would do her no good to reveal herself as one of the last remaining Force-sensitives. But it would be far worse if she had held onto her Miraculous. For that she was grateful.

“You’re peculiar,” the woman said with a satisfied edge. “You’re not what I expected.”

Mayura shifted, throwing back her feathery cape and confiding in the officers around her. Marinette could feel the gears turning inside her brain, putting the pieces together.

“Leave us,” Mayura said darkly, keeping her eyes fixed on the girl as her companions and the IT-O filled out. The realization in her voice caused Marinette to flinch, allowing her eyes to peer open a bit.

Marinette wanted to challenge her. She wanted to taunt her by pretending that nothing Mayura did would hurt her. But the fear burning inside her stomach said otherwise. She felt like she might throw up when Mayura kneeled down to her level, cupping her face.

“I remember now. Master Sabine Cheng. Always a thorn in the Empire’s side. Always with another trick up her sleeve. We should have been more wary of her.”

Marinette smirked. “You got that right.”

“She had such wisdom, Cheng. She was one of the only Jedi who were smart enough to walk away from the Order before they turned dark.”

“Lies!” Marinette spit, exasperated by the false narrative. She had read the history books. She had heard the news. But her mother was Master Sabine Cheng of the Jedi Order and General of the Galactic Republic. She knew first hand what distortion the Empire had cooked up. Their blatant disregard for truth caused something to light up in the pit of her stomach and fill her with rage that she would let fester if her mother hadn't taught her to control it.

Mayura disregarded her outburst, letting a blue-tinted hand hover off Marinette's head. “It causes me to wonder what the Jedi might have done with those ancient jewels. If I remember correctly, Sabine possessed the dragon choker, did she not?”

Marinette just seethed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you do, love. I can feel your certainty. But all of this makes me consider, do you know what happened to the most powerful jewels, the perfect balance of creation and destruction?”

“Again, I don’t know what you are talking about. Talk of these ancient jewels happens to elude me.”

Mayura reached forward, holding her palm like a claw above Marinette’s head, clenching her eyes. Marinette felt the dark power hover over her, and the startling bend of her mind at her touch. “My dear Princess, I should have done this much sooner. I could create so many monsters with the rage that you possess.”

Marinette choked on her breath, heaving at the chance to resist Mayura’s pull. But she couldn't breathe. She couldn’t think. The only thing that she could understand―

Pain.

She heaved.

More pain.

She felt like her body was curling in on itself. She couldn’t even feel it. She could only feel her mind turning, trembling somehow underneath the pull of Mayura’s fingertips. It felt as if she was attempting to remove the organ from her skull.

“Someday I will make a monster out of your fear. And don’t doubt me, Princess, that monster will destroy your puny rebellion before they see it coming.”

Marinette couldn’t hear her. She just clashed with the wall, clenching her fists at the tighter squeeze of Mayura’s grip on her mind.

Pain.

More pain.

Stop it, she wanted to scream. Stop it, she thought again as if Mayura may listen.

“No, dear. I won’t stop. Not until you answer these three questions for me.”

Marinette gasped, jolting forward as Mayura held her face, making sure to get her questions across clearly.

“First, you’re going to tell me where the rebel base is. Then, where did you send those plans? And finally, where can I find the Ladybug and the Cat miraculous?”

Marinette just grimaced.

“I’m being nice, Princess. I’m letting you prepare your answers.”

More pain came as Mayura closed her fist.

“You will get no answers,” Marinette muttered, clasping the edge of her seat as Mayura pushed further. Beads of sweat were heavy on her forehead, and her eyebrows twisted in a pained grimace, but she didn’t drop her determination, held sturdy by her teeth biting down on her lip. She shivered at Mayura’s touch again, but she remained determined. “You will get nothing from me.”

                              .  '  *   .  . '

                                .  * * -+-  

                               .    * .    '  *

                               * .  ' .  .

                          *   *  .   .

                                                    '   *

Laure stood beside him as their gaze fell on the funeral pyre, with the unrecognizable bodies of his Aunt and Uncle.

It still felt like a strange awful dream. But it was familiar, and it reminded Adrien of the nightmares he used to have when he was little.

Adrien found it difficult to look and turned away from the pyre, twisting the ring on his finger with a blank stare. He didn't want to address the burning flesh. He didn't want to address the destruction of his childhood home.

But he understood now that there was nothing for him on Tatooine, so going with Laure to make the Empire pay seemed like the only clear path.

"Adrien," she said softly, meeting him in the sand where he gripped his knees close to his chest. "Please know there is nothing you could have done if you were here. You would have died too. Don't ever blame yourself."

And even worse, the droids would be in the hands of the Empire, and the princess would be in even more danger.

Adrien didn't say anything for a while, not wanting to think about what Laure was saying. "I want to come with you to Alderaan," he said simply. "There's nothing here for me now."

"Alright," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I want to learn about the Force and become a Jedi Knight like my father."

There was nothing more for Laure to say, so she led Adrien to the speeder with the Gorilla following behind them both.

*    .  *       .   ,          *

          .       . .        *

*   .   .'    * ,      .       .  ,     *

  .     *     .'

  '     .     .  *        *  .'.

      .   ' '        .    .    '   .

.  *        ,   *               '      *

                            .

        *          .   *

Princess Marinette could feel the seething rage of Lady Mayura burning, like a wave of blisteringly hot air on her skin. Mayura was an expert at pain, and the Princess could still feel the ache of her steel grip, putting pressure on her now fragile brain.

But besides that ache, Marinette had a smirk on her face, because she had won, and Mayura knew nothing.

Mayura's rage brought delight to the princess.

But still, she was exhausted, sinking back into the corner of the cell, resting her heaving body on its borders. She reached toward her waist, momentarily forgetting the lack of her kwami, there to encourage her despite her exhaustion.

But it was okay. The force was with her. She would see Tikki again soon.

  *   '*

          *

               *

                      *

              *

                    *

“My Lord,” Mayura said, kneeling at his chamber, hands shaking under her long sleeves. The cold rush of Hawkmoth’s opening door was enough to turn her stomach. There had always been a balance of unwavering adoration and a crippling fear that became of her at the thought of her Lord.

He stepped toward her so that his boots met her line of view. She could feel the flutter of the fleet of pale butterflies swirling behind him, but he wasn’t transformed. Though she would never say it, if she looked up, she would still associate his face with the man she knew from the wars. Brave and ambitious, selfless and determined, the hero of the war, the Jedi that had a heart. In the mind of Mayura, all of these things still remained true.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, My Lady.”

“The Princess, she’s more than what I suspected. I have every reason to believe that she inherited midi-chlorians from her mother. She is Force-sensitive.”

“Cheng,” Hawkmoth said bitterly. “Sabine Cheng.”

“You once admired the woman,” she said softly.

His breath hitched and his rage surrounded him. “And you know very well that what I once was is irrelevant. She was once a Jedi. The Jedi are the enemy of the Sith.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Don’t you dare forget that.”

“Of course not, my Lord.”

“What else?” he said, facing the other direction. The light fabric of his coat nearly pressed against her cheek.

“She wouldn’t say, but deep in her mind, I believe I saw it. She knows. She knows about the Miraculous. The ones you’ve been searching for.”

Hawkmoth turned to face her and suddenly his eyes were directly before her face and his hand was pushed firmly to her cheek. “Good work, Lady Mayura. I might just have to speak to this Princess myself.”

“Indeed,” Mayura said, with her smile growing wicked. “If anyone can break her, you can."

[inyuji]

So here’s how my fan-character Rei would be “rebooted” in the new duckverse. Old sketches almost 2 months ago. The only new ones are in the 6th batch. As usual, I’ll go into overly convoluted description mode, STORY TIME!: 

In the new reboot duckverse, Rei’s background is more different and I plant to go into details there. 1991verse-Rei was found and sent to the same orphanage Gosalyn would be placed in. Reboot Rei has gotten into at least 3 adoptive families in Japan, but they never lasted long.

   1.  Buddhist monks: they found her floating near their remote monastery and fished her out, gave her sanctuary and raised her for 2-3 years. Their guidance has helped with controlling her powers and helping her grow mentally & emotionally. They also helped with her reading and writing.  Sadly she left under misplaced guilt when the monastery was being threatened by shady government officials. Fearing for the monastery, she left a hasty goodbye note and left. Shame because they had no intention of revealing the fact that they were hiding a possible government experiment.

   2.   Homeless geezers: after leaving the monastery, she stumbled upon a bunch of homeless people who took her in. They were her first teachers to slowly introducing Rei to modern Japanese society and got to enjoy the comfort of her homeless family. Unfortunately, they were brutally murdered by some wannabe-thug teenagers who were “cleaning the trash.” Rei had been distracted with trying to bring in a big haul for her homeless family. When she came to the scene, she went into a psychic breakdown. She fled far away after realizing she had murdered the thugs.

   3.   Yakuza: She struggled trying to keep low, until she was taken in by a younger Shatei (little brother) and then adopted into the yakuza group. She struggled with helping out on certain assignments, due to her past upbringing and the clash against her morals. However, she still soldiered on, not wanting lose acceptance with her yakuza family. This is the family that has taught her martial arts, complete immersion into modern Japanese society, and a colorful education from numerous “brothers.” Unfortunately a rival gang started invading, wanting to steal Rei for her powers. Rei was secretly shipped out to a remote fishing town. Rei found out too late when she finally found news. Rei was devastated that the turf war ended with both groups decimated. At this point, Rei has reached her breaking point and that subconsciously unleashes a huge psychic breakdown. This is the 3rd family she has lost.

She still has amnesia from the first 7 years, and she’s still struggling with keeping her psychic/esper powers under control, especially after the recent loss of her Yakuza family. As for Jim, he decided a change of scenery would get him out of his funk, so he jumped onto a brief tourist-guided trip to Japan. One problem: he got on the wrong bus and missed his tourist group completely and got stranded in a remote fishing town in Japan. The same fishing town where Rei was lingering. Jim almost freaked out thinking that Rei was dead. Somehow Jim was deeply bothered by seeing the dead look on a child and the chilling words she spoke about being like “the rest of them.” So he tries to bury that guilt by buying Rei food. Rei is wary of any help. The locals haven’t been kind to her ever since her last breakdown, and her interference with some local yakuza has made things worse for the town. They blame her for it, and Rei stayed acting as the Yakuza’s punching bag, hoping it will take the heat off of the locals. Jim gets to know Rei a bit as she slowly opens up to Jim. It helps that Rei has some past buried knowledge of English. She can’t seem to remember who had taught her.

