#boy howdy looking back on my old writing is. an experience.

[thatsohkai]

howdy all! kip here, am i re-introducing myself to you, not really. but kai's my main blog so hi, i'm them. hehe, anyways here is a post tour, organized and updated intro for infinite's bad, baby boy! you can find his profile, kprofile, and pinterest linked and all the updated information is bellow!

 —— welcome to infinite entertainment! it's MALACHI 'KAISO' SOH, who is a SOLOIST. i’ve heard whispers that the 23 year old is pretty CHARMING but lowkey DISQUETED. also, doesn’t he remind you of CHOI YEONJUN?

pre-debut

malachi was born to single mother soh jimin (jaime soh) in daegu. she moved to a suburb of chicago before he was even able to talk so he was raised there. 

he grew up in a south suburb of the city that wasn’t the greatest place, malachi knew night sirens and metal detectors at the doors of his school the next morning. 

his mother struggled with addiction most of his life, and kai often found himself surviving and gathering his basic needs on his own.

he has a love/hate relationship with his mom she was very much not a great woman but she tried.

they didn’t have a lot of cash and kai had to start working at a young age he excelled in school and this allowed him to go to a nice “private” school on scholarship later in his school career, with the extra resources he was able to really excel in the things he loved (art, poetry, music, etc).

with the help of the school and the community around him they budded his love for music and comics and things of that nature, helping get him the things he needed.

while at his new school he met his new gang of friends, and a shared love of music pushed them to form a small little band that took off by being just really really talented kids with a lot of spunk. (side note: fell in love with a girl in said band and well…he’s self destructive.)

but his time there was short lived as the moment he was scouted at a talent competition, (along with another band mate), as their front man he took the first flight they offered to korea and joined a pretty big, though relatively new company. never looking back and getting as far away from jaime as possible.

he came to korea subsequently alone as he does/did his best to cut all contact with the only family he had.

he never got to finish high school in a normal high school and despite being incredibly smart he finished at his performance school with subpar grades, mans was extremely depressed during his trainee days.

at debut

unlike a lot of idols malachi had the opportunity to technically debut 3 times. 

his first debut was in 2013, he debuted as the producer, leader, main rapper and center of epik at starglass entertainment. 

his time in epik was terrible to say the least, his social anxiety began to manifest in its full form. and of course like most companies back then they hadn’t really care and made little efforts to keep it at bay. instead they pushed him to be the face of the band as the only english speaker and member with performance experience and malachi, fighting his own demons was forced to take care of 6 other boys.

epik was the type of group with a boyish sound (i cannoned their disco to being nct dream and seventeen), they were known for their bright colors and fresh concepts and hard hitting, synchronized choreography. 

they were known as a ‘clean group’ absent of scandals and korea’s pride but even in that malachi was not happy.

he did give his all and was granted the third gen ‘it’ boy, title shortly into his debut

even writing and producing most of the groups disco there were seldom any moments he was deliberately proud of the sound and style of the group, on top of his failing mental health and worsening depression. this pushed him to fall from his quiet but entertaining and personable idol to a more reserved, background character of his group even as the leader. while he was a popular member, the decline in his interacting directly led to the slight decline in his popularity.

to add to his work load he was asked to write and produce for his companies girl group at the time (canoned ex-iz*one) later in his career and helped produce a few of their hits

personally he felt as though because of this the company started to ‘neglect him’ a bit more. almost as a punishment for causing fan backlash from his change in ambiance as well as popularity, and eventually decided to prematurely terminate his contract with starglass in 2017.

during his time in epik he’d ground close with their manager, who essentially followed him into the purgatory that was being without a company. he stayed with that manager from the moment he left the epik dorm all the way through his trainee days in the new company.

it was also during his darkest times in epik that he became close with fellow soloist fleur, who resparked the fleeting flame of the job he use to love. she pushed his production career further by allowing him to write a few songs for her, resulting in his very first industry collab as a soloist later dien

during career 

in  the same year malachi found himself slightly homeless but at a new company (PSYCH Ent.)  who was also pretty new themselves. they had two groups under their belt a girl group and a boy group who were popular but not as much (i guess the vibes of like??? g-idle before recently and maybe like stray kids in the very beginning?) but with his faith in them he re-debuted with a new concept, a new sound and something that was unapologetically him.

by 2018 he released a single, under a new name ‘kaiso’ and beneath the new company and it went viral as the ‘ace of epik’ was finally coming back to the industry

it took him a while to get fully back to it and for awhile he simply released one ep and a few singles and collabs before disappearing for a little. and he would continue to do that for awhile. 

though he was hardly in the spot light between releases he gained popularity for a lot of things, and one of them was his ‘big change.’ the dopey leader had become stone cold, he showed his tattoos and faked smiles, he kept his fans close and very few other idols in the industry closer. leaving him with the reputation of being a ‘bad boy.’ backs would straighten and gazes would lower as kaiso entered the green rooms at music shows.

it was a rumor he didn’t care to clear up and honestly enjoyed how people would often not talk to him, leaving him in his little bubble with his fans and company. (think namjoon of bts or eric nam when it comes to fans).

after awhile, with malachi being psych’s biggest money pit, and sent him only on the first infinite tour. it was during this time that malachi met his current girlfriend, officially, and began to open up a bit more to the industry even as they used his past as the ‘biggest reason’ to his success.

but ultimately after the original infinite tour, kai’s company decided to participate in the acquisition for kai’s benefit,. he was their top earning artist and felt like a bigger company would do him good. they decided not to take the two former, veteran groups and while the boy group disbanded, the girls were taken on by a bigger company.

he still likes to refer to himself as a part of PSYC Ent. as the idea of being a part of a bigger company puts a foul taste in his mouth.

as he got bigger he began sending jaime money every month to make sure she was situated and also as an incentive to literally never talk to him again.

infinite tour

during the infinite tour as stated above kai had grown a lot. he acquired space in his friends lives and began to let them take up space in his.

at his current manager’s request he began therapy during the original tour and it had been helping.

he came out with tons of music both years, the constant moving keeping him in the writers room even if it meant he was over worked and overwhelmed.

during the first tour he began to struggle with his idol identity, wondering if he was doing himself a disservice to abandon his years of idol training to become this pariah of low eyes and low energy.

he essentially began retraining and trying to become the idol he was in epik, while staying true to himself unlike he was able to back then.

this led to a lot of uneasiness and malachi scrapping albums after albums over again and putting out more dance oriented tracks, attempting to fall in love with stage again like he’d had in high school.

with the help of some push from friends and a great choreographer (thanks mei) kai released tracks like ‘birthday’., ‘eye on you’ and even was recruited for an all soloist co-ed group by the company (called re:gn) as well as a subsidiary of said group (K!NG)

he quickly became infinite’s only in house producers who was also an idol and has written, produced and composed at least once for every group except tidal. he works the most with braveheart and indigo as their sound(s) are the closest to his style. he’s also the only producer for FLEUR (Kim Seonhwa) and has worked on/produced a lot of the solo releases for a lot of the idols in the company.

with the infinite tour gaining popularity and more idols were beginning to interact with him, he is now known pretty much to be a bit dark and mysterious and unapproachable, but he’s deadass just a ball of shy anxiousness.

during this time he also had come to the conclusion that he loves making music, but detests being an idol but takes the fame anyway because he likes what he does

notable moments include, an incident at a 'kick back' in his home town that would have brought his entire world crashing down. him breaking down into uncontrollable sobs on stage in chicago, and his mother showing up randomly at his seoul town home during a break in the first tour, forcing them to 'revive' their tumultuous relationship. and pre-maturely introduced her to his now current girlfriend.

canons/personality tidbits & quirks

you can call him malachi or kai, though mostly close friends (which he barely has) call him kai

his korean name is soh duri

he’s a scorpio (sun), aquarius (moon) and a taurus (rising)

If you ever work with kai on a song, it’s going to be a masterpiece. not saying it’s bc of his talent as a writer and producer but he’s super particular about music and how it makes people feel

some general aesthetics about him - think of him as, “the feeling of neo soul, marijuana smoke wafting around the studio, the neon lights of the city, the bad boy with a sweet smile, 90s-00s r&b”

he’s the type to be in the studio all night and run off of red bull and cigarettes for the next day

is a pot head and no i’m not sorry about it

if you manage to get close to him he WILL take care of you, always at all times. You well be fed, clothed, and loved through and through

can talk about music all day every day

loves fashion

loves tattoos has drawn all the ones he’s gotten

bi-sexual king, loves him some men and some ladies. 

loves loves art so much

has so much respect for idols before him

quiet boy

give him sweets he’ll become your personal puppy

he’s a brand ambassador for dior but is wanting to possibly change that

he loves anime, manga and comics, fave superhero is spiderman, fave anime is one piece, fave manga is chainsaw man

overall kai is the resident bad boy with a heart of gold. his upbringing makes dealing with his anxiety and anger hard, and his shyness is just something he's working to over come. he's had a hard life in general but the addition of his hard time as an idol has really thrown in him in a hole he's struggling to dig out of. he finds tranquility in the smoke of marijuana or in the arms of the chair in his studio whether he be working on music or art and uses his life experiences to navigate his life in the future. he'll hang on to your every word even if it seems like he's not listening, take in all the little details about you and every gift you receive will always be special...you just gotta...yah know be let in first. so fingers crossed he talks to you!

updates post tour

not much has changed post tour, kai is still pursuing the merging of all the different versions of him, his chicago boy, his global superstar, and who he’s become now.

since coming back to seoul he’s brought on his girlfriend to live with him.

he plans on releasing more music for himself and with various artists by the end of the year

he’s strongly considering changing up his sound and experimenting a bit more out of his r&b wave.

he’s wanting to branch out a bit more, get in with some idols he hasn’t really talked with as well as mend some relationships he’s broken a bit.

also loathes the reality tv idea but is happy they’ll be stationary for awhile.

will add more as post tour goes!

connections/wanted plots

 motive - kai notices that you’re  getting close to him. he can feel the lingering eyes and notice the soft touches but you’ve always been some sort of loose canon. he can’t tell if this bad boy/girl/person demeanor is real and if it is what are you motives with a shy and quiet being like him? (open to anyone)

first love - kai’s relationship with music is something that can be admired, he gets accolades from interviewers and other artists and thats the thing you bond over. you often find yourselves sharing earphones or in some studio. whether you’re dancing, creating or singing its easy for night to turn into day just in each other’s presence. now your friendship goes beyond music. you’re each others confidants in your most stressful moments. (danbi)

pretty little fears - he’d grown a crush on you from afar, but after a chance encounter he seems to be infatuated. his shy and bashful demeanor battles with his want to play cool. and he finds himself lost in watching you speak and aching to hold your hand, wanting to sweep you off your feet but...his anxiety just wont allow it just yet. (dae)

midnight sky - malachi and your relationship was one full of electricity. but one thing he couldn’t handle was feeling small. you’re older than him and in the midst of the rendezvous he felt as if he was a baby toddling after you at all times. maybe it was the way you treated him or maybe it was his own insecurities, but sometimes he finds him self missing the security of your arms. breaking up was some form of rebellion in his eyes and he pretends to feel liberated but he’s not sure if his pride got in the way of something good, or if he dodged a controlling bullet.

nonchalant - to say you have a feud in the industry is maybe an overstatement but the boiling blood is still aroused. you’ve been an artist of your caliber for awhile and you think malachi is gimicky. his transfer from being in such a big idol group to kr&b was a large leap and the inkling that he’s riding on old fame with a fake image is a prickle in your mind. kai respects you too much as an artist and often finds himself trying to prove to you that he’s where he should be. even if that means muddling disses into his music. 

best friend/patonic soulmates (can be plotted) (seungho)

industry friends ( 0/3 would be kind of like a clique of friends that are known in the industry similar to the third gens ‘97 liners )

produced for you/your group

smoke buddies (hanuel a friend he often takes care of/babies (ren)

older sibling figure (seonhwa)

old bandmate that he got scouted with (angel)

manager (ilsu)

mother figure (islu)

and literally anything else pls just love him

muse overviews and analysis & extra links

✘ character study #1 - 'a good boy's bad habits' ✘ character study #2 - 'the stage' ✘ the muse as zodiac signs ✘ favorite stage outfits - 2021 / 2022 / 2023 ✘ general task #1 ✘ character study #3 - 'the idol': photoset 1 / 2 / 3 / analysis & viral moments ✘ playlist #1 - 976 E. 132nd Pl. Chicago, IL (subject to be replaced/updated) ✘ komca credits ✘ through the eras - malachi ‘kaiso’ soh ✘ muse tag

[earmo-imni]

okay but you having a you that goes on continuous adventures throughout the Favorite Fictional Worlds is AWESOME. That sounds like a blast. I am never in any of my daydreams. I'm not about to inflict situations upon myself lol. I DO however badly voice act a line I'm making my characters say until the emotion is right. Much to the horror of everyone else who lives with me, I'm sure. I write a TON of dialogue and the thought that the readers don't understand the exact voice I want the character to say things in... and that I barely comprehend that voice myself... brutal. Don't make me voice act my own characters I swear to god. It's just everyone talking in different flavors of my voice in there.