Jim didn’t like the suicidal state Rei was in and the way she was treated in the town. Out of impulse, he adopted Rei. So far, Rei had to endure a huge cultural shift, and improving on her limited English. Jim has been benefitting a bit from looking after Rei, even though she’s low maintenance. Sometimes, Rei acts as a buffer for Jim’s ego. She doesn’t mind being his 2nd conscience, even if it can be stressful. However, their new relationship is fragile and there’s still a lot of mistrust and hesitance on Rei’s side. Jim is completely in the deep with not knowing how to deal with children. Over time, he realizes that Rei is not ordinary in almost every aspect, psychic powers withholding. This is better, since this allows wiggle room to forge their own dynamic. They’ve learned to bond over a few common things, especially music. I was inspired by the old episode “Paraducks,” and Jim Cummings’ magnificent musical number. Jim makes a lot of digs at today’s modern music, but he lets Rei play her personal play list on the car since it’s more varied, even if there’s a lot of Powerline songs. (music lyrics are from “Should I Stay or Should I go” The Clash)

Now not everything is smooth sailing. Jim is still deeply insecure with not being a proper guardian, and how he’s unable to help Rei deal with some trauma that stems from buried memories. So far bits and pieces are triggered whenever she’s near large bodies of water, any thought of going to hospitals, and big needles. Rei will try to calmly piece together the incoherent memories through playing music, even at the risk of remembering something painful. Jim is also insecure of his obscurity as a washed-up actor, and feels that Rei deserves to feel proud of having him as a parent. He’s still scared of being called “dad.” Rei caught on to that and only addresses him by name, and never “dad.” So whenever Jim does something rather stupid out of pride (get into a fight with some thugs who were vandalizing his car, or suddenly hide that he might be suffering from cardiovascular problems), Rei will put her foot down and scold him for being irresponsible. Rei has already lost multiple family, and she’s not ready to lose another one.

Even with Rei coming into his life, Jim would still latch on to his former glory days as Darkwing, that the events from “Duck Knight Returns” would still happen. Rei being under his care would actually make his obsession and ego grow worse. Jim is still under misplaced insecurity of believing he needs to be a huge star, in order to be worthy of being called Rei’s father. A shame though, Rei doesn’t care for the whole fame and glory hogwash and cares less about Jim’s obscure fame. She has lived with homeless people and that never bothered her. She may be embarrassed with how immature Jim can be, but she still treasures ever moment she has with him and senses that he truly does care for her. So when the events of “Duck Knight Returns” pass, Rei is devastated and alone once again…for now.

[tessatechaitea]

Black Canary: New Wings #2

"How about a photo-realistic view of Downtown Seattle and then I'll just scribble in some mountains up top?" -- Dick. "Please add some Black Canary Colorforms too." -- Editorial.

Even after giving Issue #1 an "A" rating, I still can't believe this issue is going to be anything but boring. Just look at this fucking cover! This is the kind of image a D-list publishing house puts on the cover of a biographical comic book about David Faustino. Did editors at DC think highlighting the city of Seattle in 1991 was going to move units? It's not even recognizable as Seattle! Okay, okay, you fucking Seattlites. Great, you recognized your city instantly! I guess this fucking comic book was for you then, you know-it-all twats. For the rest of us, we need the Space Needle front and center, not washed out in the pink morass over Black Canary's shoulder! You never see an artist for DC drawing an image of Paris without the Eiffel Tower. I mean, maybe not never, exactly. Sometimes they'll throw in the Arc de Triomphe or the Louvre or Notre Dame. But that's kind of the point! All Seattle has is the Space Needle! I'm not shitting on Seattle for that. I live in Portland and what the fuck do we have? A big pink corporate office building?! Oh, sure, we have some spectacular bridges! I forgot about those! Portland is better than Seattle when it comes to recognizable architecture. Although we don't have a troll sucking off a VW Bug under any of our bridges or a huge black cock jutting out of downtown (Big Pink is the best we can muster). I don't really care which city has better architecture! I can't stand people who feel pride for living in a specific city and then try to emulate the stereotypical person who lives in that city. If you're wondering who the fuck would do that, just watch any local newscaster in any city and watch how they try so fucking hard to be representative of the stereotypes of people who live there. Local news stations should stop airing promos that say shit like "First. Live. Local." Instead, they should just say, "We have no dignity. But we have the news! Although, to be fair, half of it is composed of viral videos everybody but our oldest of olds audience has seen." Another reason this cover sucks is that it declares the title of this chapter is "Home is Where Ya' Live." Is that some sage Midwestern non-wisdom that people spout in reply to some other person moaning about some problem? Like how when somebody in Lincoln, Nebraska is all, "I was shot in the leg on my way to Runza's!" And then somebody else is all, "It builds character." In California, we didn't have sayings like that. If somebody said, "I was shot in the leg on my way to Taco Bravo!", you would reply, "Dude! That's gnarly!" And they'd go, "I know, right?!" And then you'd be all, "Like, is this going to affect our, like, trip to the beach?" And they'd be all, "Nah brah! I'mma go, like, run some water on it! Good as new, dude!" And you'd say, "Tubular! Gonna go get my board! Catch ya later!" This is because nothing in California builds character. You just start off as a goofy, one-dimensional caricature of a human being and stick with it until you, like, die.

No white male has ever been called uppity and we all know why.

"Uppity" is a great word by which to judge somebody's character. I mean to say, if somebody actually calls somebody else "uppity," you now know way more than that person wanted you to know about what kind of person they are. Especially telling is if somebody doesn't understand why you're judging them for calling somebody "uppity." I stopped associating with way more people than I would have thought possible when they sided against Colin Kaepernick. Maybe they didn't use the word "uppity" exactly but they sure weren't hiding their feeling that some people should keep in a specific place and be grateful for what they've been allowed to have, so to speak. Unfortunately for them, my sister and my dad fell into that camp. Obviously they thought they claimed their dislike for Kaepernick was that he wasn't supporting the troops. But we all know how flimsy that bit of moral legerdemain really is. It takes an awful lot of mental contortion to simply disregard Kaepernick's stated protest of police violence against the black community and decide to believe right wing media that has a vested interest in a continued police state backed by corporate money. The whole "I'm a patriot so I find unpatriotic acts disgusting!" is the worst shell game every invented. All those fuckers who constantly thank members of the military for protecting their freedoms support Trump and Republicans who are fucking our freedoms in the ass (non-consensually! I support somebody fucking my freedom in the ass if my freedom feels like getting fucked in the ass tonight). I would thank a member of the military for protecting my freedom if they were ever fucking used to actually protect our freedoms. As a democracy (Don't you fucking representative republic me, you asshole), it's up to us to protect our freedoms and a good percentage of us are failing spectacularly at that job. Gan isn't just battling the small time crack dealers in his neighborhood. He's got his sights on Senator Garrenger as well.

Gan doesn't realize the opposite is also true.

Senator Garrenger is a white supremacist working with white supremacists to do white supremacy. Some of us have been fighting this shit for a long time. The problem is far more of us have been pretending it wasn't a real thing for even longer. "White supremacist Neo-Nazis infiltrating our police forces? Get out of here! You sound ridiculous!" was probably a thing said a lot in the last forty years. And yet even now that conservatives have found that they don't need to resort to dog whistles because saying the thing out loud that used to cause political backlash doesn't even cause a ripple of concern now. We have learned that a large percentage of our country doesn't give a shit if you're a racist, misogynist asshole as long as you say three things over and over again: "God Bless America," "Owning a gun is a God-given right," and "Abortions are evil." Tick off those boxes and you can dispense with all the dog whistling and just say the racist shit on national television. Dinah begins to dig up dirt on Senator Garrenger so that Black Canary has an iron clad excuse to punch him in the face. Her and Gan decide to work together to stop him and clean up the California drugs in their neighborhood. Not that they believe the two problems are actually the same problem! Not yet anyway! Dinah suspects it but Gan thinks she's seeing conspiracy where there isn't any. Dinah has more experience with how comic books work which is why she sees the entire forest already and it's only the beginning of Issue #2. Gan takes his show to the streets in front of a crack house to shame them out of the neighborhood. He doesn't realize it's run by the Senator's son who murders three of his "coworkers" to make his escape when the cops show. Gan is shot in the shoulder by the white supremacist assassin while Black Canary rushes in to help. A crack addict is blamed for the murders but Black Canary listens to his chaotic rambling, leading her to discover a shell left by the Neo-Nazi assassin. Black Canary: New Wings #2 Rating: B+. All the action is basically the last half of the comic book as a seasoned reader of comic books might expect. If a writer front loads the story with people discussing actual issues, the reader is going to get antsy for some mindless violence! Too bad for some readers the violence in this was't mindless but caused by truly awful people. People think the attitude of Comicsgate is a new thing but if you read the letters pages from the past, you'll see they existed back then as well. A lot of readers didn't want to be reminded that maybe the way they think and the things they believe put them in the realm of the "bad guy." So a comic book where the villain robs the bank or attacks Batman for the hell of it is okay because that reader would never rob a bank or attack Batman. But if you make the bad guy a senator who believes foreigners are stealing the jobs of good white Americans and maybe flooding their neighborhoods with drugs as a good way to fight against their "intrusion" into "white America," some of your readers are going to look up from the comic book and say aloud to nobody, "Hey!" And since most of them aren't in touch with their feelings or have ever really done a good, close examination of their self, they don't know how to deal with hurt feelings in any way but to be angry. It's easier to be angry at the person calling some white people racist than to have a good long think about why you might be upset about somebody pointing out racism.

[rubyredsparks]

Blossoming Souls Ch. 8

Relationship(s): Romantic Logince, Moxiety; Platonic every other relationship

“Tags” for the whole story: morally grey!deceit, Deceit, Remus, Thomas as a character, Romance, Minor violence, someone’s potty mouth, Foul language, Minor homophobia (it’s not that bad), Miscommunication (this one is though), Friendship

Chapter Summary: Dress up Logan time! Also, Roman gets a kick in the ass by a good friend.

Roman was humiliated.

And because of that he was hiding in Noble Joan’s rooms instead of Leo’s this time. Because he had decided an upgrade in hiding was the best decision in his twenty-three years of life.

“Roman, what the fuck?” Joan asked, staring at Roman’s body hidden in the blankets. “Care to tell me why the hell you’re hiding in my bed?”

Roman made a noise to try and answer them. He had hoped that he said ‘Nothing’, but it came out more as a ‘Nfmhm’.

“Doesn’t answer my question, dude.” They sat on the edge of the bed, hand hovering over Roman’s leg. “Are you sick or...?”

Roman uncovered his head, “I’m fine,” before immediately covering his head with the blankets again.

“Right, someone who’s fine would definitely hide their head under the covers like a baby,” Joan said dubiously, crossing their arms.

“Exactly, so leave me alone,” Roman said, trying to burrow under the covers even more.

“No can do, Princey,” they said, patting his leg. “The welcoming ceremony for your Prince Intended is tonight, and I think your valet is beside himself with worry trying to find you. No doubt you’re needed for a fitting.”

“Ernesto needs to cool his jets,” Roman muttered darkly.

“So do you,” Joan said, hands wrapping around Roman’s legs before yanking him clear off their bed.

Roman shrieked, trying to save himself from falling, but only succeeded in tumbling off the bed, tangled in blankets.

He glared at the Cheshire grin on Joan’s face, wanting nothing more than to punch their grin off their face.

Instead he slumped against the bed frame, blankets secure around his shoulders. A petulant pout was on his lips, and his shoulders hunched in as he vainly hugged himself in comfort.

Joan’s smile slid off their face, and Roman felt a small sort of happiness for wiping that shit-eating grin off their face before his black mood settled back.

“What’s wrong?” They asked, sliding down next to Roman, shoulder to shoulder.

“I messed up, Joan,” Roman admitted quietly.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, Joan, I sincerely, seriously screwed up.” Roman took a deep breath before explaining to them what he did.

They whistled lowly when he finished, fixing him with a slightly impressed and disappointed look. “Wow, you did fuck up.”

“Joan,” Roman whigned, hands shaking their arm slightly. “You’re supposed to cheer me up, not agree with me.”

“When did I ever agree to that?”

“When you agreed to be friends with me,” Roman answered promptly.

“Well, damn, can I get a refund?” Joan snorted at the pathetic look Roman gave them before knocking his shoulder with theirs. “Relax, I’m pulling your leg. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

“My underwear is just fine, thank you very much,” Roman muttered.

“You know what I mean,” Joan said. “So you royally screwed up, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Hide in these blankets ‘til the day I die.” Roman said, already trying to burrow his head back into the covers.

“What, no. That’s not what I- Will you take those damned blankets off your head?” They wrenched the duvet off Roman’s head as he whinged and half-heartedly tried to reach for them back.

“Stop acting like a child, Roman.” Joan said sternly. “You’re the Crown Prince. You were coronated just a few months ago, and now your Intended is here. You have to welcome him here, and you can’t blow this off like you did these past few weeks.”

“I know, Joan, I know.” Roman scowled, running a hand through his wavy hair and cursing when he tugged at a knot.

“But how can I show my face to him after I lied to him for days. Not to mention having him find out via gossip and not me.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” they shrugged, pulling them up much to the Prince’s protests. “Maybe do something to make it up to him. Flowers or some shit. People like flowers.”

They ushered him toward the door, pulling it open as Roman perked up, head tilted and hair falling in front of his eyes in thought. “You really think so?”

“No clue,” they pushed him out the door. “Goodbye and good luck,” and promptly shut the door in his face.

Roman blinked.

Then blinked again.

This was the third time that a door slammed in his face. This was becoming a habit.

But first, “Joan! Come on, Joan! Help me!” He pounded on the door furiously, hearing the muffled laughter behind the wood. “I can hear you laughing, you bastard!”

“Your Highness!” Roman paled as he heard Ernesto’s high pitched wail. He could hear the pounding of footsteps, and his feet were running before his mind could catch up.

Nothing against Ernesto, but his scrutiny and high regard for prim and proprietary could be so exhausting day in and day out. The man only talked about work, and made jokes about buttons.

Buttons, for Lady's sake. Could anyone get anymore dull?

“Your Highness!” came the screech again, and Roman quickened his pace.

His head was ducked, looking at his scurrying feet. Years of practice making it easy to weave in and out of servants’ ways as he tried to outrun the unusually quick valet, rounding the corner.

“Oof!”

He was met with a hard chest. Papers and books flew into the air, cutting through Roman’s face as he was met with startled blue eyes and a familiar cross face.

“Your Highness, thank you so much for creating this mess.” Prince Logan’s icy tone wasn’t hard to mistake, and Roman winced at that jab.

Hurriedly, he crouched down to gather all the loose leaf papers, carefully putting them into the inside of one of the books he picked up. Meticulously making sure that whatever papers he picked up did not have any creases in them.

Lady only knew how Prince Logan would react to his papers creased and folded.

Handing them back to Logan, he tried for a smile against the cold glare sent his way. “I’m sorry about that, My Prince.”

Logan didn’t respond, merely sidestepping him and walking away.

“Your Highness!” Ernesto’s voice was much closer this time.

Roman cursed, setting forward to run again. He could make it up to the Prince next time.

At the Welcoming Ball Ceremony.

Where they were to be announced as Intendeds.

Hopefully, Logan will be able to forgive him by the time they reach the altar.

Roman subconsciously brought up the icy glare, the cold blue eyes that bore into him and the sneer on Prince Logan’s lips. Beautiful, kissable lips.

Then again… he winced at the memory, maybe not.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t understand.”

“Your Highness, please,” a man with platinum blond hair sighed, exasperated. "Must I explain again? Your attendants have informed me that you haven't any formal clothes for the Welcoming Ball tonight. It's my job to tailor and fit you into proper clothes for the ball. Which is in a few hours now, might I add."

"No, I understood that. What I don't understand is why I need new clothes. I have formalwear."

Logan watched as the man, who was slightly taller than him, rested both hands over his face, letting out a long sigh and mumbling to himself.

He looked up again, and Logan's memory tickled with the name Tan, and said, "Well, your Highness, your attendants came to me and said that your formalwear was well…. How can I say this delicately?"

Tan looked him up and down, eyes scrutinizing and brow raised, "Your style is too simplistic. It lacks colour, style, basically everything.

"Now with my help, you're going to look gorgeous." Tan pulled out racks of clothes out of seemingly nowhere, and to Logan's embarrassment, the other attendants in the room started to strip him to his boxers.

Logan was bare to the world, and while Tan clicked his tongue, he hadn't made Logan stand naked in the room.

"Now what colours do you look good in," Tan mused, a finger on his lips.

"His Highness looks good in blue!" Someone chimed, and Logan whipped around to see Patton's beaming face.

The man was still dressed in casual wear, but the sheen of sweat could clearly be seen and bits of grime and dirt speckled his body.

But the smile on his face outshone the sun.

"You too, Patton?" Logan groaned, burying his face into his hands and feeling his face run hot in embarrassment.

Logan barely noticed as attendants started to take his measurements, and he allowed for his body to be moved this way and that.

"Highness, I'm just looking out for you!" He pouted, lips twitching, betraying a smile.

Logan's eyes narrowed. "You're the one who told Tan about my quote on quote 'lack of formalwear' aren't you?"

Patton at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe."

Logan sighed, "It's alright, there's nothing to do about it now."

A loud smack startled them, and the two turned to Tan. There was a wicked smile on his face as he slapped the measuring tape in his hands.

"Oh, we're about to do something about it," Tan promised, diabolical gleam in his brown eyes.

Logan had never felt more like an experiment in his life. Tan had poked and prodded him with so many needles and tight clothing that Logan felt like he would burst with uncomfortableness.

He stood there-- like a porcelain doll-- being twisted and turned and forced to show off his body under Tan's critical gaze.

The man was merciless, putting him in outfit after outfit with barely space to breathe in between.

He would hem and haw at each style, stalking around him with eyes like a hawk.

After what felt like weeks of being stabbed and clucked at when he moved even remotely in the wrong direction, Tan finally clapped his hands, giddy smile stretched across his face.

"You look fantastic, darling."

Logan looked down, and. Wow. He had been expecting something fancy, reams of gold and silk or curlicues of lace.

But this?

This was not what he was expecting.

He was cloaked in blue, of course, Tan had taken note of Patton's comment, fitting it into his design.

It was a deep, luscious blue, the petticoat trailing nearly past his ankles. Black lace outlined the hem and edges with elegant patterns of Wysteria sewn into the fabric.

His tunic is sheer black, cut and angled to show off his chest. Logan balked at showing so much skin, but seeing Tan's evil eye he chose not to protest.

Hands reaching up to adjust his tie before falling limply at his side. There was no ascot or tie around his neck, making him feel oddly naked without it, lost without his shield.

His pants, fitted as they were, ran down his legs, just on the edge of too tight, extenuating his legs and other features.

All in all, he looked….

"Gorgeous."

Logan looked up sharply at that, spinning around to face the speaker. The word was spoken tenderly, reverent and breathless.

By a man he was angry with.

Prince Roman of Eiehde stood in the doorway of his room. He slowly walked inside, mutters and heads bowed from the servants as he got closer.

The Prince was wearing white, laced in golden fabrics. A sheer, white skirt that seemed to be sewn into his coattails trailing his legs.

Gold epaulettes on his jacket shoulders with red and gold thread sewn into the front covers of the jacket with little aster blossoms in the fabric. A red sash trailed from his right shoulder to his hip. Medals were pinned on his left jacket, right above his heart.

His pants were slack, mesh, fluttering about his legs in something akin to a dress. His hair tied up in a loose ponytail, disobedient brown-red curls flying about his face.

All in all, a very gender-ambiguous style of clothing for the Prince of Eiedhe.

"Your Highness," Logan said carefully from atop his pedestal. "What are you doing here?"

The anger he felt for the Prince wasn't as high as it had been earlier that day. It simmered in his stomach, the lie like lead.