Yeah, it's unbelievable how much mileage I've also gotten about Seven Deadly Sins as compared to the other fandoms I've been in. Sometimes I just don't want to pluck the characters out of the canon and put them in my head, because I feel like that would disturb the beautiful creation, so I don't daydream about those fandoms at all. I basically have like three main universes, the longest of which I've had and have been working on regularly since the fourth grade. VERY interesting story to go along with that one, but it's the kind that you CANNOT tell unprompted, so I'm waiting for an appropriate time to entertain the Internet Strangers with my strange childhood book experience.

Anyway! Happy to be following you now, I'll have a blast looking around at your blog :D

You are so freaking nice, thank you!

I inflict SO many situations on myself, partly because a lot of the time I find it easier to roleplay myself-but-slightly-to-the-left than to roleplay one of my ocs, but also because I legitimately enjoy my big crazy universe and also it’s just fun to be like “Yeah, I’m best friends with Meliodas and a member of Fairy Tail and a companion of the Doctor and also grown up Gamzee’s my moirail now cause I saved him from going brainwashed-and-crazy and also I fixed the MCU! It doesn’t suck anymore! The plot holes are gone!” It’s just fix-it fics and self-indulgent “girl fell into Middle-earth” style fics all day long. Unfortunately for alternate me I very much enjoy whump and angst and hurt/comfort so alternate me goes through. So much. Luckily alternate me is immortal due to shenanigans (the same way as Meliodas, essentially, except the resurrection time is way faster and also there’s no losing emotions), so they can survive everything. Unluckily this means I can kill them as many times as I want. Angst! 😃

(Meliodas may have had to essentially shake me by the shoulders and go “I know you want to help me and I appreciate it but I would like to not have to watch you die for me repeatedly because I see you as a friend and it hurts to watch you die regardless of whether you come back or not” whoops)

I also voice act all my characters (I actually find it significantly easier to keep track of my story if I speak it out loud) and boy howdy is it awkward when a family member comes down the stairs or I’m out on a late-night walk and suddenly realize Oh! There’s a person there! Hearing everything I say! And I sound insane!

And saaaaaaame with the problem of everyone speaking in different flavors of my voice!!! There’s a few characters that I have a pretty good grasp of their voice, and some that have very distinct ways of talking (Gamzee my beloved. Also literally everyone from Middle-earth) that make it easier to do them. But yeah, I FELT that.

I don’t usually write stuff down, I just let it exist in my head and hope I remember it next time I feel like playing in the sandbox. My au that you found is only like. The second thing I’ve actually tried to write down as a coherent narrative since my first attempts at fanfic when I was 15 (the other thing being my Tolkien OC Mavwin’s story. It is. Not even a full first draft. Oh boy.). I have a bunch of notes for a rewrite of an old fixit fic for a musical I like, and a bunch of notes on some Harry Potter OCs and significantly less notes on a Fairy Tail OC. Also a largely-unused sideblog for my multiverse-travelling daydream. (Don’t look yet, it needs some rewriting and a whole lot of updating.)

I am very curious about this world you can’t speak of unprompted, so consider this your prompt lol. I promise it can’t be any worse than what I’ve read/come up with/listened to my best friend explain about their OCs (I swear she’s worse than I am about giving her characters trauma 😂)

[temmysilver]

In today's episode of "what can I do to distract myself from work," I started looking at this thread as a "How *blank* are you?" quiz, given the seven months I spent as a library worker. Should anyone be interested, my "answers" are below. This is obviously not meant to discredit op at all, every library is different and I just wanted to compare and contrast experiences

1. True, not that that was a problem in my library. There were digital clocks on every computer on standby.

2. True, but lucky me, I wasn't the one who handled public email questions.

3. I can certainly believe it, but never encountered this problem myself. I did, however, meet plenty of adults who didn't know how lending worked.

4. True, but luckily we marked that particular section as crime/thriller.

5. False. Again, I have no doubt that op has faced plenty of book defacing, but we simply didn't. Lots of dogearing, though.

6. Lmao true, but we had push/pull doors. Patrons did often jiggle the handle before our sign said we were open, though.

7. True, true, true.

8. TRUE.

9. False. There were plenty of old folk who came up to me directly, but they were always fascinated by what I could find on the computer.

10. True. Some husbands also don't understand that we can all hear you when you give the health insurance person on the other end all your personal information.

11. True, through and through.

12. False. Nobody came to us from a job center, but there were plenty of times when we provided services not in our job description. I helped people with job applications, booking appointments, and once helped a lady write a letter to the sheriff after she had been robbed by her landlord.

13. True, and the same goes for every other business/service that is meant to help people. They also assume everyone has a smartphone.

14. TRUE

15. True and false. Our library was supposed to be quiet, and we did our best to keep it down, but the group of adults swearing up a storm in the kids section, the guy who was always playing in a vr headset, and the man who liked to occasionally exclaim in joy to his music (which he listened to through headphones) could never be fully shushed.

16. True true true true true true tr--

17. True, my goodness.

18. Truuuuuuuue

19. True, though we never had trouble securing an event.

20. False. Yes, two people always had to "volunteer" to supervise for an event, but we always punched our clock back in for the duration of it.

21. False. We always got the supplies we needed thanks to the "head" library in our system, which was a lot bigger and nicer. We did often have to fix certain appliances (mainly the printer and the toilets) ourselves, though.

22. True.

23. TRUE jfc, I was left sobbing at the end of my first week after I shut down this old ass man I'd been helping all week and he started slinging every slur in the book at me, the other staff, and the other patrons. I though he was going to follow me back to my car. (My coworkers and I walked in a group afterwards.)

24. True true true true.

25. False. Some folk liked to strike up conversation about what they just turned in, and I was always happy and excited to listen, but neither I nor any of my coworkers deliberately started one of these conversations.

26. True. My favorite were the third graders who came in every Wednesday because their school didn't have a library inside it.

27. True <3

28. I personally cannot drink caffeine, but my coworkers? Boy howdy.

My personal closing addition points:

1. Libraries often have way more stuff to check out than you think! In addition to books and DVDs, my library had CDs, vinyls, and board games!

2. One person higher in this blog chain mentioned inter-library loan, and I wanted to point it out again. If you want a specific item and your local library doesn't have it in their system, you can go online and fill out their ILL form. A quick questionnaire about the item's details will get you that item. If it is available in ANY other library in America (sorry, I don't know how/if ILL works in other countries), it WILL be reserved for you. This is how I get all my DVDs nowadays

3. Fun fact: most people who work in a library are not actually librarians! Jobs specifically with "librarian" in the title are reserved for managerial positions, and require a doctorate in library science to obtain. I held the position of "Public Service Assistant"

Quiz/rant OVER!

[characteroulette]

GAME KIDS TIME for Dante Going Fuckin Berserk for the first time (cuz you sent it to me years ago and it's still sitting in my inbox lmao)

ohhhh nice! hahaha. I actually rewrote the whole beginning of that one night because I had the thought of "no, this needs more build up." because it used to just start with the kids in the Game, hearing the singing and then Dante popped.

(I also need to rewrite it again now that the kids are more Aware of Dante's trauma with Hell hahaha)

(here is a read more because I have more to say than I thought I would)

Then Dante's fire sparked up, a hotter and bigger flame. [...] They blasted Frank, Abraham, and Vektor straight out of the game and they hit Petel as he dove into the cover. The burns and the heat around him didn't cease, the waves rocketing out past the visible horizon in every direction.

I did my best to convey Inferno here and I still like it hahaha. getting the same 'fire fire fire' thing that'd probably be going through Dante's head is an interesting challenge, since we're in Petel's pov, but it worked out pretty okay?

There, in the middle of a scorched circle on the ground, was Dante, crumpled on the floor in a familiar way. Though, the only thing recognisable as Dante was the soft, wavy blond hair and the knowledge that Dante had been at the centre and cause of this. Dante's clothes had been torn and were now grey and all available skin Petel could see had been scorched charcoal black.

hey I really like writing character descriptions whoop. also, fun fact! Dante's Berserk aftermath is based off an Elsen (from the game OFF)! that's why he head asplode, actually.

"Why can't he utilise this power into a more constructive gain for us?" Vektor lamented loudly. Knowing Vektor, he was probably also waving his hands about and nearly knocking himself over from the movements. "Every time he shows any kind of prowess in his abilities, it's to our detriment. Every time! He's a jeopardy to the mission."

"Your mission." Abraham's voice came across as cool, but as annoyed as Petel was growing. "He made a mistake, it happens."

I just really still like this exchange, honestly. Abraham being the one to throw that back in Vektor's face was supposed to show his growth, but honestly Abraham is just really friendly and patient towards Dante ;w;

Finally, Dante said, "Sorry."

Petel's response was immediate. "It's okay."

"I-I got scared. And then. I couldn't stop it."

Petel gave it a moment of thought. Back to when all he could comprehend was teeth and claws and making sure every living thing in his vicinity was torn to shreds. He shrugged in the end. "It happens."

even now, EVEN NOW, Dante's still not being truthful about things. he just lies about the root cause of his Berserk because, to him, it's all Fear and Trauma wrapped up in a neat little package (named Orpheus and Hell, but no one would know that since they haven't seen Orpheus yet) and so he just tries to use his Excuse here in a desperate attempt to keep the others out of the loop still. Dante man what the fuck are you doing

One of the Gargoyles dove suddenly, aiming for Dante. Petel managed to claw its wing enough to redirect it, but it still nicked Dante's exposed arm. Dante's mouth opened, a half-formed scream not quite making it out, before his head exploded in a spray of black liquid and a column of black smoke spilled out of his neck. Petel and the two Gargoyles hesitated. For once, Petel sincerely hoped it was just that Dante had been killed, had been logged out of the game. "Uh. Paige?"

"What the hell is going on?" Her voice came over with a stronger terrified tone than she probably meant. "Dante's stats just rocketed up by a 400-times multiplier and he's got 5% health left and the computer's refusing to tell me why it's going mad like this."

The creature formerly Dante straightened itself up, now taller and with broader shoulders. The claws had grown and whiffs of black smoke drifted off their sharp tips with every slight movement, while Dante's legs had curled backwards and the clawed feet had become stumps, nearly hoof-like. A constant stream of black smoke and spurting blood oozed from the stump of Dante's neck. Petel had nothing better to say than a succinct, "Dante's head came off."

At this, the rest of the crew spoke in unison with Paige. "What?"

head asplode! god I love this scene a lot hahaha. the Gargoyles hesitating, like Petel, is meant to be significant! but Petel can't really pay attention to that right now since their friend's head just exploded. I struggled, also, for a long time on how much exactly to jack up Dante's stats and then went "fuck it, 400x is broken" and settled on that hahaha

Petel desperately wished he could explain it better, but his words were caught in the back of his throat and he knew that if he tried to force them out, all that he'd manage would be whimpering and whines. Dante grabbed the remaining Gargoyle as it tried to escape and tore its wings off, then tossed it away as it dissolved into code. Then the thing turned towards Petel.

Petel had no other instinct. His tail tucked, ears flattened against his head, and he ran.

[...]

Of course, Dante was right there behind him. It didn't seem like Dante could fit in the checkpoint or even get inside, but it didn't stop for a second. It slashed at the checkpoint with those sharp claws, making the structure shake and fizzle and actually damaging the thing. After a few slashes, Dante then dragged its claws along the ground, tossing up some sludge-like lava that splattered against the openings of the checkpoint but was kept out by some invisible force. The walls continued to shake and Petel whimpered quietly. "Paige. Paige, please."

Petel showing real fear!! also very good. also very significant. Dante's coding is so fucked up that it actually breaks some of Petel's coding, too. that Fear is just so palpable that it leaks out and infects those around it. (and also Dante's Warping is just That Bad hahaha, this is why he does his best to be careful all the time)

Frank frowned, slowly tilting his head to the side. "It'd be faster to force the log out, right?"