Something flashed in the Prince's eyes that Logan couldn't decipher, but he could swear that it was pain and hurt in those red-brown eyes.

Roman straightened his back, his feet positioned scant few inches away from Logan. He held out his right hand, left fisted behind him resting on the small of his back.

"I am here to escort His Royal Highness of Aowhea, Prince Logan, to the Welcoming Ball."

Logan clenched his jaw. With that formal wording, Logan couldn't refuse lest he cause a scandal for refusing.

The two were of near equal status, but Logan was the guest here. Refusing would be an insult and a half that would mean tense conditions on his return.

He knew that he had to accept the hand that the Prince was offering.

Daintily, he laid his hand atop of Roman's, suppressing a wince when he closed around it, and with Roman's help, stepped down from the pedestal.

Stepping down was a mistake. Logan was stood next to the man, and he could feel the heat emanating from the man himself.

Bringing back memories of their first meeting and subsequent… sleepover and cuddle session.

Fighting down a blush, Logan looked up at Prince Roman, instantly disliking the height difference between them. It was only a few inches at most, but he was still forced to look up at the man.

The close proximity was near stifling, but not so horrible.

Roman's hand was hot, warming his own. And reminded him that they were still holding hands but surprisingly Logan found that he didn't want to let go.

His hand was dark against Roman, a stark contrast. He could feel the calloused blisters in the hard worked skin. Roman's hand practically enveloped Logan's, his hand feeling small and dainty.

It was overwhelming, different and awkward.

"Shall we take our leave?" Roman's low timbre reverberated within him, and Logan was close enough to practically feel the vibrations.

Logan barely suppressed a shiver, taking a moment to collect himself. "Yes… let us do so."

"Your Highness, wait."

Both men turned to look at Patton, who was holding up a light red and gold piece of fabric.

Patton smirked, fixing the ascot around Logan's neck. "There, now you can go. Bye bye, have fun!"

Logan rolled his eyes, but felt his heart stutter at the implication around his neck.

Roman raked his eyes over him, dark and dangerous. "Well?"

Logan nodded silently, the once protective piece of fabric choking him.

---------------------------

Masterpost | Previous | Next

[kaz3313]

Hell is in the Ink Machine

Chapter 3 and not close to being done (this story was originally going to be 5 chapters lol)

@a-rae-of-sunshine thank you for all the support you've given to me and for inspiring to create this!

Also I added a few Ocs that I just meant them to be a one time use kind but I might actually expand on them (and make versions of them out of this AU!)

As always TW violence/gore

(PS I live for reblogs and comments and tags and you can just key smash and it will warm my heart. So thanks to all those that have done any of those things or all of them I appreciate it)

Screaming is never a good sign especially in accordance with Henry’s new violent tendencies.

Wally closes his eyes hearing the screech. He’d made it to a vent and was planning on leaving the place through it. Henry made no attempt to join him, just aimlessly walked away, and for once Wally felt he’d be able to escape.

But that scream...it sounds a lot like Miss. Campbell...how could he leave her if she is in trouble? Wally is the only one Henry wouldn’t attack outright he should stay with him to keep him in line.

 Though why should he? He’s barely twenty-three and he shouldn’t have to babysit a man who in an instant could kill.

The moral dilemma sits in his mind like a stomach full of food poisoning. Susie is one of the nicest people he knew; the two would gossip, eat, and even go shopping together (Both Shawn and Sammy poked fun at him for it. Wearing clothes he knew he could never afford was always fun to him it felt like an adult game of dress up).  When she was new to being a voice actress at the studio Wally would always encourage her. The two even did funny voices together to pass the time on slow days (though Wally half the time only exaggerated his voice). He left Tom and Alison without a second thought and even if neither were hurt he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Wally sighs but his mind is already made up.

 Sammy’s vision still is sinking in darkness when he manages to crawl to his office. His body yells in protest as he forces himself to his knees scrambling in one of his drawers. He pulls out an extra pair of pants and shirt he saves in case of an ink leak. Instead of a usual new stain of ink on the old clothes splotches of red show on the grey fabric. His fingers tremble as he attempts to tie both articles to his chest.

The loss of blood finally makes a bigger impact as the world wobbles but Sammy tries to counter it with rhythmic breathing and sheer will. Luckily he’s stubborn enough to stay conscious as he scoots his way to the office phone. He dials the police department’s number but nothing-not even dial tone- answers his call. Suddenly he realizes the lines dead and drops the phone emitting a small whimpering noise. Out of all the days-

His half broken thoughts are interrupted by the scream echoing through the studio. The voice seems so familiar but Sammy can’t place it. Not that he needs to he sends silent empathy to whatever poor soul is caught in line with the axe and the man behind it.

He swallows again not knowing what to do. He assumes either everyone in the art department is dead or unaffected; Henry doesn’t seem to have any in betweens. If there is alive people he could do his best to explain but...well the dead have to use Not only that but Sammy isn’t too sure how long he'll last with the pain he’s forced to endure. Stairs seem unpleasant and time consuming at the moment.

Now he can always travel downward but the chance of encountering Henry again was high. Then again it would be a better chance to find alive people then the animation department.

The exit is in the animation department though he could escape, collapse in the road, and someone may be a kind Samaritan to bring him to the hospital. If he leaves though the studio will be,without warning or mercy, in the hands of Henry.

He closes his eyes to better consideration unknowingly he’d fall under the ever present threat of a restless sleep.

 Shawn hears the scream as clear as day and as much as he’d love to run to be hero he fears he’s too late. Last he knew Susie was I an unsuspecting storage room with shelves to block the door but based on the scream and a gut feeling Shawn guesses she didn’t stay there long.

 He stares at his desk knowing the selfishness of grabbing his stuff in case he needed to leave quickly rather than looking and helping people out beforehand. He reasons with himself that he can’t help anyone if he’s dead as well as reasons that if he has no money he might as well be dead.

A familiar whistle fills his ears as his head pokes up seeing the wandering man in the department. Shawn recognizes him instantly.

Henry; Head to toe he’s covered in dried blood and from lack of apparent wounds Shawn guesses it it’s not his own. He whistles the theme of the cartoon and Shawn remembers he’s the whistler for the theme. That fact does little for him at the moment of the approaching murderer. He quickly shoves himself beneath his desk searching for anything that could be of use to defend himself. All he can find is a sewing needle that he holds like one would hold a pocket knife.

Henry walks slowly and begins to mess with the machines that fill the room. He stuffs then takes out plushies with a mad sort of daze in his eyes. Henry flips switches on and flips them off before turning to the time clock. He repeatedly punches in a time card while muttering phrases under his breath. Although these actions could just seem a little odd Shawn is terrified.

After a few minutes of Henry doing virtually nothing he walks over to Shawn’s desk the Irish man still under. Henry stands staring at Shawn but makes no move toward him. Almost like he can’t see. Shawn breathes out; whatever is in this man’s vision it definitely wasn’t him.

“Don’t even notice me, do ya? You’re in ya own world, ain’t ya? Well at least I’m not there,” Shawn states and Henry tilts his head to the side. “Can ya here me? Do you know where the noise coming fr-“ Shawn feels a pit develop in his stomach as Henry raises his hand. His father always told him not keeping his mouth shut would kill him; Shawn never thought much about the warning.

Henry places a hand on the other’s head and waits. Minutes pass and Shawn feels sweat form on his face. Something more had to happen right? The man is just waiting to kill him? Is he just drawing it out.

Nothing.

Henry leaves; Shawn realizes his opportunity missed but can’t seem to blame himself. There's something otherworldly about the animator. Something that terrifies Shawn even more than anything else.

Screaming and running is a very stereotypical thing for ladies to do but for once Susie decides that it’s not the time to be a groundbreaking women. No, all Susie wants to do is scream and run and cry into Sammy and be held and-

 With all her heart she just wants to be saved and out of this hell. Quickly she finds a large room and barricades herself in breathing heavily. The room she noticies has another glass window and it looks about the same as the last one; why is everything down here so confusing?She sinks to the floor holding her legs to her chest and burying her head in her knees.

“Woah, Boris don’t scare me like that,” Wally jumps just hearing the older man’s voice. He manages a smile out of noticing the twisted irony. He would love to know why he’s always referred to as Boris but hey as long as “You found a weapon buddy?” Henry plucks the pipe Wally has out of his hands.

“That- it’s not yours Henry,” but he just swings it around no desire to give the new item up. “Please, you been calling me buddy and everything. I’ll keep it safe for you,” Even with asking nothing happens and Henry ventures on. Not wanting to leave him too his own devices Wally follows along.

 Henry feels sick to his stomach as he grips the pipe tighter in his hand. The world around him a blend of cartoons and reality. His mind is muddled with memories but a sinking feeling in his chest told him something is off. Something off with the studio closing down, with him leaving, and the ink machine. He couldn’t get his timeline straight but he presses forward hoping an answer would provide itself at the end of his adventure.

His adventure full of ink and horrors no one should live through. At least Boris has joined him; otherwise it would be a rather lonely road.

“Where are you?” These question drifted to his head a few times previously. He was in the hellish Joey Drew Studio in the toy department.

“What are you doing?” Obviously trying to get out; too bad all the falling just lead to his spiral downward.

“Why are you attacking?” The ink creatures were attacking him! He has to defend himself.

“Why have you let your mind succumb to the Ink Machine?” This thought leaves him in a curious wonder. It’s an odd scary thought but something in him resonates with him...but not for long.

They encountered a room full of dead Borises; how horrific.

Wally is forced to see the horrific beginning of the massacre. As soon as he walks in the room full of people he knows bad things are to come. None of them suspected a thing. Wally tries to shout out, a desperate attempt to give them any warning but it was too late. Henry is already coming toward them so without a word Wally swiftly leaves.

Screaming, crying, begging, chaos that Wally decides he won’t experience  experience again. Even if his own mind berates that he’s a coward, at least he’s going to live. A guilty conscious is better than no concious.