"What exactly is this risk factor?"

Abraham seemed hesitant to ask and Paige hesitated on answering. That was enough for Petel to figure out the rest. And it wasn't good. "He'd come out without a head. Wouldn't he?"

Paige cringed. Frank and Abraham's jaws dropped open. And Vektor, in fabulous Vektor fashion, rolled his eyes. "There's only a fifteen-point-eight percent chance that the system will mistake Dante's current form for his form on this plane of existence. The odds are in our favour."

"No."

Petel narrowed his eyes at Vektor and Vektor wilted under his glare. Paige twiddled with her fingers. Frank came out of his shock first, giving a strangled cry of outrage. "You'd risk Dante coming back headless and dead just to get him out a little quicker?"

Vektor gulped, voice unsteady. "Technically, he wouldn't be dead. The system would just mistake his current form for your reality." Vektor looked around at them expectantly, but Petel wouldn't budge. Not on this one. [...] Vektor puffed up again, getting huffy. "Look, if we did lose Inferno, why would it matter that much? He's of no great contribution to our mission, anyway."

"Your mission!" Petel growled and surged forward to grab the front of Vektor's suit coat. "Dante. Is not. Useless."

ahh, Vektor. (there's that line again whoooo) I have to rewrite all of this but I always want to show the disconnect between how Vektor treats Dante, because of his built-in muscle memory. Vektor doesn't even understand it himself, but he tends to treat Dante worse than the others just because it's what feels right in his programming.

the rest of this chapter is a lot of me getting the rest of the kids out so Paige and Petel can discuss exactly how Dante's Berserk works hahaha. man, I need to rewrite this...

Dante would get out. Things would be all right. They'd all find this very funny in a week or so. 'Hey, remember that time you went berserk and got trapped in the game for several hours? Wasn't that just a hoot?' 'Not as much as that time you ripped us all to shreds when you went berserk! Ah, how time flies.' They were good enough friends by this point, right?

Petel please what the fuck is this XD

anyway, yeah! those are my thoughts on this chapter as it is in beta form hahaha. the ending is basically Petel reaching a conclusion about his feelings towards Dante and that's why he just thinks of them as dating in the next one (which is also something I need to rework, aaaaaaa) but also showing off the trio as friends!! even though this thing is a couple years old by this point, I still like it a lot!

(sorry to everyone else hahaha if you're really curious about the whole chapter, here's the google doc of it. please don't make a mess of it ;; )

[anothertimdrakestan]

Lovebirds Damian Wayne x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Requested? Yes! From a few lovely anons!

“So far i am loving your blog and went through like all of your writing🥰💖💖💖💗💞! I was wondering if you could do 'star sapphire corp reader' x damien please? Like them getting together” and “Could you please do sapphire lantern reader with your choice of the batboys meeting on a mission?”

LINK TO PROMPTS  -> REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN!

I absolutely love the sapphire corps! Thank you for these adorable requests! Dami plus a lover actually in tune with their emotions- hell they’re powered off the emotions- is too funny and so adorable! Also we are going to pretend that Raven and Damian aren’t a thing even though I’m using the DCAU teen titans alrighty? Plus it gives me a chance to ship BBRAE YEAHHHH! Hope you enjoy!

I’m so sorry it’s long it’s my first fic back I was so excited haha

“Deep breaths and English you got this” you stared at yourself in the mirror of your makeshift room in titan’s tower. Being the youngest member of the star sapphire corps you were the one tasked with the trip to earth, it made sense, no one wanted to work with teenage earthly heroes but you. Finally, a chance to meet a being similar in age to you! No more old hymns about the power earthly love, you were about to experience it first hand. 

Your mentor had called in a favor and you had been escorted to earth by none other than the physical embodiment of flirtatiousness, Hal Jordan. The trip itself was tiring so upon a midnight arrival you retired to your room without meeting anyone. Now, you could hear a bustling of voices, there was so much emotion radiating it seemed slightly overwhelming, so you opted to wait for Hal to come pull you from your room. 

At the familiar knock you shook away your nerves and flexed your hands into fists, feelings your ring almost pushing you to go outside. “Howdy miss l/n! Ready to meet your new team?” You were greeted with the cheesy grin that had apparently wooed your mentor, but always prodded you. “Good morning Hal, temporary team remember?” you replied, letting your aura be picked up by your purple light. Hal coughed awkwardly, “we walk on earth newbie, not many float here” embarrassed, you touched back down, clearing your throat as you exited your quarters. 

As you made your way down the hallway shouting grew, but upon you entering the room went quiet. With a small smile wave you scanned the room, noticing a green boy who was burning a strange looking food, two other boys who had froze to look at you but stood at a large table that made a strange sound, and lastly a raven haired boy who was sharpening a- sword? At ten in the morning? On the couch. The green boy came up to you first, “hello! You must be y/n! I’m Gar, there’s Jaime, Vic, Robin, and Raven isn’t here but she’s also part of the team! Nice to meet’cha!” Trying to keep up with the names Gar started shouting “SHE’S HERE Y’ALL” apparently to summon a woman who looked like the leader, as she was much older. Following her was a younger girl in a purple cloak, you quite liked her look and vibes, though she felt quite closed off. 

After learning more about everyone at a team breakfast with strangely prepared food you were with the team getting suited up as your mission to travel to Celea, a planet whose environment was toxic to any being over 18, making it a “teen titan’s mission” as they called themselves. As some of the titan’s changed into their suits and prepped themselves for combat you bonded with Raven and Blue Beetle as you had all loaded onto the ship fairly easily. “So why do you have a powerless human on your team? Do you not worry for his safety?” you wondered as you watched Robin methodically pack all his gear. “Trust me, Robin could take all of us out if he wanted to, he’s earned his spot on the team from pure skill and being a little bit of a monster- OOMPH” Jaime was cut off by Raven nudging him. You couldn’t help wanting to hear Robin’s story, as you were like him too- powerless but highly trained and craving to do more. Luckily you had a couple hours of flight to get to know the mysterious boy. 

The ship was large, built for a league of heroes apparently. This meant the team had spread out but you had stayed in the piloting area to assure yourself the team was on the right trajectory, apparently Robin was as well. “You actually know where we’re going?” his voice shook you from your calculations. “Yes, I’ve visited Celea before, but never to fight it’s people” you mused, wondering how in just a few years since your visiting a toxic group of manipulative outlaws had attempted to stake their claim to the beautiful Celea. “TT, not much of a fighter?” Robin mused snarkily, his flitted down to the ring on your finger. “Y’know your team here thinks you’re pretty strong, but I’d wager you’d be easy work for me” you teased back, twisting your ring around your finger as Robin came closer to you. 

(TW FOR BLOOD)

Sitting next to you he began, “my abilities come from my skill, my wit, and my determination. I don’t believe you can say the same princess” you scoffed, “you underestimate me Robin, this ring is nothing without me, not the other way around. Powered from my emotional control and my creativity, my skill takes focus and agility not just glorified muscle memory” you winked at him, enjoying the banter. He scoffed in return. “Yes and what can you do with that ring that I cannot defeat with my blades” he mused. This invitation was perfect. You got up jubilantly, started your lecture. “Clearly you lack certain knowledge Robin, hand me one of your so called blades” you stuck your hand out as Robin rolled his eyes handing you a bat-shaped blade. Without a second thought you cut into the side of your arm, wincing at the pain. “Y/N! What are you doin-” you cut Robin off, beginning to channel your power. “You see, true power is the ability to heal any cut your blades could make, to take was has happened and turn it into a place of love, not malice or hate” as you said this, the familiar purple tone washed over your arm, easily mending the break in your skin. You noticed it felt faster than usual, but wiped it off as adrenaline. 

(TW OVER)

At the display of your powers Robin was in awe. “That’s not all I can do” you laughed, creating a small purple hand that pushed Robin’s open jaw closed. He stumbled back angrily, mumbling about accepting your abilities merit. “You impressed now Robin?” you grinned, sticking out your hand to him. He closed the distance, returning your handshake. “Damian.” he said softly. You swallowed, Damian. It was becoming. Your ring began to warmly glow, Damian snapped his hand away wearily as you cooled your emotions. “Oh uh! Sorry, energy burst” you said, it was a half truth at least. Damian nodded, moving to go clean the batarang. 

The rest of the trip was short, upon entering Celea you’d divided, Damian was with you as the both of you entered publicly while Beast Boy and Raven entered covertly, planning to cover you if the diplomatic endeavors went south. Blue Beetle and Cyborg, unfortunately, weren’t allowed in Celea as their tech was apparently very old and triggered the planet’s defense system, so they stayed up in the ship was manning comms, prepared for an air fight. 

Upon entering you were taken straight to the capital, a sapphire corps was a rarity on Celea and they were all excited for your help. You and Damian met the governing leaders, explaining that you were here to help end the tyranny on the dark side of the planet. As you had hoped, they agreed, you could feel their love for their planet was strong, but that was about all the love on the planet as everyone was so young. It felt slightly difficult to keep a reign on your emotions on Celea, the planet itself was a safe haven for children, almost like a giant orphanage ran by beings that reincarnated frequently as to stay alive on the planet, the concept of pure love was foreign to many of the children and unharnessable. It all felt quite isolating in comparison to earth, a planet driven by intense emotions. 

“You look tired already” Damian mused. “I’m fine, just not a huge fan of a child-only planet” you responded as you made your way towards the large base, preparing yourself for a fight. Before Damian could respond you were joined by Raven and Gar. Their presence eased some of the pressure. “You guys love each other, it’s refreshing” you said, both of them froze, staring at you. “Oh uh, we haven’t really talked about that yet” Raven whispered, staring at Gar who was grinning like a child in a candy shop. “I love you too Rae!” he cheered. “Not how I imagined I’d say it but, yes, I do love you idiot” she huffed. Your cheeks flushed, “oh uh, my bad sorry, it just, seemed so obvious” you giggled, secretly glad you’d brought the two together. 

“Just a couple’a couples!” Beast boy teased, you felt your cheeks redden, glancing to Damian who was now suddenly interested in looking anywhere but at you. You felt your ring begin to glow again, covering it with your other hand. “Oh wow! Look at that! We’re here! Battle time!” you cleared your throat, setting the group focus on infiltrating the rogue base. 

The base itself was relatively small, it hadn’t been flushed out yet but the four of you were here to clear it before they had the chance. Trying to establish a child trafficking ring on a planet of only children was disgusting, and needed stopping before it got the chance. You were especially passionate about this endeavor, the reason for you channeling the power of love was when you lost your sister, that loss of love taught you it’s importance even at a young age, and after training harder than anyone you knew you earned the ring, promising to defend love the way no one defended yours. You would protect these children at any cost. 

There was no need for stealth as you had the permission of the Celean government, it was more of an ambush. As Gar shifted into a large tiger, Raven donned her hood, and Damian stripped himself of the Celean garb, you noticed his Robin suit, littered in weapons and ties, he looked like a hero. There was that damn glow again. Channeling it into your focus you felt the warm aura surround you as you lifted off the ground, ready for a fight. 

“Y/n should say it!” BB roared, Raven nodded in agreement. “Say what?” you looked at Damian. “We have this tradition where the leader says ��Titan’s Go’ then we fight, and I guess you’re our leader today” he said, you noticed the light tint hiding beneath his mask. “Okay!” you said, positioning yourself, flexing your hand to feel your ring one last time before shouting.

“TITANS GO!” 

And you were off, soaring through the air while BB and Robin took the ground. You noticed a few scared looking kids were being held in pens, and you decided to free them first. As Raven covered you easily, you floated down to the kids, accidentally bonking heads with Robin who stared at you. “I’m so sorry! It’s just we always have to-” “Get the kids out first” he finished your sentence, a small smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. For just a fraction of a second, your eyes flitted down to his lips, feeling his gaze of you the moment felt like slow motion before you both snapped out. “Let’s go! This way!” you used your ring to break the gates as Robin herded the kids out to freedom. 

Glancing up you saw a couple rogues grabbing kids as they tried to run away, your heart stopped when you saw one pull out a laser blaster. “Enough!” you screamed, violet rays exploding from your hands as you easily knocked them out of your way. Leaving your post you flew up and began eradicating anyone who tried to harm a child. “No one hurts my sister!” you screeched, your powers growing stronger by the second as you began dividing your powers between knocking out bad guys and literally carrying children to safety. As the last of the kids were safe you escorted Beast Boy out while you and Raven combined your powers to crunch up the base, making it unfixable and uninhabitable forever. 

Feeling the adrenaline subside you glanced down to see a herd of children cheering, but your focus drew to Damian who was propped up against a barrel, nursing a laser bullet wound. Rushing to his side you quickly pulled open his suit, a trail of blood trickled into your hands. “Damn kevlar doesn’t stop their bullets apparently” he coughed. “Oh my god Damian don’t go” Gar shifted next to you. “He’s not going anywhere” you said, focussing your energy, feeling the pain and imagining turning the warmth of blood into mending, the pools of blood are just pockets of blissful love. 

This wasn’t a good time to tell the team you’d never healed a wound this large before. Positive self talk right? Or negative. 

I’m alone on a planet of useless children, surrounded by a glorified furry, goth, and stocked vigilante. No one is here to help you y/n you’ve gotta do this. You felt the wounds begin to mend, after all that focus you’d barely started. Damian you idiot! If you die right now how will I know why my damn ring is gleaming everytime I see your cute face. Fuck. I didn’t mean cute. Yeah I did. Okay, save the cute face. Maybe kiss the cute face if you save it? Yeah. That’s a good deal y/n let’s do that. Your head was rushing through a million thoughts, anything to motivate you to do the impossible. Halfway there, you could feel it. “Holy cow, look! The wound is closing!” Gar pointed at Damian’s chest. “Y-yeah. No help from you green bean” you mumbled. “Oh I know what’ll help!” Gar squeaked, running off. You turned to Damian who was just staring at you bewildered. “Don’t look at me like that when I’m literally repairing your organs bird boy” you whispered through clenched teeth. 

Then a surge of power came over you, it felt raw and unchanneled, you glanced up to see Gar mid-kiss with Raven, giving you a thumbs up. The love was short lived, but enough to keep your engine revving. Alright girl you got this, heal, then kiss, maybe. Definitely heal first. He has to live. C’mon. “JUST LIVE DAMMIT” you shouted the last bit, feeling the last of your power drain while the wound completely closed. “Holy shit I’m a badass” you whispered, before feeling intensely light headed. 

You woke up in the ship med bay, jolting up. “HE LIVED HE LIVED” you burst up, throwing a fist in the air. The other corps members would be so proud! Your first battle with death you’d won! “You’re right I did live, thanks to you” a familiar voice brought you back down to earth. Next to your bed was Damian, now in casual clothes with a little bandaging on his other wounds. “Oh! uh yeah, you’re totally welcome” you grinned. Awkwardly Damian scooted closer to you. “I think I owe you a certain gratitude” he said, emotions dripping in his voice you hadn’t heard before. 

This time his eyes snapped down to your lips, as he leaned in you felt like you were dreaming. When your lips connected you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, feeling lightheaded with pure joy. The kiss itself was soft, blissful and lovely. Damian’s lips felt soft against yours, like they fit with yours like a puzzle piece. Pulling away you stared at him shocked. “I could hear your thoughts when you were healing me, had to live up to your expectations” he winked while you covered your face with embarrassment. “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing yikes” you mumbled into your hands. You felt Damian’s hand slide under yours, caressing your cheek, drawing your eyes to his. “I thought it was pretty endearing personally, I suppose it’s because I was being saved by the most gorgeous, fascinating girl I know” he mused, before bringing you in for another kiss, this time more passionate, as if to show his feelings through a kiss instead of words. 

You spent the rest of your earthly get-away with the Titans, finding a sort of family with them. When you were called back to your people you promised to return in a few weeks, hoping to move your station to earth. They could always use another lantern right? 

When you returned to your mentor, C.Ferris you told her of your earthly adventures. She laughed, “a Star Sapphire’s greatest strength and weakness all wrapped into a snarky earth boy body” and you couldn’t help but agree. And with that, you were sent back to earth, this time returning as Dove, because every Robin needs a lovebird to help them along the way. 

[crispyjenkins]

I dare you to write an Ani5 fix-it fic. I will not be taking criticism and will die on the hill that this is the most powerful ship and could’ve saved the entire clone wars. Bonus points if it features the ship Mace Windu/headaches (bc anakin is a walking mess of shatterpoints and lives to annoy Mace). Codywan to help knock some sense into anakin would also be top tier. I LOVE YOU ZEPH’BUIR

(of course i can’t do a whole fix-it in a quick prompt answer, but i think i’ve set it up for a far happier ending than in canon! support communication and education in relationships (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and also adhd clones.

fives might be the most i’ve ever struggled with a character (‘cept maybe ahsoka....) so it took a little while to figure out how to write this scene in a way i liked. also, had to go and watch fives clips to try and get my autism brain working, and BOY HOWDY do i actually hate dbb’s take on the clones, especially the accent but everything else too. their character designs make me want to cry. so i’m begging, for me, to imagine this fives like this especially because then we get Tol Anakin and a Smol Clone BF and i think that is a seriously underutilised dynamic.

thank you for the prompt, ad, and for cursing me with this ship in the first place. someday i’ll get around to actually writing them as the battle husbands they are 🧡)

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  Echo's always been good with programming, but Fives is better with the actual building. He's not any good with inventing, maybe, but putting things together? Opening them up and knowing immediately what's wrong? Fives would even say he enjoys it — and being able to talk shop with Skywalker like they're nobody mechanics from the Outer Rim instead of General and Soldier makes the long hyperjumps between missions actually bearable. 

  How that led to him sitting in a rarely used hallway on the Resolute with Skywalker ("Anakin," he keeps insisting with a smile), both leant over a mouse droid in pieces on a drop cloth, Fives isn't really sure. It probably had something to do with Skywalker's excited bounce when he'd come to ask if Fives wanted to help him, the sparkle in his eye reminding Fives just how young the both of them are. How, technically, he's older than Anakin.

  Because, yeah, he is Anakin, not Skywalker, when they're like this. With his growing knight cut a curly untamed cloud around his ears, grease smeared on the underside of his jaw, with Fives stripped down to his blacks from the waist up, with even his blasters set on the floor next to them. 

  With it quickly becoming clear that Anakin doesn't actually need help to rewire the mouse droid, but had asked for Fives to join him anyways.

  They've been at it for a few hours now, their jokes winding down to companionable quiet as they both work on separate parts of the droid. It honestly might have been easier to start from a scrap droid than try to rewire this one correctly, but it's easy work Fives could do blindfolded, and sharing the mutually-focused silence is actually quite nice.

  Anakin is elbow-deep in the outer casing when he finally asks, "Do the clones feel love?"

  And Fives almost gets up and walks away. He knows not every battalion ended up with a good Jedi, that the 212th and the 501st had been so kriffing lucky to end up with "The Team", but sometimes he forgets. Maybe that's the worst part of it: slow, personal moments like this, Fives forgets he's not natborn and bearer of a face shared with millions. Being around his general makes him forget, and maybe he had taken that for granted until now.

  Or maybe it's for that reason that he hesitates from storming off, because Anakin had been the one to name Alpha, to insist on giving them proper leave, to defend them from anyone who talks down at them even if they're a planetary leader. And Rex had said something, once, about Anakin’s brain working in either/ors, being hardwired in some way to only see in black and white and believing that if you're one thing, you can't be another. That what Anakin says isn't always what he means.

  So instead, he asks, "What kind of love are we talkin'?"

  Anakin refuses to raise his head, and Fives can almost see him stressing about how to phrase this.  "Y'know, grand romance and stuff. One-and-onlys and holodrama romcom propaganda and imagining growing old together."

  "'Not quite sure what you're asking, sir." He takes a deep breath. "The short answer is yes, we can and do feel that, but the long answer is I can't speak for every brother, and I would not want to. Some of us don't feel that." Shrugging, he passes Anakin a socket wrench before he can ask for it. "But it's not because we can't, not because of the longnecks. We're bred to be obedient, sir, not emotionless."

  Quiet settles over them again while Anakin processes this, his mouth twisted rather horribly. Fives starts to think he would do a whole awful lot to turn that frown back into a haughty smile. 

  "What do you really want to ask, General?"

  "I'm married to Senator Amidala."

  Now, everyone with eyes knows that. Maybe Torrent knows even better, when they've been covering for their general for over a year now, and clearly the Jedi just aren't doing anything about it — but Fives also knows Anakin has never actually told anyone about this, not even General Kenobi. Rex says Anakin still thinks they've been discreet.

  "If I may be blunt, sir, this is not news."

  And Anakin actually laughs at that, shaking his head as he tosses down his tools to stare at the opposite wall instead. Fives watches his gaze go distant, somewhere far away from the Resolute lost in the middle of space. “I’ve loved her since I was nine years old, Fives. I loved her through not seeing her for a decade, through her assassination attempts and the First Battle of Geonosis and becoming a knight, and I...”

  Fives sighs once. “No one said you had to stay in love, sir.”

  “But that’s just it,” he groans. “I’ve never known how to do anything else, how to be anything else. I don’t... know who I am without it.”

  He has to look away from Anakin, then, because he’s seen brothers go stupid for people they meet on campaigns, or for their Jedi, and Fives isn’t nearly as young as some of the shinies out there, but he knows what it looks like, when they leap in without thinking. He lets out a long, slow breath, his eyes falling on the ‘saber at Anakin’s hip. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  Anakin blinks at him, and nods.

  “That’s too young to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Fives raises a brow at his general’s startled expression, which is maybe more amusing (endearing) than it has any business being. “General, you’re barely an adult, just the same as the vode. If my mental timeline is right, you weren’t even twenty standard when you married Amidala, which, frankly, was reckless and unfair on her part.”

  “Padmé would never–”

  “I don’t mean intentionally, sir. The fact of the matter is, no wonder you don’t know who you are without her, because you’ve always had her.” That decade of no contact notwithstanding, considering Anakin didn’t not have her, either. “Senator Amidala knew who and what she was before you, and she’ll know who and what she is without you.”

  “That’s not quite fair,” Anakin grumbles, but his throat is flushed in what Fives hopes is entirely appropriate guilt, or at the very least embarrassment. “It was my idea to get married after Geonosis.”

  Fives snorts. “The idea of a child thrown into war, afraid to lose anything.”

  “You’re being uncharacteristically candid, Fives.”

  “Respectfully, sir, the last thing you need is to be coddled.” His general laughs again, this time good and bright in a way he hasn’t heard before; and then Fives can’t help what he admits next. “We weren’t allowed toys, or anything.”

  Laughter cutting off abruptly, Anakin’s eyes grow haunted instead. There might not be anyone else in the galaxy with quite the same experience as the clones, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t those that understand.

  “Hevy made me and Echo– Well, he said they were mythosaurs like Kal taught us about, but they looked more like sad loth cats. He cut up his own bedsheet to make ‘em, and couldn’t tell the longnecks what he’d done with it, so he just slept on the bare mattress.”

  “Fives...”

  But it’s clear Anakin doesn’t actually know what to say, so Fives pushes on. “Some of Fett’s instructors tried to teach us Mando’a, you know? I think Spar is the only brother that ever got fluent, the rest of us have been making up words and combining them with Basic and Kaminoan and whatever else the Cuy’val Dar spoke that sometimes we don’t even remember what language they are anymore.”

  “I didn’t learn Basic until I was five.” Anakin thunks his head onto the wall behind him with a sigh, the mouse droid forgotten at his feet. “Other padawans always told me I was lucky Master Obi-Wan knew Huttese.” Ahh, kark, his general had been a Hutt salve; at least the spice runners made sure their slaves could communicate with their customers. “I couldn’t read a word of Aurebesh when I first came to the Temple, though to be fair, I couldn’t read anything else, either.”

  “You grow up around other kids?”

  “Yeah, my mom and I lived in the biggest slave slum on Tatooine.”

  Fives doesn’t need to tell him how lucky he was just to have had their own quarters. “I think, sir, that the vode know better than you think, what it’s like always standing on the edge of losing everything.”

  Squeezing his eyes closed, Anakin inhales sharply and clenches his fists over his knees. “What happened? To your mythosaur toys?”

  “One of the longnecks found them while we were in training, ‘threw them out before we got back. I think Hevy was even more upset than we were.”

  The leather glove over his prosthesis creaks as he tightens his grip on his own palms. “Was it easy? To just... forget about them?”

  “Of course not,” Fives snorts and crosses his arms, “we were the equivalent of eight standard at the time, but we honestly didn’t have a choice. As we got a little older, we stopped trying to put meaning in things, because we weren’t allowed things. Our names are our only real possession, even our armor can be taken from us, but we will not, cannot, let anyone take our names.”