Daisy Patch has worked, in the toy department, at Joey Drew Studios for a little over month. It isn’t bad job to say the least nice people, paid enough to provide for herself, and all she has to do is make dolls sometimes even getting the benefit of taking one home when Shawn botches the smiles on them. Her own small smile creeps on her lips thinking of the Irish man. She already knew he wouldn’t be interested in her, well he wasn’t interested in any gal, but a girl could dream. Dream she did and keep all the dolls he gave to her. Daisy always reminded herself that he gave the plushies to everyone, not everyone but anyone who was halfway decent, but the thrill of getting a gift from a crush always gave her the blushes. Or when he greeted her, or when he asked for her to bring some message to another. or when she much delivered his love letters written in Irish to Wally; she read them like they were her own but who wouldn’t?

 Speaking of Wally she just saw him dart out of the room when- her eyes widen as she notices the man covered in blood in the doorway. Her coworker,Stephan, stands up about to say something to the man but he strikes him with a pipe. Stephan shouts and the rest of the toymakers begin to panic. Daisy can’t bring herself to leave her seat and watches the mass of bodies run around like chicken with their heads cut off. Blood man is meticulously striking them down with his blunt tool.

Worker after worker falls; he beats them to unconsciousness and hits them a few more times, whether good measure or insanity Daisy isn't sure. Blood fell to the floor and many people along with it.

Stephan, who's closest to her, lays on the floor unmoving. Blood runs down his face and is matted in his blond hair. Daisy scoots from her chair to the floor beside him.

"Stephan?" She gently pulls at her friend's clothes but he doesn't stirr. He won't stir will he?

Daisy stares at the dead man pondering morality and wondering why she hadn't screamed from this morbid sight. Why she fails to cry; instead she sifts her fingers through his hair not noticing that all her other coworkers have fallen. She doesn't even notice the murderer right behind her. Not until with the pipe connects with the back of her head.

[donutpwns]

Little Brother Blues - Part 1

\o/ - Part 2

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's hard having Ford back; harder than Stan had been expecting. Sure, he'd figured there'd be some pain, maybe some fighting because of what happened thirty years ago, but he thought Ford would at least be grateful and that would be a foundation for them to pick up from. Stan had spent 30 years regretting that night and working with a determination to make it up to his brother, but none of that seemed to matter. Ford still hated him and, after having a home for so long, Stan would be out on his ass again at the end of the summer.

It wouldn't be as bad this time, he told himself. He's already started collecting the various stashes of money he has hidden about the house and buried in the yard. He has enough squirreled away to take care of himself for a while. He'd have more if the Shack hadn't been destroyed so many times but eh, small price to pay for the kids. Hell, maybe he'll open up another museum here in town just to piss his brother off. It makes him grin to think of tourists stopping by while Ford is trying to do his stupid nerd stuff and having to tell them that the Mystery Shack has moved.

He's thinking about how mad that would make his brother while he counts the money in the register. It's been a slow day; Stan really needs to come up with some new attractions. There's still money to be made by the end of the summer, after all. Maybe he could try passing Gompers off as a demon again? Mabel could make a costume probably better them he could; threading a needle was a pain with his eyesight. Hm. Might be time to go to the dump for supplies and inspiration.

He's debating the merits, and morality, of taking the kids to the city dump to scavenge when they burst through the front door. They look panicked but that's sort of the norm for them these days. He bets himself that they're involved with something to do with the gnomes again; the little bastards have been getting into his trash more than the boy band that lived in the woods.

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper runs inside while Mabel stays in the doorway, continuously looking back and forth from the outside to in and bouncing on her heels. Stan shoves the register drawer closed just as the kid reaches the counter. “Something bad happened!”

“How bad? Finally found something Ford couldn't handle, huh?” the kids had been out helping his brother with something or another, a secondary defense to the weird barrier around the Shack. Which, speaking of, where was Ford? Stan has to squash a rising panic that something happened to Ford because if something had then he deserved it because he's a self-important ass and instead embraces anger at the idea that Ford put the kids in danger. “Where’s Stanford?” If he put them in danger, Stan's going to rescind the permission for the kids to spend time with him so fast.

“He's outside but that’s the problem, he’s—"

Stan is already out the door before Dipper can finish, because okay, maybe he's a little worried about his brother being hurt. Shut up, no one can prove anything. Mabel runs ahead of him and he follows her around to the porch where his old couch sits, upon which there's a pile that vaguely resembles Ford's stupid trench coat. Like he was some kinda cool sci-fi hero. Stan hated it. And then Stan sees a muss of brown hair poking out from under it and the whole thing moves with a groan.

The jacket falls into his lap as he sits up and rubs at his eyes. His sweater is comically oversized on him, the sleeves hanging past his hands. But Stan doesn't need to see them to know what they look like. He knows the face that is squinting up at him—what happened to his glasses?—by the freckles that still stand out and the familiar messy hair.

“So, uh, this is a new one.” he says and looks back at where the kids are standing a few feet back. Mabel looks torn on being excited or terrified while Dipper has landed firmly on the latter. Kid is twitching up a storm. Stan works to keep his tone even and composed because honestly weirder things have happened to him this summer. This is probably around the fighting dinosaurs level of weirdness in his life. “Anyone wanna tell me why Ford is a runt again?”

“We were looking at the size crystals cause we thought maybe we could make the barrier bigger but then—” Dipper starts but Mabel cuts him off,

“There was this HUGE monster and Grunkle Ford was all ‘watch out kids, this is a thing and blargh!’ and he shot it with his gun but it was all ‘eh whatever’ and then it bit him and we threw rocks at it until it went away!” Mabel is bouncing again, miming throwing something and then an explosion which she makes the noise for. Stan is pretty sure it’s only to enhance the story and in other circumstances would be very proud of her. “And then—”

“Then Ford said he was fine and passed out. Mabel ran back to get the golf cart so we could bring him home—”

Mabel wrinkles her nose, “He’s so heavy.”

“but by the time she got back he was…like this.” Dipper lamely gestures towards the couch.

There's a thump and when Stan turns his attention back to the kid that was his twin, Ford has apparently fallen off the couch. The stupid trench coat is on the ground, leaving the boy in the sweater that hangs to his knees when he pulls himself to his feet. He moves to put the couch between them, gripping the arm of it white knuckle tight. “I-I don't know wh-who you are or how you know m-my name,” his voice is more squeaky than Dipper's and laced with a barely restrained fear, “but I'll have you know that my b-brother will beat the heck outta you if you mess with me!”

Stan wants to laugh, wants to groan. This is just…stupid. “You got no clue where you are, huh?” he shakes his head and looks back at the kids. “Where are his glasses? And his pants?” good thing that sweater was so big. Stan spares a glance at his brother’s bare feet, twelve toes standing out clear as day.

Both of them point towards where the golf cart is parked haphazardly a few feet from the porch and Stan has to seriously fight an eye roll at the tracks they left in the yard. He’d get that cleaned up before the next tour. Dipper runs to get the glasses, which Stan snatches from him before he can run over to where Ford is starting to try to sneak away and failing as he knocks into the side of the house.

Stan might hate his brother, but he doesn’t hate this version of him. He’ll give Ford all kinds of hell once this was fixed, about putting the kids in danger and being stupid and this is why he didn’t want him around the kids, but if this version of him didn’t know what was going on then he didn’t deserve any of that. So Stan moves to kneel in front of the kid and holds out the glasses like a peace offering. Ford’s eyes have probably changed a lot in fifty or so years since he was a kid but it had to be better than nothing, right? Stan’s not sure, he knows nothing about glasses other than he needs them.

Ford hated not having his glasses as a kid, hated not being able to see. He’d always raise a stink when Stan or a bully would take them from him. He takes them, though he doesn’t pull his hands out of the sleeves to do so, making the act clumsy. He fumbles a bit as he puts them on; they’re much too big and slide down his nose so he has to tilt his head back a bit to keep them in place. The lenses glow a dull blue, a line like a scanner moving across Ford’s eyes, then the glow fades and after a few blinks, Ford is no longer squinting.

“Can you see now?” Stan’s not sure what that was, but the not squinting is a good thing, right?

Ford nods slowly, keeping one hand on the side of his head to keep his glasses in place. Then he tilts his head with a frown. “You look like my dad. Only really old.” His mouth twitches when Mabel lets out a loud snort behind Stan but then he’s frowning again and squaring his shoulders.

Stan rubs his eyes under his glasses. He hates kids, especially ones related to him. “You like stu—science fiction stuff, right? Well, this is some crazy sci-fi stuff.” He pulls his hand away to flash his best, most charming grin and moves his hands in a ‘ta-da’ motion. “It’s me, your favorite brother! Stanley!”

Ford, if at all possible, looks less impressed than he has since he came back through the portal. “I’m not stupid. Stanley’s my twin.” He grumbles and tries to cross his arms only to scramble to shove the glasses back up his face. His cheeks go red while he tries to straighten himself. “Stanley is the coolest ever and he’s super tough and you’re a weird old man that looks like my dad.”

Mabel and Dipper are on either side of him in a blink; Stan nearly falls over as they slam into him. They’re both gripping one of his arms. “No! It’s true! You’re our Great Uncle Ford and this is Stan! This is like, magic stuff!” Dipper is the first to speak. “You’re like, the greatest scientist that’s ever existed and you’re super smart and cool and you’re the best!”

“Typically you’re both stupid old, but you got bit by a dumb forest creature so now you’re an adorable kid like us!” Mabel appears to have settled on being excited about the turn of events, given she’s grinning ear to ear now. “Hey, hey! Does this mean he’s still our uncle?” she gasps and shakes Stan’s arm. “Oh my gosh! Are we older than him? Are we the big kids?! Can we boss him around?!”

Ford takes a step back, forehead wrinkling and clearly uncomfortable with the attention. Did Ford hate being the center of attention when they were kids? Stan doesn’t remember. He elbows both kids and gives his shrunken twin a tired look. “Listen, you just gotta believe us. We gotta work together, kid.”

Ford looks between all of them for a moment before shaking his head. “Prove it!” he yells and puts his hands on his hips, head tilted back far enough to keep the oversized glasses on. “If you are Stanley, which I’m pretty sure you’re not, then you can prove it. Do something only Stanley would do.”

Stan’s first thought is to punch him because his first thought is usually punching Ford these days, but punching a child is, as the kids have informed him, highly illegal. And not the usual kind of illegal that Stan can deal with but the kind that will make the kids not talk to him and possibly call their parents. He looks over his brother, in the oversized sweater that hangs past his hands. Why hasn’t he shoved the sleeves up yet? That doesn’t—

Oh. Right. That makes sense.