  Groaning, Anakin scrubs his hands over his face before pushing himself up to finally look at Fives properly. He still doesn’t speak for a moment, just watching him, then teases flatly, “You’ve been spending too much time with Cody and Obi-Wan, you’re starting to speak in riddles.”

  “They are riddles only to you, sir.” He offers a small smile, and is only slightly disappointed when Anakin doesn’t return it.

  Instead, he lets out a winded breath. “So. You’re saying that it’s not easy to let go of even small things, but we must. And then there are things that we shouldn’t let go of?”

  “Some things aren’t ours to keep.”

  Anakin swallows. “Like Padmé,”

  “Like any person, no matter what sort of love we have for them.”

  Groaning, Anakin pulls his knees back up close and drops his face into his arms. “But I still love her.”

  Knowing that this is not a new problem, that General Kenobi has been trying to teach his general this for as long as they’ve known each other, Fives takes a moment to consider. “You don’t really have to stop loving her.”

  “But you said–”

  “You think I stop loving my brothers when they die?”

  Whether or not it’s healthy to hold onto affections for someone after a romantic relationship is a conversation for another time, Fives decides, and leans over to pick up where Anakin had left off with the droid.

  “General, it sounds to me like you already know all this,” he says, twisting a wire into the grip of his glove to yank it from the motor. “And  that you’re digging your feet in — which is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

  “You sound like Obi-Wan,” he groans, but doesn’t deny it.

  “Hmm, well, at least we’re still just kids.”

  Anakin very slowly looks up from his arms, just enough for Fives to see his wide eyes. “What do you...?”

  “Well, we’ve still got time to learn, don’t we?” Fives raises his eyebrow as he fits the new wire into the motor and starts to close all the panels back up. “I still think about Hevy and Droidbait and Cutup, and honestly, I still think about Echo’s and my mythosaurs. That’s not a bad thing, I don’t think, not even the Jedi would think that’s bad. I’m still angry when my vode don’t get funerals and I honestly hold that against the Chancellor and the Jedi both. But I don’t get to go back to Kamino and take my anger out on the longneck that took our toys, and I’m... working on it, not being so angry with the generals. I’m still angry. But I know the Jedi have about as much say in all of this as we do, and I know burying my brothers won’t bring them back. So I’m working on it.”

  “I... don’t have to be good at it all at once.”

  “Great Maker, General, just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t mean you have to actually be good at absolutely everything from the start. You just have to try, and you still have time to.”

  He looks up and finds Anakin already smiling back. “Fives, I could kiss you.”

  “Considering it sounds like Senator Amidala just divorced you, I think that’s a very bad idea, sir.”

  “Bah, you’re no fun.”

  Fives feigns offense, “This mouse droid we’ve rigged to follow Captain Rex around and scream says differently.”

-

  The night the 501st returns to the Resolute after finally (kriffing finally) leaving Umbara, Fives finds a hand-sewn stuffed mythosaur on his bunk, with a string collar and a dogtag etched with CT-782.

-

Mando’a: Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones vod/e —  “brother/s, comrade/s, sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s” (*in this context, fives is using brothers as gender neutral as well, because you won’t take trans and nb clones even from my cold dead hands*)

[elliotalbatross]

For new roleplays haha.

Hey hi hello howdy! My name is Elliot, I’m a 26 year old from New England (EDT) with over 10+ years of off and on rping experience and I’ve decided to try to jump back into rping online again. I’m currently banging out a degree in professional writing and boy am I sick to death of writing reading responses, so here I am I guess. I also work a full-time job, so while I like to say I’m active, I’m not always available.

I generally like long-form posts, (at least more than a few paragraphs to multiple paragraphs), written in third person/past tense. No asterisks or one sentence replies, please.

Faceclaims and all that are awesome, but I generally like to avoid already established characters/anime character faceclaims.

I play characters of all genders/orientations, and generally prefer original characters over fandoms. That being said I love fandom-inspired roleplays- TLOU, ATLA, Stranger Things, etc are all wonderful inspiration for plots and characters. Also if I get really into it there’s a 100% chance of a pinterest board, playlist, etc, and I’m looking for partners who would be equally invested or at the very least open to those sorts of things.

I’m looking for a partner who is active (at least post once a day/week), who is communicative (OOC chat is really important to me! If you don’t want to be best friends I get that but at least let me know where the scene’s going, haha). Must be at least 20+ in age, I’d like partners who are in a similar age group to me.

NSFW to be discussed but it’s not a huge factor in my writing and I don’t like plots that revolve around that sort of thing.

I’m looking for modern dark fantasy/romance plots at the moment!

This includes:

Vampire/hunter

Vampire/human

Ghost/living person

Fae/human

Demon/human

Witch/vampire

Witch/familiar

A few plots I’ve had in mind lately are:

*A bar in the middle of a big city flaunts a weird policy- anyone who donates blood that night gets free drinks the next night, or free drinks in exchange for donating blood later on in the night.

#1. Your character gets hired as an unassuming busser in the upstairs bar, not really believing in the rumors about the downstairs venue, until one night the boss asks them to cover and they find out first hand.

#2. Your character wakes up after a night of heavy drinking to a random man on their couch. They start to freak out but he laughs and reminds them that they promised to become a regular donor to him the night before at the bar.

#3. A vampire and their vampire hunter enemy meet at the bar one night to have a drink together after they realize that they’re almost on the same side about an ongoing social issue and realize they have much more in common than you’d think.

*A cute bakery in an unassuming city does really well for itself. The baked goods are scrumptious and adorable, and the old man who runs the bakery has a huge garden in the back. He is well liked and known to his community, but the neighbors think he’s a witch. You had a bad day and bought a donut at the bakery after work? You found $50 on the subway on your commute home! Sad about a break up so you bought a cookie the size of your head to eat your feelings? Your inbox is flooded with friends and family who want to support you after the break up! His grandchild has recently moved in to take care of him in his old age, and one day a weird crow starts following them around in the garden. Shenanigans ensue.

Anyway if none of these plots interest you, I promise we can come up with something!

I like to use discord for writing, so that’s also a thing. So uhh message me here and we’ll go from there! Can’t wait to hear from you.

[kineticallyanywhere]

got tagged by @writingondaisies! 

How many works do you have on AO3?

14 (there’s one I should move from ff.net soon, but it’s not there now)

What’s your total AO3 word count?

270,817

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In order of recencey... Dungeons & Daddies, RWBY, Red vs Blue, The Flash/Arrowverse, Danny Phantom, Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja, (back into ff.net days, Kim Possible, American Dragon: Jake Long, a Percy Jackson one-shot... another thing... Warriors)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Mind over Matter (Red vs Blue)

Fourteen, and four thousand, years old (RWBY)

Flying, falling, stand your ground (RWBY)

The Way Out (Red vs Blue)

Washin’Boose (Red vs Blue) 

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to for long-running fics and for especially long or intense comments, but I’m usually just so nervous ;<; they all warm my heart tho, there is not one that I haven’t read more than once

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I’m typically allergic to straight tragedy, but... I think probably Put your Stampler in a box (D&Dads), since the whole thing is a hypothetical lead-up to a magic teenager going on a rampage. Mind over Matter has a really emotional ending, but I like to think it’s more bittersweet than straight angst. Fourteen, and four thousand, years old swerves into angst, but nobody’s dying or anything so... yeah!

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Heroes Under Drinking Age is the incomplete MASSIVE thing which is supposed to ultimately crossover Danny Phantom, RC9GN, American Dragon, and Kim Possible. I hit a hard writing wall on the ADJL and KP side and just never got over it :( I still dream of finishing it

Oh I guess there’s also a TMA-D&Dads crossover I’ve put some thought into, where after s5 Jon and Martin land in Faerun to replace The Library, and they get to decompress in this strange world, meet the Likelys, and hear about the eldritch-adjacent beings from other worlds. 

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope! (knocks on all the wood) at least not if you’re not counting someone pointing out spelling stuff unsolicited or stuff like that. 

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

n o p e 

when I did Demons not sold separately (D&Dads) they kiss like two times and talk about the prospect of doing more, but it doesn’t go anywhere cause there’s kids nearby. I tagged it as “ace writing allos” just in case, cause boy howdy do I not know what I’m doing in that department ^u^’

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that I know of? I wouldn’t know where to start checking for that and if it’s happened, no one’s told me about it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

only in my dreams

Washin’Boose got a pod-fic tho!! 

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t ship too much and I slide around a lot when I do, but Clark KentxLois Lane 4ever

Whats a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Heroes Under Drinking Age, my beloved...

I’ve also got a number of AUs for DnDads, some with enough written that I may as well post some of the stuff as one-shots to maybe expand on later. One is a high school au where Hen (14) comes to Earth early, another is an exploration of what it might be like to be a sort of demi-god descendant of a chaos entity with the Doodler Cult coming back (called Puberty, ????, and You). Idk if Done Sons and Dragons counts, cause that’d be a whole comic. I’d love to publish something of at least one of these

And then there’s a half-baked idea for Yet Another Oscar Time Travel AU for RWBY, that would take place starting after v8 and would feature Oscar and Emerald traveling back to the series start (on purpose.)

What are your writing strengths?

I’ve gotten quite a few compliments on my prose and scene pacing! I like writing prose like it’s the thought process of the character I’m following, and I often find myself getting a bit poetic about it. I’m a big fan of parallelisms and using repetition for impact. 

I also put a lot into trying to match the original tone of the content I’m writing fic for, and have gotten quite a few compliments on my character dialogue. I just get their voices in my brain and they don’t leave. On only one occasion have they paid rent. The freeloaders. 

What are your writing weaknesses?

I bite off more than I can chew and never finish 

I worry a lot over making sure emotional beats connect, and that it doesn’t feel like I’m jumping from point A to point C, and I’m afraid that makes me over-explain point B. Like I was rereading HUDA: Alpha after I posted it to ao3, and I have a lot of grace for my high school self, but some parts of that fic could have been smoothed out quite a bit. Parts of Mind over Matter are a bit wordier than they needed to be, too. 

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I feel like it’s best done by people who are fluent in a language. Language isn’t just changing words from A to B, it comes with cultural connotations and altered meanings and layers that are only going to come across perfectly when it comes from someone who knows exactly what they’re talking about. so like if I were ever to use more than a few words or a common phrase in another language in a fic, I’d find someone who actually speaks it to help me out. 

as for how to format it... if the meaning needs to be understood by the reader, you may as just put it in the fic’s main language and alter the formatting (like with itallics) or dialogue tag to denote that they’re speaking another language. If it’s small bits, I don’t super mind footnotes at the bottom or just leaving it untranslated, like a special bit for people who speak the language or are willing to look it up. 

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

warrior cats! me, my best friend, and my older sister all had OCs and were part of RainClan, our OC clan. Their camp was made in the trunk and branches of a big willow tree that made a kind of sheltered dome. I didn’t even know what fanfiction was back then

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Mind over Matter. Hands down. For one, it’s actually done. That would put it in contest with The Way Out, which is also multi-chapter and complete, but MoM is WAY longer and took SO much more work but was SO worth it. It started as just scratching an itch and then grew into something that helped me prove to myself that I can do a long-term project, including themes and foreshadowing and narrative hootenanny and character arcs and character relationship arcs. the html coding. It was a great time, I’m so proud of it, editing it helped build one of my best friendships, and there is nothing I would trade that experience for. 

tagging @aryashi, @cinaed, @hedgiwithapen, and @glowstickia

[silverbastardgoldenfool]

Realm of the Quarantine Reread End-of-Book Questionnaire: Assassin’s Quest

Any differences between your first/previous reading experience and this one?

Keep in mind I’m writing this months after finishing the book lol (it’s mental illness innit). I have LOTS of notes to go off but yeah, things aren’t as fresh in my mind overall. With that said the biggest difference I can think of between my first and second experience with AQ is my feelings towards Kettricken. I think the first time around reading you know that Fitz is an unreliable narrator but you are still limited by his viewpoint so you can get a bit trapped seeing things the way he does. For this reason, I think I pretty much just forgave Kettricken when he did on my first read, whereas on this read I was like……. Waiting for her to actually apologise and show some sympathy towards Fitz and it just…. Never happened.

Like, don’t get me wrong, I still love Kettricken as a character and I fully recognise that she has been traumatised. I don’t expect her to be nice or act rationally, and in the case of being willing to take Nettle for the crown… It’s cold but she’s doing what she feels she has to. My issue is - do what you have to, but don’t expect Fitz to understand or forgive you (same with Starling). But I think what bothered me the most was how Kettricken would constantly confide in Fitz and break down to him and he was always there to let her do so, yet she NEVER gives Fitz the chance to do the same. The one time he does “open up” in a sense is when she forces him to air out his traumas in front of everyone, and she didn’t show him any sympathy for what he’d been through then or later. She has been through hell, absolutely, but while her plight may not have been any better than Fitz’s it certainly wasn’t any worse. She pretty much had two modes in this book: completely cold or a crying wreck - but she was only ever crying for herself. She lets Fitz console her but she never consoles him. Again, this is a result of her own trauma and I don’t expect her to act any differently, but it just reaffirmed for me that while she and Fitz care for each other deeply it is not an equal relationship. Fitz feels an obligation to serve her and she - knowingly or not - takes advantage of that. Like, after realising that this is their dynamic it is so obvious that the same is true in Royal Assassin as well, and it will be interesting to see how it changes (or doesn’t) in Tawny Man as I don’t remember it well enough to say.

Must reiterate: Kettricken is still a great character and I still have a lot of respect for her, unfortunately she just falls into the overfull camp of people who love Fitz but have an unhealthy power dynamic with him.

The other big difference I noticed was that the Verity stuff just wasn’t as devastating this time. Not because it was any less sad but it just didn’t tear out my heart like it did the first time. That’s not a fault with the writing at all, I think it’s just the fact that, knowing what would happen to Verity and that we wouldn’t see the real Verity again, I kind of already let go of him at the end of Royal Assassin.

Something you can’t believe you forgot

I guess more of a misinterpretation/wishful thinking but like, realising that there is no passage explicitly stating that Fitz and the Fool were actually spooning in the mountains murdered me and spat on my corpse.

Oh also!!! Fitz yeeting himself out the window at Tradeford castle jskaskjf

Favourite character introduction moments/scenes

I love Kettle in general and the way we’re introduced to her as a cranky old lady sets her up perfectly

Favourite character arcs

Man they’re all so fucking sad lol but I guess the Fool? He goes from thinking Fitz is dead and his purpose failed to reuniting with Fitz, their relationship growing into something really real for the first time, and actually completing his mission - at least for now lol. This book is really the first time you get to see the Fool be properly vulnerable. Even when he was getting beaten up by Regal’s guards he always had his veneer of snark and superiority to hide behind - and I doubt when he went through his sicknesses at Buckkeep he would have revealed his weakness to anyone in order to be helped. But in the mountains he lets so much of that facade of the King’s Fool fall away - at least when it’s just him and Fitz. When he and Fitz meet again he lets Fitz see his grief and pain and hopelessness and joy as the Fool looks after Fitz, and then later when it’s the Fool who needs looking after he lets Fitz look after him. When was the last time the Fool had anyone really care for him like that, ya know? Had someone protect him purely out of love? Ouch dude!!!!

Also he gets to kiss Fitz at the end so good for him!!!!!!!!!! Be gay ride dragons!!

Favourite quote/s

“I would kill Regal. It only seemed fair. He had killed me first.”

“I had looked into the heart of my enemy. I still could not comprehend him.”

“The more I drank, the less tolerable my situation seemed. And the more intolerable I became to my friends.”

“I had never thought to be disdained by a tree.”

“The Fool, the Fool, only the Fool. I sought for him. I almost found him. Oh, he was passing strange, and surpassing strange. He darted and eluded me, like a bright gold carp in a weedy pool, like the motes that dance before one’s eyes after being dazzled by the sun. As well to clutch at the moon’s reflection in a still midnight pond as to seek a grip on that bright mind. I knew his beauty and his power in the briefest flashes of insight. In a moment I understood and marvelled at all that he was, and in the next I had forgotten that understanding.”

“When you can either laugh or cry, you might as well laugh.” - the Fool

Favourite relationships

Fitzandthefoolfitzandthefoolfitzandthefoolbahslbghabfhalgngjba 

Also fitz and nighteyes (speaking of which, Nighteyes’ arc in this book is also fascinating and surprisingly complex) and Fitz/Nighteyes/Fool mwah magnifico chef’s kiss

Favourite setting

Kelsingra baybeyyy. I remember the first time reading this having no fucking clue what was happening in that chapter but I guess it was the gay agenda all along

Favourite chapter

It’s gotta be the chapter where Fitz and the Fool reunite, right? Catch me just gradually losing my grip on reality with every lingering stare 

Most loved character

Foooooooooool

Most hated character

Ya know, for a minute I was actually wondering if I would like Starling this time round but yeah no lol. She was actually okay for a while but as soon as she sold Fitz/Nettle out she became The Worst, just as I remembered her. It’s not even because she betrays Fitz but because, like Kettricken, she expects Fitz to forgive her for it, to the point of running to tattle to the queen because Fitz isn’t giving her enough attention (I’m also not impressed with Kettricken for actually getting involved instead of just telling her to grow up). Not to mention her constantly misgendering/gendering (??) the Fool or just assuming the Fool’s gender and loudly fucking proclaiming it to everybody is just truly fucking disgusting. Like I cannot even explain how furious I was reading her incessantly using she/her pronouns for the Fool despite no confirmation that her theory is right or that the Fool is comfortable with this and despite EVERYONE ELSE using he/him pronouns. God I’m mad now lol. She just acts like a spoilt brat and it makes my blood boil. But that’s probably because I have known many people like this so… Good character writing lol congrats

Raise your hand if you’ve been personally victimised by Robin Hobb (most heartbreaking and/or visceral moments)

The whole first chapter/s are just so heavy and carry on that gut wrenching feeling from the end of Royal Assassin. Fitz just has no real desire to live and watching him systematically severing the last few ties he has to his human life is just so sad.

Even though I wasn’t as attached to Verity this time, his goodbye to Fitz still made me cry

As did Fitz giving Kettle her skill back

Verity using Fitz’s body to have sex with Kettricken really got to me this time, mostly because I either didn’t notice the first time or had forgotten just how much it affects Fitz. It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to acknowledge Dutiful as his son when the event that brought that fact into being was so fucked up and traumatic. It’s really upsetting.

Burrich saying he almost took Fitz to Chivalry and he should have never let the Farseers take Fitz just …… breaks my heart. Just seeing Burrich so raw like that in general is so unusual it really takes you aback.

Details, observations, spoilery notes made with the benefit of the full picture

Strap in lads this part is lonnnngggggggg

Is it bad to immediately want to cry just from seeing “Sandsedge” on the map and thinking of Sandsedge brandy

I never really thought about how poor Hap didn’t get the real Fitz all those years and how their relationship could have been if Fitz hadn’t been partially forged

Pls I have no idea why but to picture someone as emotionally repressed as Fitz actually sitting down and writing about his life makes me want to fucking cryyyyeeeee

Fitz in the prologue talks about needing a purpose as something to distract himself from sinking [into his chronic pain, mental illness and addiction] and boy howdy if that ain’t relatable. As someone with mental illness and chronic pain Fitz is just painfully relatable way too often.

“I have never forgiven myself the triumph I ceded him when I took poison and died.” Fitz :(((( my guy :((((((( forgive yourself for surviving however you could baby!!!!!

This book mentions Bingtown providing slaves to Chalced

It’s so funny to me when people expect Fitz to have social skills as if he didn’t literally live as a fucking wolf for weeks at a time. It’s a miracle he bloody speaks

The state Fitz is in at the beginning of this book was literally Burrich’s greatest fear for him, yet Burrich doesn’t just say I told you so and leave. He stays, is patient and even optimistic.

“He (Burrich) is not bigger than I.” Why does this feel so wrong lol??? I just can’t picture Fitz as bigger than Burrich

“When you were younger and not supposed to go into taverns without me…” So it’s fine if the child goes into taverns and gets drunk as long as you’re also there. Got it, Burrich.

Fitz calling Chade “the grey one” wow get rekd old man river

Seeing Chade and Burrich interact is so bizarre

Fitz is still having seizures at the beginning of this book! I had forgotten that

God okay so idk if I can articulate this point super well but the whole thing of Fitz going through this extensive abuse and then essentially becoming an animal feels like a metaphor for the way your brain’s “higher” needs and functions just shut off sometimes under certain levels of stress. Like in order to cope with the trauma you don’t think about concepts, or long-term goals, or other people. You just take care of your basic needs - food, sleep, shelter, water - long enough that you start to feel safe and secure again, at which point your brain can open up a bit more and allow you to really think again; to want again, to plan again etc. Like obviously literally becoming an animal is a heightened version of reality, but the functionality of it is the same; our wounds and our fear stop us from fully embodying ourselves.

Burrich be like, Fitz was getting way too dependent on drugs before all this so let’s steer clear of those. :) LET’S GET HIM ABSOLUTELY SHITFACED INSTEAD

I  love how Fitz has his own unique relationship with Lacey and she’s not just Patience’s servant in his mind

Fitz talking about how even his memories from before his time in the dungeons are soiled by his trauma :( baby boy

Dude it’s so rich Chade lecturing Fitz about not making a life for himself, having friends or just chilling out like???? WHO TRAINED HIM TO BE AN ASSASSIN CHADE?? Like I get your point but what the hell kind of life did you think he was gonna have? Who ever took the time to teach him the importance of making connections with people for their own sake, and when would he have ever had the time anyway? I think Chade himself doesn’t actually know what he expects from Fitz.

Fitz saying he’s bad at making decisions because he’s never actually been allowed to make any is literally a point I’ve made lol. This is what happens when you teach teenagers how to murder in lieu of any basic life skills.

Burrich + Chiv were luv at first sight. No I will not elaborate.

“We kept you a boy, looked after you too much.” Huh??????? Fitz was never fucking sheltered lol. He didn’t have autonomy. There’s a difference.

I’m so fucking glad Fitz hugged Burrich before he left and that they actually left off on okay-ish terms. I didn’t remember that and it vaguely dulls the blow of knowing we don’t see Burrich again til Fool’s Fate (and that he thinks Fitz is dead the entire time between now and then).

“If I shaved my hair back from my brow” bitch disgusting

“Honey was the older of the two women. Perhaps my age.” jskfjnajgbl my guy those aren’t women then those are children!!!!!! U freak

I was wondering for ages why Fitz doesn’t mention the Fool like literally at all bc that’s so unusual right? Even in Assassin’s Apprentice he thinks of him when he goes to Moonseye and just in general the Fool usually enters Fitz’s thoughts pretty frequently. So why now, when Fitz doesn’t even know if the Fool is okay, is he just not thinking about him? And then I realised that that is exactly why. Because the only two people from his old life he doesn’t think about are the two people whose fates he knows nothing of: Kettricken and the Fool. So he can let his mind wander to think what Patience and Lacey might be up to at Buckkeep, or who Molly is with or whatever, because he knows they are all safe. But in such a fragile state I don’t think he can bring himself to really wonder whether Kettricken and the Fool made it to their destination - he probably doesn’t really believe they could have, and that is far too painful a road to go down when you are trying not to think at all.

I know the first act of this book is slow and that bothers some people, but I think it is so necessary, not only for Fitz’s arc but also because it really demonstrates just how severe the situation has gotten with the red ships and forged ones AND it shows just how destructive a king Regal is. Without this perspective it would probably be much harder to buy that the extreme measures taken at the end of the book are really worth the sacrifice.

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit A: when Honey is coming onto him, all he can think about is Molly.

Fitz is so scared of the Forged ones :( his trauma affects everything. He has no faith in himself and less heart for the violence than ever.

Speaking of trauma metaphors: the way Fitz tends to drift off into the wit or Skill after a traumatic experience is… pretty much just dissociation but magique

I forgot that witted folk can apparently communicate with each other mentally, not just with animals

“Her head was the size of a bushel basket.” Ah, yes, a bushel basket, a thing whose size we are all intimately familiar with.

Fitz finally finds others like him and even then he is not fully accepted. Told he is doing the wit wrong. Othered by the Others. It’s the queer experience innit.

Also forgot that apparently the forged are attracted to the wit as well as the Skill?

“I wondered if I had as many wolf mannerisms as they had halk and bear.” Yeah no probably not you only bloody LIVED as a wolf, Fitz.

Okay I know it doesn’t need saying but Patience is just so fucking cool!!!!!