Stan holds up a hand, palm to his brother, and with a little bit of nerves climbing up his throat asks, “High Six?” it’s stupid; the last time he said the words was when Ford was staring down at him and a duffle bag with everything he would have to his name sat next to his feet. He’s over that, he doesn’t care, shut up, but it still twists something tight in his gut.

Ford’s face shifts though, annoyance and haughtiness melting off. He still looks nervous though, but he does move. His hands are shaking when he moves to finally push his right sleeve up past his hand. “High six.” He slaps his palm to Stan’s. A small smile crosses his face and Stan feels the twisting in his gut start to loosen up a bit. Then Ford is coughing and shoving both of his hands behind his back. “Okay. So, maybe you’re my brother. Even though you’re super old.”

Stan huffs and pushes himself to his feet despite the way his back protests. He also chooses to ignore the way Mabel is clinging to his arm, causing him to lean to the side when she lifts her feet off the ground. “Alright, let’s get this taken care of. Dipper—”

Dipper jumps next to him, “I’ll go look in the Journals to see if Great Uncle Ford wrote about it! He seemed to recognize it when it attacked.” He makes a mock salute up at Stan before darting inside the house.

Stan frowns. He was going to ask Dipper to look after Ford while Stan looked through the books, but he supposes that Dipper might be better suited for it. Kid was a great deal smarter than Stan anyway. “Right. Okay. So, Mabel, can you—”

“Make Tiny Ford some clothes that’ll fit? Great idea, Grunkle Stan! I’m on it!” she drops off his arm and practically tackles Ford. She hugs him tight and lifts him off the ground; Stan is impressed by how far back she can bend her back. She rubs her cheek against his before putting him back on the ground. Ford looks extremely uncomfortable with the whole thing. “Okay, so I think you’re the same size as Dipper! This will be fun! You’re gonna be so stylin’! Do you still like sweaters? Of course you do, everyone does, sweaters are peak fashion!” and she’s off.

Well. That works too. Well, not like Ford could keep walking around in an oversized sweater, so it made sense. Stan hopes they’ll get things sorted out before multiple clothes are needed but telling Mabel not to make sweater was like telling Dipper not to sweat. Stan’s got a feeling he’ll be spending money on this whole ordeal by the end of it. Yep, it’s decided, he’s not leaving Ford a dime at the end of the summer.

A hand tugs on the end of his sleeve; Ford is staring up at him with those giant oversized glasses. “Old Stanley? That kid said I was a scientist?” his eyes are all wide and sparkling with what looks to be joy.  “Does that mean we do science on the sea?”

Stan raises a brow, “The sea?” he reeeeeally didn’t like where this was going.

Ford nods excitedly, smile spreading into a grin. “Yeah! On the Stan O’ War! Do I have a lab on it? I always wanted to put one in there but we never really had a chance to talk about it and it’s gonna take a while to fix up the boat anyway. But if I’m scientist that means I’ve got a lab, right? Like full of beakers and test tubes and monster parts! Ooh, do you beat up monsters and then I study them and we pay for it with all the treasure?” he’s starting to bounce like Mabel does when she gets too excited, both hands coming to grip Stan’s sleeve and his glasses sliding down his face. “Where is the Stan O War? I can’t wait to see what it looks like done! Did we paint it cool colors? Where is it docked? Is the ocean near here? Is this the house where we take breaks from or does it belong to those kids? Are we really their uncles? Where’s Shermie?”

Stan could barely keep up with Ford’s questions and the way he was rapid firing them and on instinct he covers his brother’s mouth with his hand. Ford’s mouth keeps moving for a few seconds, voice muffled, before he seems to realize what was happening. Stan jerks his hand back when he feels a wet tongue against his palm. “Hot Belgian waffles, Sixer. Calm down.” He wipes his hand on his pants. He looks around for any excuse to not deal with all of the that that Ford just asked. Nope, not in any hurry to unpack fifty years’ worth of emotional baggage for the second time in a month. Or ever again if he could avoid it. Yeah, never sounded great. “Let’s get you some pants before we get into all of that.”

Ford nods and moves inside with him. He gasps once they’re in the living room and runs over to the giant skull that Stan uses as an end table. “Holy Moses! Look at the size of it, Stanley! Did you kill it? Did we find it at sea? This is so cool!” he shoves the glasses up his nose and gets on his knees to look in its eye holes. “Do I have notes about it? It doesn’t look like a water creature. Do we still have the rest of it? Stanley, you gotta show me the rest of it! Please?”

Stan slumps back against the wall and tries very hard to not just slide to the floor. This…was going to be difficult.

t

[ohjohnno]

Outrageous Fortune Reviewcap: S1E04 (”The Cause Of This Defect”)

This isn’t quite a bottle episode - it does feature a couple of new characters, and there are a couple of moments on new sets - but in a lot of ways it does feel like one. It’s weirdly plotless, for one thing; aside from the cold open, the entire thing takes place over a period of about, at most, five hours, and as a result it’s very slow paced. That allows for a deeper exploration of more characters than usual, and the result is one of the most complex, affecting, and engaging episodes the show ever did.

The “plot”, or rather plot substitute, is a funeral and its immediate aftermath. In the cold open, we meet this guy: 

That’s Billy Grady West, and we don’t know him long. He dies a sad death by misadventure while fleeing a cop, making the mistake of hiding in a dustbin on the day the binmen come round. Over the course of the episode, we learn that he was Eric’s son, but also that he was really a West, to the point where he’d changed his name to reflect his feelings. Now, one could argue that we maybe should have been introduced to him in an earlier episode - it’s a bit weird that we’ve passed without mention of this guy so far, after all - but I don’t mind; he’s really more a plot device than a character, and that’s as it should be. The most important thing about him is that his death gives the writers an excuse to take Wolf out of prison for a day, thus setting off a chain of events that teaches us a bit more about just about every character.

It’s gonna be difficult to split this up into individual character-plot analysis like I usually do, so this is gonna be a little bit more like a traditional recap. So much of import is happening in just about every second of this episode that I’d feel worried about missing something if I didn’t. So, once we’re past the cold open and the opening credits, we jump right into the action with the Wests.

Right away, we learn several things. First, that Van - judging by the wall he punches - was very fond of Billy; secondly, that Loretta is, judging by her facial expression, a little bothered by still being what Pascalle calls “the oldest virgin in West Auckland”; and thirdly, that neither Cheryl nor Jethro are particularly looking forward to Wolf’s impending appearance at Billy’s service, even though he’ll be under guard. Eric appears, and it’s unclear whether his reticence to attend his son’s service is inability to face up to grief or just a lack of it. Then we’re at the service.

Jethro’s giving a speech over Billy’s grave, and you can tell instantly that he didn’t like him; he’s awkwardly stumbling over euphemisms about his skills and talents, treating him like an embarrassing fuckup whose funeral he is attending only out of obligation. But Wolf shows up in the middle of it, and their brief interaction is fraught with significance. 

He embraces Pascalle and Eric (as Cheryl looks on in disgust), but steps up to Jethro as if he barely knows him, standing there with an abrasive “thanks, mate” and staring him down with the full force of fatherly authority until he moves, clearly seething with long-brewed resentment that surely grows a little more potent right in that moment, as he’s forced once more to put a lid on it and bottle it up, making way for the indomitable force of his father’s self-assured machismo. Wolf, for his part, then delivers a wonderfully engaging, emotionally resonant speech (mostly about a digger Billy once commandeered) that captures the audience’s hearts, driving Jethro even more round the bend. “Only he could turn a bloody tragedy into the big day out,” he seethes to Cheryl, who isn’t any happier with the situation. Her mood isn’t improved by their lawyer, Corky, demanding money up-front for the appeal. They leave him in the dust.

Back at the house now, and Jethro’s rage has subsumed into a piercingly smug contempt. He mocks Billy to Van’s face while preparing meat on the “barbie”, and he doesn’t mince words: “A p-head screwup. If he hadn’t gone now, he would have gone next week, next year...” Van doesn’t like that at all, and that seems to give Jethro all the motivation he needs to keep pushing, seemingly itching to start a fight. Their brewing confrontation is interrupted by Cheryl, but it’s clear there’s something going on here that goes far deeper than Jethro’s dislike for Billy. Indeed, it’s pretty clear that this isn’t about Van, either, who did nothing whatsoever to provoke Jethro’s barrage of needles. This is a resentment that goes all the way to the top.

Wolf’s prison guard allows him a visit to the house, too, and Cheryl still isn’t pleased to see him. Loretta is, though, and he’s not the only one she’s pleased to see.

Wolf politely introduces her to Paul, his young, attractive prison guard. Loretta, well... look at that face. The “oldest virgin in West Auckland”, indeed, but far from an unfeeling robot. 

Cheryl burns her hand on a tray of sausage rolls, and runs to the bathroom for cold water; Wolf follows her, and they have brief, very confused, and very passionate sex. Loretta, meanwhile, does her best to hit on Paul, and it’s absolutely hilarious in the way that only awkward, antisocial nerd attempts at hitting on people can be. Her attempt is a nervous, motormouthed pile of obscure film references and weirdly sexual insults, the sort of thing that’s usually presented the other way around, gender-wise; it’s really quite rare to see the traditional gender roles get swapped like this, and it’s all the funnier for it. Poor Paul has no idea what to do, and it’s clear his torment isn’t gonna end anytime soon; Loretta asks him if he likes movies, and what’s anyone supposed to say to that?

Jethro, unable to piss in the toilet Van’s moping in, accidentally interrupts his parents; this unceremoniously ends their tryst, and things are immediately back to normal. Wolf, once more, demonstrates himself unable to understand what, exactly, it is that is making Cheryl so angry about the Allen situation; Cheryl, by now, has little to no interest in enlightening him. So she leaves, telling him to “fuck off back to prison”, leaving Wolf fuming in the bathroom. He sees Paul and Loretta going back to the latter’s room (for a “movie”), and it’s instantly apparent that he knows exactly what’s happening. Still, he lets it pass without comment, or at least without explicit comment; something tells me Paul might’ve been able to read between the lines when he said “I’m not going anywhere.”

Loretta continues to be her awkward self; “I’m gonna be a film director,” she proclaims while showing Paul her collection, and she keeps insulting him. He’s not bothered, but he thinks it’s funny, and he tells her so; “You don’t hold back, do you?” Loretta is suddenly very awkward indeed; “Do you think that’s... not attractive?”

In prior episodes, we’ve caught sight of the vindictive and manipulative sides of Loretta; here, we get an extremely important, timely reminder that she’s a fifteen year old girl, and that it’s absolutely essential to take that fact into account when evaluating her actions. She asks him, hesitantly and nervously, if he wants to have sex with her; he (rather shockingly) agrees, and that terrifies her. But after a moment’s frozen, deer-in-headlights terror, she gets up and closes the door anyway.

Down in the garden, Wolf has, once again, stolen Jethro’s thunder; he’s manning the barbie now, and asks Jethro if he wants a sausage. “No thanks,” says Jethro bitterly, skulking back into the house as Wolf tries to call in enough favors to convince Corky to represent him pro bono. It’s unclear whether it’s working, and Van overhears enough of it to get a little nervous. As Paul kisses Loretta - giving her what looks like a huge overload of very strong, conflicting emotions - Jethro and Cheryl commiserate in the kitchen, only for Jethro to seem to get a little mad at her for not being mad enough at Wolf. Ted wanders in, confused as usual, mentioning his late wife Rita as Pascalle consoles Eric, who seems unusually interested in the details of his late son’s sex life.

It’s not clear whether Pascalle “rooted” him before or after he changed his last name to West, not that I suppose that matters; it wasn’t like he was a blood relative, after all. Eric suggests that it was “one of the highlights, I think, of his whole life”, displaying a truly remarkable ability to perv on women in literally any conceivable circumstance; cut, hilariously, to to Loretta and Paul, lounging in bed, their facial expressions telling the whole story.

Paul, to his credit, seems upset that Loretta didn’t enjoy it, and immediately tries to make amends by, as the Jamaicans say, going bowcat. Meanwhile, Wolf and Van have a heart-to-heart in the garden; Van, it transpires, blames himself for what happened to Billy, mentioning that he didn’t join him on his criminal scheme this time because he knew Cheryl wouldn’t approve. Wolf isn’t having that. “You are a good man, with a lot on his plate,” he insists, and then something equal parts fascinating and horrible escapes his mouth: “Trying to listen to your mother and do the right thing by the family!”

It’s one short sentence that says volumes about his mentality. On the one hand, he truly does deeply, profoundly love and care about Van, and is genuinely speaking from deep within his heart as he does his best to try and comfort him. But it reveals a lot about what, exactly, is in that heart. He does, it seems, believe that a son should pay attention to the words of his mother, but the way he phrases it suggests that he really only believes this out of a sense of traditional moral obligation; he doesn’t really believe, or even countenance for a second, the notion that Cheryl could maybe have a point, the idea that her opinion is of equal value to his. Instead, he frames her decisions as a tragedy, the rock opposite the hard place that is “do[ing] the right thing by the family”, an obstacle that Van will have to overcome if he is to live up to the duties Wolf wants of him with the family. It’s advice delivered with pure intention from a deeply impure heart, and it may, alas, be just about the worst advice Van could get right now.

Elsewhere, Pascalle and Eric have been joined by Draska Doslic, a girl from a nearby Croatian family who initially appeared in episode two, but who was inconsequential enough there that I forgot to mention her. She’s Pascalle’s on-again, off-again friend, and it turns out both she and another mutual friend also, in fact, “rooted” the late Billy, much to Eric’s shock. They admit it was a “pity root”, motivated by Billy’s sad life and broken home; Eric immediately starts droning on about his sadness and guilt, about as transparent as a man can humanly get. It’s hilarious, but it’s also kinda sad in itself, y’know? Billy was raised - in theory, anyway - by a perverted, drunken criminal in an environment almost entirely filled with drunks and criminals; of course he was gonna turn out a fuckup. That cycle isn’t gonna be broken anytime soon, not if these surroundings are anything to go by.

Draska immediately perks up when Van walks in; Van barely notices, fresh off his conversation with Wolf, and accordingly starts a fight with Cheryl, drunkenly accusing her of betraying him while throwing some highly smashable stuff around. See what I meant about bad advice? Wolf has yet to learn that Van takes everything in the most simplistic, literal possible terms, and doesn’t have any sort of capacity for subtlety. If you tell him that what Cheryl’s doing is the opposite of “the right thing by the family”, how d’you expect him to react? The boy just about worships his father; the fact that he’s making him choose between him and Cheryl is cruel for both of them. 

Loretta, as it turned out, did not like Paul going bowcat, and is particularly grossed out when she learns of the blood that accompanied the loss of her virginity. The whole thing seems to have made her very uncomfortable, and Paul isn’t really reading the signs very well. He’s clearly enjoying himself a lot more than she is, so he has much more motivation to keep going than she does. She’s so not enjoying it, in fact, that she’s genuinely astonished to learn that he’s willing to go again. Still, she doesn’t kick him out.

Elsewhere, Cheryl’s friend Rochelle shows up. She’ll be pretty important eventually, although that’ll take a while. She showers enthusiastic affection upon both Wolf and Eric, the latter of whom is particularly pleased. Pascalle comes out, and Wolf gives her genuine and heartfelt encouragement to pursue her modelling career; it’s a lovely thing to do, especially given Cheryl’s constant haranguing of her for it, no matter how understandable. Wolf is in such a good mood, in fact, that he starts dancing with Cheryl, who can’t keep a big grin off her face. That’s Wolf’s thing, see: he’s very charismatic indeed, and his love for his family is so genuine as to be difficult to deny. One can almost see the twenty years of beautiful memories replaying in Cheryl’s head as they dance, erasing these horrible last few months and taking her back to paradise. It’s a rare portrait of the deep love that once existed between them that we mostly missed out on in this show. It’s heartwarming and heartbreaking at once, a snapshot of a rosier past and an alternate present where everything is much happier. But, alas, it’s - how did Lorde say it? - just a supercut.

Loretta and Paul are just talking now. For a moment, it seems that Loretta has regained her confidence; she messes with him, briefly making up and retracting a story about parental abuse just to see the look on his face, and complains about how much she disliked Billy even when he was a small child. But Paul sees through it, and gently pokes her; “so you do have feelings”, he says, and her reaction is really quite fascinating. Immediately, her confidence goes away; she bundles herself up, wrapping her legs up in her arms, frowns and tremulously denies it. “Nah,” she says, “not many, if any.” 

That is an important moment; it may, in character terms, be the most important moment in the episode. Loretta is a child who doesn’t fit in; she’s not like her sexy, popular sister, or her jocky, popular brother, and she feels alienated from just about everyone else in her age group. And she is, we know, a person with great capacity for doing terrible things, whose reputation on that front precedes her. And she takes refuge in that latter trait, throwing it up as her shield against a world that rejects and cruelly mocks her, throwing that cruelty back in its face in the form of searing witticisms and cruel schemes. But it’s not that she can’t feel; if anything, her feelings are very strong indeed, and at her core is a tender, fragile girl whose soul is all fractured from the neverending ache of loneliness. Maybe her actions in episode two really were jealousy; maybe that kinda abusive, controlling friendship she has with Kurt really is all she has, thus motivating her to do anything to protect the totality of her hold over him. Without him, she’d be alone with the feelings she wishes she didn’t have, having to confront her own normality.

Van, down in the garden, is not enjoying the sight of his parents dancing nearly as much as everyone else. “Your parents are so cool,” says Draska, but Van’s mind is clearly on the fragility of it all, and so off he goes, grabbing his balaclava.

He encounters Jethro on the way out, doing a very bad job of lying to him about what he’s gonna do. Jethro follows him, encountering and mostly ignoring Allen (from the last episode) on the way out. Allen walks with great purpose through the house, finds Eric, and punches him, thinking he was the one who snitched on him last episode. Wolf gently takes him aside and calmly explains to him that he was the one who snitched on him, and what follows is a fascinating demonstration of the dynamics of macho honor.

They don’t fight, that’s for sure; they converse like equals who respect one another, even though the topic of their conversation is Allen’s admitted attempts to pull Wolf’s wife. “Jesus Christ, Allen, you didn’t give me a choice!” says Wolf, and it’s fascinating that he doesn’t once suggest to Allen that maybe he might have been in the wrong to try and sleep with a married woman. Rather, he seems to view this as natural and expected, and frames his own actions as a necessary evil to protect the one he loves. He doesn’t give Cheryl any agency in this, either; she’s just the object being fought over, and Wolf seems to believe that Allen “spending every day with [her], giving her money” would have been enough to break her loyalty. But he doesn’t even think of breaking off his friendship with Allen; instead, he apologizes for what he had to do and promises to make it up to him. This episode is the last we ever see of Allen - I presume he went to prison shortly after this - but I’ve no doubt Wolf would have kept his promise if able. It’s a fascinating thing, that macho honor system, and a resilient one - but it’s not a good one. 

We get a timeskip; it’s nighttime now, and Van is trying to rob a closed gas station in order to get money for Wolf’s appeal. Jethro has followed him, and gently reminds him that lawyers generally charge a little more than gas stations tend to keep within their premises. Van goes off to rob somewhere else, leaving Jethro sighing. Meanwhile, Eric is making the most of the sympathy he’s getting from Rochelle while Wolf and Cheryl talk. 

Wolf lays out an ultimatum. If Cheryl still loves him, he’ll go back to prison and faithfully serve the remainder of his time, for the sake of the children; if she doesn’t, he’ll make his escape right now. Cheryl says “when you’re here, it’s like you never left”; Wolf smiles and takes that as an expression of love, but Cheryl’s face afterwards indicates that it was far more complicated a statement than that. 

Maybe Cheryl does love him, but she’s also very much aware of what impact Wolf escaping would have on her kids and their lives. With that to look up to, what would become of her experiment? What would happen to her kids’ lives? And on the other hand, does she really want things to go back to how they were before Wolf left? Sure, it feels good, but where does it all lead?