Jesus fucking christ, Fitz skilling out to Molly when he knows Will knows he’s alive and is looking for him is just… so dumb. So so dumb. I know he’s just fixating on her because he’s miserable and she’s like this unsullied thing he had before everything went wrong but holy moly is it frustrating 

Not to mention he doesn’t connect the dots between the fact that Burrich went to “help a friend” and every time he reaches out for Molly he sees Burrich sajkdbshkhja dude

Nighteyes leaving just goes to show that Fitz cannot rely solely on Nighteyes for companionship. No matter how innately the same they are they are equally as innately different. Fitz needs Nighteyes but he shouldn’t have JUST Nighteyes (which is why he, Nighteyes and the Fool are the holy trinity). When Nighteyes leaves, Fitz is in way too fragile a state to be left alone, but Nighteyes cannot think of the future or what might happen. All he knows is he’ll be back at some point and that’s all that matters.

“My anger fed my competence” whatever you need to tell yourself sweetie

I think I had blocked out the fact the Regal was keeping animals trapped in filthy cages so they could ravage people in the king’s circle uggggghhhhhhhhh I hate him

Fitz is down on himself saying that without Shrewd’s largesse, Chade’s information and Verity’s protection his idea of himself has been stripped away and that he’s not actually competent etc. but like. This is an extreme situation!! You’re literally alone in the wilderness with nothing and no one!! Who would thrive in this situation? And nobody gets by without help anyway! The people in our lives do define us to an extent. You don’t have to be able to stand 100% on your own at all times with zero resources to be considered capable. It’s human to depend on others. Yes I am chiding myself as much as Fitz here :))))

Burrich’s earring is the repressed gay earring. No I will not elaborate.

Fitz refusing to sell Burrich’s earring is frustrating yet something I would 100% do lol

Direct from my notes: Celery hiding out in caves?? Bad bitch

“I felt I was within the flames looking deeply into the Fool’s eyes” um okay gay

It’s actually surprising that Fitz admits he would not have gone after Molly even if he had known she was pregnant when she left. On one hand so self aware yet this doesn’t stop him from completely idealising their relationship.

And then you have Molly who says he was supposed to come after her “so she could forgive him”, that he was supposed to be the one to light the candles for her childbirth etc. The fact that she in any way thought he was mature enough to be a father just shows how little they really knew each other.

Burrich treating Molly like a horse while delivering Nettle is way funnier than it has a right to be jskakjasd makes me think of Dwight treating Phyllis’ back injury in The Office lol

The first thing Burrich notices about Nettle is that she has Chivalry’s brow are you fucking kidding me. Gay!

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit B: He had no interest in Tassin whatsoever until she literally started kissing him. At this point his body reacted, which is normal, but as soon as he got a second to actually think about it he stopped, because for him it would not be satisfying to sleep with someone he didn’t have feelings for.

“It seemed to take years for the dried beans and lentils to soften.” Okay mood

I love how Fitz just assumes Molly will take him back. “I have a woman and child awaiting me.” Says who bitch?

Small ferret? More like big legend

Ya know, we give Fitz so much shit but honestly with so much physical, mental and emotional stress on this journey how can we expect his mental faculties to be at 100%? I wouldn’t be making good decisions either, in fact I would be long dead.

Starling telling Nik that the earring once belonged to Chivalry is truly a smooth brain move

“Do not fear, little brother, I am here to take care of you again.” Words can’t explain how much I love Nighteyes and how often his dialogue makes me smile :’)

It’s so cute how Nighteyes is worried about Molly and Nettle until he knows that Burrich is taking care of them

It’s really interesting when Fitz claims “I’d rather be with Molly even if it meant rocking a crying baby in the middle of the night” because, well, he’s literally made other claims to the contrary, saying he wouldn’t have gone with her even if he’d known she was pregnant. Because at the end of the day as much as Fitz is compelled by others to do work for the greater good, I think deep down a lot of the time it is what he would do anyway. Like I really don’t think he could actually enjoy being with Molly knowing that the world is burning down around them. He would want to get out there and help somehow; not only to secure their own future but to reduce other people’s suffering as well. He’s an empathetic boy even though he’d like to be selfish.

Every time Fitz calls Molly his wife I lose ten years off my life

Again, I understand why he’s thinking like this, but Fitz’s ownership of Molly is just so uncomfortable. The fact that he can’t imagine her not having a place ready and waiting for him in her life when he returns just illustrates that she is not a fully realised person to him. She is just a comforting idea.

Oh yes, it was definitely Starling’s “pillowtalk” that got you captured and not the fact that you fit the exact description of the witted bastard right down to having Chivalry’s earring and a whole ass wolf

Somehow forgot that Jhaampe is basically a city of tents with only a few permanent buildings and people constantly coming and going

Fitz’s first words to the Fool are “I’ve come to you.” I’m gonna fucking die

Literally every single word from the moment Fitz realises it’s the Fool and starts describing him is a full body assault and personal attack I am seeking reparations

God the tenderness, the angst, the relief……… shall i pass away

“I doubted he was much taller, but his body was no longer a child’s.” My dude this is a gay awakening if I ever saw one

Fitz be like *spends 87 pages describing the Fool in painstaking detail* anyway I love being a heterosexual male

I’ve heard ppl cite Fitz’s descriptions of Kettricken as evidence of a crush (hard disagree) but literally nothingggggg even comes close to the way he describes the Fool. Not just this once but over and over again it’s insane.

“Talk fell off between us. The bottle of brandy was empty. We were reduced to silence, staring at one another drunkenly.” skjakfnajghajgnaLNGJ is it gay to silently gaze into thine homie’s eyes

The Fool protecting Fitz from everyone - especially Starling - in Jhaampe is often hilarious and always heartwarming

Realising Fitz was skinny enough for the Fool to lift on his own ahhh no wonder he said the famous “When I recall how beautiful you were” line, Fitz is a total wreck

I love that the Fool actually gives Chade shit for his plan to take Nettle. I love him.

“Too few folk cared for me. I could not hate a single one of them.” Oh, Fitz :(

I always wonder how the Fool really feels about Molly. Is he jealous? Does he compare himself to this woman Fitz idolises and he doesn’t know? Does he know that Fitz is barking up the wrong tree or is he stuck thinking Molly must really be Fitz’s soulmate since he won’t shut up about how much he loves her and can’t wait to get back to her? He just never really lets on how it makes him feel when Fitz has relationships with women. We know Fitz gets jealous of the Fool (for litch rally like no reason lol), so with the Fool being much more honest with himself/in general about his love for Fitz and having much more legitimate reason to be jealous, is he? Or is it just something he’s made his peace with, that these women give Fitz something that he cannot? Is he okay with that cos he has to be or does he have a different, less monogamous view of love and relationships (he does have three parents after all). I dunnoooo dude I just have so many questions. Like obviously - OBVIOUSLY - if Fitz and the Fool didn’t have romantic feelings for each other before, there is no doubting that romantic feelings appeared the moment Fitz appeared in the Fool’s hut. Fitz won’t admit that but mere chapters later the Fool is talking about how he loves Fitz in every way so like. He knows. So how does he feel when Fitz is calling out for Molly in his sleep, or openly speaking of seeking her out when all this is over, and lying to the Fool to protect Molly and his daughter. Really makes u think!!!!

Fitz reuniting with Sooty and going to see her every day in Jhaampe is so cuuuute and made me so happy. Sooty is a good girl :’)

Fitz be like *leans against the table where the Fool is carving and watches his fingers at work like a true repressed gay*

Verity is literally so strong???? He submerged himself in skill and was able to pull himself back from the stream can u imagine? Go off king!

Bro I literally can’t with the Fool mentioning Jofron so casually and Fitz immediately thinking wow oh my god they’re definitely fucking oh my god the Fool has a girlfriend - Fitz sweetie calm down

I love how Fitz and the Fool just naturally walk together :))) and Nighteyes babysitting Kettle is so cute

Molly never once says that she misses Fitz. She says she always expected him to do the right thing, to come after her and not leave her alone with a child. But she doesn’t look back on their time together fondly or have much positive to say about him as a person. And all that is fair, but it’s also just… Not really the behaviour of someone who’s been separated from their soulmate. It’s more just someone who’s been left in a shitty position by someone they cared about but hardly knew.

Fitz asking the Fool what is between him and Starling when they’re literally just being civil is sooooo fucking funny. Not everyone finds the Fool as irresistible as you do, Fitz.

The Fool just casually finding a pretext to call Fitz the light of his life

Fitz telling Kettricken firmly that he will not travel if the Fool is ill is one of the only times he ever puts his foot down with her GEE I WONDER WHY

I’ve said it before I’ll say it again…… there really do be something about the way Fitz can’t meet the Fool’s eyes………. It’s not like they’re weird and colourless anymore like they used to be!!!

The Fool already talking about Clerres in this book!

Fitz and the Fool and Nighteyes playing in the stream is too fucking pure omg, it’s what they deserve

And then Starling has to bloody ruin it bc she’s homophobique

But seriously, Fitz actually lets go for the first time in ages and has a nice evening only for Starling to go tattling to Kettricken, and Kettricken having the gall to confront Fitz about it. And then Fitz solves the problem by saying he doesn’t disdain her when like!! He has every right to!!!! She sold him out, sold his daughter out. She never even apologised but instead has just been totally petty and self-righteous and stirring up trouble amongst the group. She hasn’t earned or even asked for his forgiveness. So fitting that she’s the one constantly judging Fitz for his relationship with Lord Golden in Tawny Man lol, she just cannot let Fitz and the Fool be the queer icons they are!!!

Verrrrrrrrrrry interesting that Fitz only “suddenly missed the human warmth and comfort” of Starling taking his arm or sleeping against him literally IMMEDIATELY after the plumbing and love confrontation with the Fool. I mean he has been doing all of those things with the Fool (sleeping together, walking arm in arm etc.) so it’s not about human touch at all, it’s about convincing himself that a WOMAN’S touch is somehow inherently different.

He does the same thing with Starling as with Kettricken. She technically apologises but it’s not sincere and that’s not why he forgives her. Same as Kettricken, she tells her sob story and he can’t hold onto his anger. It makes sense, but it’s just very toxic. It would be nice if at least one person would really recognise how much they’ve hurt Fitz and really, genuinely want to atone for it, or apologise without expecting forgiveness. The onus should not be on Fitz to forgive Starling but on Starling to grow up and not need Fitz to like her in order to remain civil and do what they have to. Also “I do not find your wit bond offensive” has the same energy as someone telling you out of nowhere like “It’s fine that you’re gay :)” like wow thank u?? lol

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit C: “I wanted her with a desperation that had nothing to do with love, and even, I believe, little to do with lust.”

“By his love he is betrayed, and his love betrayed also.” So fate agrees with me, Fitz and the Fool are in love? :)

Anytime the potential that Fitz might have to choose between Molly and Nighteyes I lose brain cells. That’s ur brother Fitz!!! It’s not even a choice!! How dare u

It’s just sooooo intentionally laid out for us in this book that Fitz’s relationship with Molly really wasn’t good or healthy and that his fixation on it is misguided, and I think that’s why I struggled sooooo hard with the ending of Fool’s Fate, because it kind of implied the exact opposite. I’m hoping on this reread I will pick up on it being laid out as a result of Fitz getting his memories/teen feelings back rather than it just feeling like a lowkey retcon, but I guess we’ll see lol

“I felt I was a bit in love with him, you know. That sort of lift to the heart.” the confirmation that the Fool KNOWS HOW IT FEELS TO BE IN LOVE sends me deep into the swamps goodbyeeeeeeeeeeee

“The one who loves him best will betray him most foully.” So fate agrees, the Fool loves Fitz best :)

“You do love me! … Before, it was words. I always feared it was born out of pity.” Godddddd Foooooooooool!!!!!!!!!!! 

Everything about Fitz, the Fool and Nighteyes meeting in the skill for the first time is just truly perfect iconic unparalleled.

Fitz’s love for Verity hurts my heart so much. Just think of the relationship they could have had if they weren’t stupid royals.

Kettle’s whole speech about Fitz and Molly… Just yes to every word.

Look I’m just gonna say it… The way Burrich reacts to Molly’s advances … like I know it’s probably not intentional but it just reads as very much fitting in with my headcanon that he is gay. As soon as she makes it clear she wants to sleep with him he like leaps across the room lol. I do believe he cares for her and loves her in his way, but it does feel mostly like he’ll just do whatever he needs to to care for her and the baby.  Sowwy

I wonder why the Fool wasn’t as affected by his giving up of memories to Girl-on-a-Dragon?? Or was he, and he just gets them back before we see him again in Tawny Man?