Pascalle and Draska share a confession. “I didn’t really wanna root Billy”, says Draska; “Me neither,” affirms Pascalle. Draska did it to make Van jealous, and while we never find out why Pascalle did it, one presumes she had her reasons. Considered in context with Loretta’s escapades this episode, and this episode presents a fascinating critique of the way society pressures women into having sex for all sorts of reasons except them actually wanting to have sex, thus ultimately satisfying only the men at their expense. Pascalle and Draska finish up by, as The Onion once said, validating the living shit out of each other while Wolf shoos Cheryl away so he can talk about “plans” with Allen. Cheryl steps away and looks over the party, clearly having something of a moment of clarity as a psychedelic guitar solo plays from the stereo in the background. Wolf loves her enough to tell her that he does; he doesn’t love her enough to trust her with any real knowledge about the things he does. 

Elsewhere, Van is breaking into a drugstore, on the same idea as before. Jethro follows him, again pointing out that this makes little sense. They’re interrupted by a kid who seems to be sleeping there, who chases them out with threats to call the cops.

                                            White trash bastards!

Van twists some stuff round to blame Jethro for Wolf’s predicament, still following the lines Wolf himself laid out for him in their conversation earlier: that this is all because of Cheryl and her crackpot scheme to go straight, and that Jethro is aiding and abetting her by being a “mummy’s boy”. Jethro objects a little too strenuously to this characterization, and essentially flips it back on him, accusing him of wanting to be Wolf. He’s probably more right; Cheryl doesn’t realise how different Jethro is from her, but neither Van nor Wolf realise Van isn’t cut out to be Wolf 2.0. Only Jethro realises that. He cautions Van against following this path, lest he end up a “dead loser like Billy”; they fight (kinda) and Jethro, being the less drunk of the two, wins. Jethro leaves; Van turns round and sees a digger.

Jethro returns home, and he and Wolf have their first real conversation of the entire show. It might be the most hostile interaction between any two characters so far, too, and that includes that one scene in episode two where a woman was beating her nephew. There’s mutually flowing resentment here, both tied to things bigger than the men themselves. Wolf has some sort of class resentment tied up in the way his son has decided to live his life; “Mister I work in town, I wear a suit”, he mocks, bemoaning all the potential wasted when they decided to send him to the “uni-var-sity” instead of drawing him into the family business. Jethro isn’t as explicit about the reasons for his resentment, but he doesn’t need to be; it’s clear as day, and has been from the moment Wolf stepped up to him at the service. Jethro has a complex about his father, feeling at once intimidated and abandoned by him, clearly craving the love and affection he shows the other kids while idolizing his macho self-assuredness and self-control, and channeling his resentment at his lack of that into a general hatred of Wolf, the things Wolf does, and people who remind him of Wolf. He certainly didn’t have Van’s best interests in mind when he told him to be his own man and stop imitating his father; no, he was just bitter, aiming squarely where it would hurt, fighting a substitute for Wolf because he knew that was the closest he could get to beating him. “Oh, thank god Mum doesn’t buy your shit,” he snarls, but it’s clear from his actions in the previous episode that Cheryl is just an ally of convenience to him, herself not realising that she and Jethro are united only in their shared distaste for Wolf and not in any of the reasons.

Loretta and Paul are at it again; Loretta seems to be enjoying it, but quickly reveals (much to Paul’s chagrin) that it was just an act. She’s gotten bored enough now that she’s back to her usual ways, getting most of her pleasure from messing with him; when she finally tells him she’s fifteen, his shock gives her the first real smile of the night. Not that this excuses him, natch - he really should have known, and I think on some level probably did, but that didn’t stop him. He’s entirely in the wrong here, both legally and otherwise - but there’s no denying the joy she takes in making him panic. Which is the story of her life, really, so far as we’re able to tell from these four episodes - she doesn’t have a lot of joy in her life, but she takes what she can get in making other people suffer.

Wolf and Cheryl have their final conversation of the night. They share jokes and laugh at their friends, like any happily married couple. But their differences are still there, and irreconcilable. “There are no prizes for suffering, love,” says Wolf. “Nobody thanks you for it.” It’s a great, great quote, applicable to many situations and, in itself, entirely correct - but hot on its heels comes a quote arguably even more important: “I’m not gonna change, love.”

Cheryl knows he’s right, of course. But Wolf has to go before the conversation can finish. He says his goodbyes, and after he’s gone Loretta allows herself a moment of gloating to Pascalle; “You’re still a slut, but I’m no longer a virgin,” she says, before proclaiming that she’s never gonna do it again. And who can blame her? As far as I can tell, that was awful. Bad sex isn’t depicted too often on television, or if it is it’s usually the butt of very immature comedies. Here, it’s treated maturely and seriously, as an important character moment and a rare possibly-realistic depiction of the embarrassing awkwardness of teenage girldom. Hats off to the writers for this one.

Paul lets the ever-well-behaved Wolf sit in the front seat of the prison van on the way back, secure in his knowledge that he’s not gonna try and escape. Or at least that’s what he thinks before a giant digger, piloted by an ecstatically drunk Van, blocks the road ahead. Van gets out, caterwauling about an escape attempt; Paul reaches for his radio to call for backup, but Wolf assures him that he’ll handle it.

He tells Van much the same thing he’s been telling him already: “Go home and look after your mother for me, okay?” For once, it might be good advice. He gets back in the prison van; it drives off, leaving Van confused and dejected in the middle of the road. 

Our final scene is Cheryl mostly-monologuing to Jethro, vocalising most of the things we’ve been able to figure she was thinking towards the end of the episode: she truly does love Wolf, and probably always will, but needs him to stay in prison if they’re to continue making a good life for themselves. “It’s like when you turn the lights on in a room full of mess,” she says; “you’ve seen it, and it’s too late.” It hurts her, but it’s good to see her making the right decision. She’s not gonna go forward with the appeal; despite everything, she’s gonna let him rot in prison. Jethro, naturally, seems perfectly happy with this decision. Alas, for all her clarity on Wolf, Cheryl is still blinkered on him; she doesn’t realise just what he is, or the reasons he feels what he feels. But for now, he’s being a good mummy’s boy, listening to her talk about feelings and getting her drinks. And so the family’s life goes on, same as before; the difference is, as Cheryl said, that the lights have been turned on now and we’ve seen a whole lot about many of these characters that can’t be unseen. There’s a depth and complexity of character here that’s rare to find in any fiction, and I cherish it very much. This is an episode without a wasted moment, where every scene is just as important as the last. It’s as good as TV writing gets, if you ask me, and it’s one of my favorite episodes of anything ever. But it’s still early days yet, and the show will cover a lot of ground, both good and bad, beyond this. To the next!

[flashbic]

mm you should do 1,2,7 and 9 for Raimi and Yutani!

(this got kinda long and rambly, woops)

Raimi

1. Physical weak spots : Raimi is actually pretty chill when it comes to pain, so no particular spot come to mind? He is, however, completely unable certain types of pain. He REALLY isn’t a fan of needles and anything sharp and pointy. Punch him in the face, he won’t care. But just getting something like a flu shot makes him want to die.

2. Emotional/moral weak spots: Raimi gets super emotional at movie happy endings. He likes the occasional romance, but what always gets him is the kind of stories where the heroes spend the whole thing fighting and suffering against a tyrannical system, and at the end manage to get the happy, peaceful life they wanted. He finds it inspiring! Pretty easily swayed by big inspiration speeches. His friends matter SO MUCH to him too. Sometimes he’s just chilling with Weyland and Yutani, and they aren’t even doing anything interesting, and he just starts thinking about how much he loves them and gets kind of emotional. :P Also cute dog videos.

7. Tickle spots: [just gestures at Raimi in general] All.

9. Humiliating memories: Raimi was absolutely the kind of kid/teenager who got into A LOT of shit because of stupid dares. Both from friends, and from non-friends. He has injured himself pretty badly a whole bunch of times, and whenever it happened he just found it so embarrassing. When he’s older he’s a lot harder to humiliate tbh, but the one time he tried bondage with his then girlfriend and Yutani walked in on them by accident ranks pretty high on his list of embarrassing moments. Not because he particularly cares about Yutani or Weyland seeing him in sexual situations (the apartment is tiny, it’s bound to happen from time to time), and not exactly because of the kink. More because he reacted by forgetting his feet were tied, tried to get up, and fell face first on the floor.

Yutani

1. Physical weak spots : He broke his wrist really badly as a kid, and while it healed up well enough there are days where it sometimes kinda hurt! It’s his main hand too, so he’s kinda forced to take care of it and it’s pretty hard to ignore. Otherwise, the one you wrote about his nose was super good, so I’m keeping that too!

2. Emotional/moral weak spots: Anything involving abused kids and the foster care system in general. He gets VERY emotional and angry if you ask him about it. While he was lucky and was eventually adopted by a really good family who took great care of him, by the time that happened he had been through a lot of shit. He really loves kids; he’s damn good with them and he just wants to protect them. If anyone he knew had a kid eventually, he would be the COOLEST uncle. :D He has a huge soft spot for found family stories, both real and fictional; he absolutely love his parents, but Weyland and Raimi are his family too, and he can’t imagine his life without them.

7. Tickle spots: The ribs! Overall he’s not super ticklish, but holy shit the ribs. Tbh trying to tickle Yutani is a bit of a dangerous challenge because he will elbow you in the face. Doesn’t stop Raimi and Weyland from trying their luck from time to time though :P (Raimi has a theory that his feet would probably be a week spot too, but no one has ever dared to confirm because that would sure would be a good way to get kicked in the head repeatedly.)

9. Humiliating memories: For an absurdly long time, Yutani held hope that his biological parents would come back and take him home. He couldn’t even remember them, but he was 100% convinced that they would eventually be there for him… The day he realized it wasn’t going to happen, he felt so stupid and hurt. It wasn’t a public humiliation, but more of a quiet, hopeless, embarassing moment for himself. He sometimes got bullied and teased by other kids at school too, because he was awkward and quiet and wasn’t good at making friends. After awhile he just stopped trying to socialize with anyone and gave up. It was easier to pick fights than to be friendly.

He did try to force himself to have sex once, with a girl he saw as a close friend? And look, the thing is, he’s not sex-repulsed, but this was so awkward and stressful he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He panicked, made up some shitty excuse and pretty much fled the room. It was terrible.

(also i posted this one too, so in case you might’ve missed it!)