“Take my hurt that I never knew my father, take my hours of staring up at his portrait when the great hall was empty and I could do so alone.” um this is so fucking sad

It was the Fool who sent Starling to find Fitz after Verity uses his body and again I have to ask, wtf is going on in your mind, Fool!

Fitz is Demisexual, Exhibit D: Even once he actually sleeps with Starling he has no enthusiasm about it, he just kind of goes along with it, likely to prove to himself that he has really let go of his past/Molly. 

I always wonder why the Fool leaves now. Is it because he thinks their work is done and doesn’t want to risk messing things up by hanging around his catalyst like at the end of Tawny Man? Does he intend to come back and find Fitz again but get sidetracked by a lead or a new dream? Like it’s just weird because at first he was like “Prophet and Catalyst stick together” and was gonna stay with Fitz - or was that just an excuse because he was obsessed with Girl-on-a-Dragon? Fool u spicy lil enigma

It’s blood and the wit that wakes the stone dragons so does that mean King Wisdom was witted? Or is that obvious lol

Fitz isn’t even bothered by the Fool’s kiss, just shocked. I am looking.

Patience shouting orders at Verity-as-Dragon is beautiful ksjjk

Of courrrrrssse Burrich names his first son Chivalry

In the epilogue, the Fool is the only one Fitz actually says he misses. Exquisite.

I know some people have an issue with Regal’s death but personally I find it delicious

Okay that’s all (I say as if this wasn’t 139841989 pages long). See y’all in 92 years when my sister finally starts reading Liveship!

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter five: dark vibrations

word count: 11.4k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: body horror, hallucinations (?), mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide. spooky scary activities ensue. elliot has an increasingly difficult time keeping a grasp on reality. we knew this was gonna happen, though!

notes: howdy! i hope y’all enjoy this. sometimes i go weeks without updating and sometimes i wait like, 4 days before manically writing an entire chapter. you know how it be like that sometimes. i was feeling a bit more inspired and felt like i finally hit a groove on where this story was going, which i think definitely helped, and i hope you all enjoy it!

thank you, as always, to everyone who reads, likes/comments, even if you just come into my dms with two nice words or write something nice in your tags; it really does make my whole night to see even one person enjoying anything i’ve made. <3

Cold morning light filtered in through the window, drenched in wedding-silk grays thanks to the wintery cloud-cover. Everything in the room looked to be placed with absolute intent and care; polished, porcelain-white decor in elaborate geometrics, gold accents, a king-sized bed with impeccably pressed sheets. Truthfully, John had thought for certain he’d come back into the house to be informed by Elliot’s statuesque mother that, in fact, she had rescinded her offer to let him stay and actually, he would need to depart immediately, lest the authorities be called.

He was glad that it hadn’t come to that, of course, because it would’ve been such a shame to have to dampen Scarlet’s opinion of her own daughter so quickly into their meeting.

Dropping his small bag of belongings—the manila folder packed full of information, including his own scribbled notes; the burner phone; a few quickly-packed clothes that had been meticulously cycled to avoid the most long-term wear—John paused as the heat in the house kicked on with a delicate whirr.

Everything in Scarlet Honeysett’s home seemed to be precisely the shape and color that she liked, with not a single thing out of place; and yet, as the heat kicked on, he was certain that he could hear the sound of sharp, hushed voices downstairs, a little ripple in the woman’s perfect, arcadian home scene.

It was good. It felt good, to be here. To have gotten the upper hand. So much of the past weeks he’d spent with Elliot had felt like he was slowly, violently spiraling out of control, but this? She was here, and she had to play by his rules for once, and—

And he’d wanted just one more second alone, with her. To watch the way her eyes flickered over his face, to drink in the way her chin tilted up in defiance but not unlike the way she used to do it when she was waiting for him to kiss her, the same lovely high-color in her spreading along her cheekbones and the same little spark in her gaze. Whether it was anger or allure was neither here nor there, anymore; with Elliot, they were interchangeable, a stepping stone one way or another, just the way it had always been with them.

Because John liked her anger. He liked her wrath. He wanted to put his hands on it, his mouth on it, break it into pieces and wring it out of her and put it back and do it all over again, while she said his name, his name, and not anyone else’s. God, she’d been so fucking close—so close, and he couldn have just had her if he really wanted to, grabbed a fistful of her hair and kissed her when the sting of her slap was still fresh on his face. She liked when he did that; kissed her, like he was starved for her. Because he was starved for her, and then she could knot her fingers into his shirt or dig her nails into his skin or whatever it was she wanted to make him desperate.

The sound of excited barking downstairs broke him out of his thoughts. John blinked, taking one last swift look-over of the immaculate room his mother-in-law had decided to put him up in before he nudged his bag beneath the bed and stepped out into the hallway.

To say old money would be almost an understatement. Surely, this house had to have some kind of historical significance; it was several stories, with one of those grand staircases that was wide going up, hit a landing, and then split to either side of the house. As he made his way down, he caught sight of the flicker of Scarlet’s silk robe in the kitchen; music drifted out of it, the same kind of hazy, older music that Elliot had turned on in her mother’s house back in Hope County.

“Stop moving,” Elliot was saying to Boomer, strapping him into a little reflective vest that sat on him like a saddle blanket. For a second, she didn’t notice his presence—or willfully ignored it; he couldn’t say for sure one way or another—and instead focused on the Heeler, rubbing his ears and kissing the bridge of his nose. A tiny little smile ticked the corners of her mouth, and he thought he heard her say, so handsome, best boy, yes you are.

Boomer’s attention snapped to John, now at the foot of the stairs. He let out one sharp, accusatory bark (could dogs sound accusatory, John wondered, or was that just Elliot getting to him?), and what little of his hackles were visible from out under the vest spiked up instantly.

“Good to see you too, beastie,” John greeted him, trying to ignore the way the hound’s low-pitched, reverberating growls made his skin crawl. Flashes of Boomer’s numerous and vicious takedowns of not only Eden’s Gate members but at least one member of the Family that had the misfortune of having chained the dog up darted across his memory, like a flipping through a photo album.

“Don’t talk to him,” Elliot snipped, cupping Boomer’s ears protectively. “I don’t need him getting the idea we’re friendly.”

John rolled his eyes. “More than friendly, I’d say.” His eyes darted over her, drinking in once against the shock of her appearance—red hair, so fucking red that every time he looked at her it was almost like staring at a stranger until he took in the rest, the freckles smattering her nose and the flush in her cheeks, cupid’s-bow lips that were glossed. Had he ever seen Elliot with more than river-soaked mascara on before?

The woman shot him a look, dry and unamused, coming to a stand. He asked, “Going for a walk?”

“Trying to,” she replied tartly, “but someone is evil enough that Boomer doesn’t trust them.”

“We’re pals,” John offered pleasantly. “Me and the beast. You know, were, anyway. He probably just needs to spend a little time with me.”

“Speaking from personal experience, more time makes you less palatable.”

“Let me come on the walk with you,” he tried again, letting her little barbs and jabs roll right off of him, water skating off of his feathers. At this point, he really quite enjoyed her venom; it was familiar. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty to catch up on.”

Elliot eyed him warily, eyes giving him a scathing once-over—eerily reminiscent of her mother’s own disdainful look, and now he thought, ah, yeah, that is where she gets it from, then—as her mouth twisted around whatever it was she wanted to say but wouldn’t let herself. Something too vicious for Scarlet to overhear, perhaps. The threats she’d made in the past had been wildly colorful, but each second that Ell spent considering her words more carefully rather than saying whatever it was she felt with her eyes darting to the kitchen was another second that John became more aware of how little Scarlet actually knew.

“Fine,” Elliot said at last, her eyes narrowing. “I suppose that we do. Mama, we’re leavin’.”

The little quirk of an accent at the end of her sentence made him swallow back a laugh. He’d barely heard that Georgia accent back in Hope County, but maybe spending time with her mother had reinspired it.

“Alright,” Scarlet said, drying her hands on a towel as she stood in the doorway. Her eyes glanced between them, inquisitive for a moment, before she said, “Be quick. Doctor’s appointment in an hour and a half.”

John tilted his head. “Oh? Baby check-in?”

“Can’t imagine what else it would be, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet idled. “Are you familiar with the process of pregnancy?”

“Not beyond the knowledge of a man, I’m afraid.”

“Well, allow me to educate you,” the blonde said, her voice light. “When a woman is carrying a baby, she has to make frequent visits to the doctor, to ensure that all is well. Can’t have anything going wrong with the baby, you know.”

John steadied the intake of breath so that it did not sound so abrupt. He would have done a double-take and thought perhaps she was just overbearing, and not attempting to insult him, were Elliot not smiling. Certainly, only her mother’s attempted insult of him could elicit such an expression out of her.

“Then my arrival was fortunately timed,” he announced. “I look forward to it.”

“And you’ll be sorely disappointed,” Elliot cut in, her humor fading. “You won’t be coming.”

Ah, yes. That’s why I don’t love her attitude. “That’s absurd,” he replied, incredulous. “It’s nearly six weeks, and I haven’t seen a single ultrasound of our baby.”

He was careful, this time, to keep it to our baby. He’d seen the way Elliot’s expression tightened when he’d said my baby, even though that’s what came so naturally to him now, being that they were hardly on the same team—but he’d seen it, that look in her eye, the way she’d squared her shoulders like she’d suddenly been ready to go at him.

Only one thing to do with a rabid dog, Jacob had said, not two days before they found Elliot drenched in another man’s blood in the woods.

John half-expected Scarlet to jump in, to say that it was the father’s right to be there; she was more traditional than Elliot, if her comment about wedlock or her insistence of him staying were anything to go by, but when he turned his gaze to her, the older woman’s expression was devoid of any sympathy. Typical of Honeysett women, he was coming to find.

“If she doesn’t want you there, then you won’t be there. I won’t have my daughter stressed out,” Scarlet told him. “Stress is bad for the baby. Surely that falls within the realm of what a man knows about babies, Mr. Seed?”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Surely.”

“Good. Hour and a half, my beloved, do not be late.”

That a woman had become so capable of tacking the softness of my beloved onto something that verged on a threat was nearly beyond John—would have been, certainly, were he not accustomed to Isolde’s particular brand of venom that was not so unlike Scarlet Honeysett’s.

“I won’t,” Elliot promised. “Can you call the handyman? My TV’s been acting up lately. Turning on static and whatnot.”

“Fine,” Scarlet replied, waving her hand. “I’ll have them come out this afternoon.”

Elliot turned on her heel and opened the front door out into the frigid morning, letting Boomer dart out ahead of her and not waiting for him in the least. He fell into step beside her easily, shrugging into his coat halfway out the door as it clicked shut behind him; she trudged through the snow, passing the garbage can and opening the gate that led out into what had once been pastureland and towards the woods.

It was the same fence that she’d been standing at, early that morning, face lax and serene. If the return to the fence bothered her at all, it didn’t show on her face any more than her irritation at having him there.

“Your mother’s quite...” John’s voice trailed off. “Tall.”

“Mm.”

“Statuesque, even.”

“Mmhm.”

“I get the feeling she doesn’t like me that much.”

“Yes,” Elliot acquiesced, her tone dripping with something close to venomous amusement, “I’ve never seen her take so poorly to someone so quickly before.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“You would be.”

A fourth of the way into the snowy pasture and Boomer was far ahead of them, leaping like a little speckled gazelle in drifts of snow. It was easy to forget that the dog had been ready to rip him to shreds just a little under an hour ago (and once more, more recently). Still, as they trudged through a path that it seemed Elliot had worn through a few times before, John let out a little puff of breath and glanced over at her.

For just one second, she wasn’t spitting any venom at him, but rather seemed to favor the act of pretending like he wasn’t there, which was a bit worse than having her fix her fury on him. Her gaze was focused forward, following Boomer’s little lines in the snow. Attention at all was one thing, but acting as though he didn’t exist?

John said, “So, Burke just got his autopsy reports back and dropped you off right here at home, huh?”

Elliot’s face had already gone pink from the cold, right on her nose and spreading through her cheeks. At his words, a new flush of color rose, a shade more vicious than the last, and her gaze slid to him. If looks could kill, he thought, that dreamy little spike of delight at her eyes on him going straight to his head. Look at you, my little Wrath. You’ve got the good girl mask on, but I know what your true face is.

He’d seen it. Kissed her when the blood was still in her mouth. Let her feed the monster inside of her when she told him to beg, when she dug her nails into his skin, when her breath hitched in her chest from the pressure of his knife blade against her sternum—not in pain, necessarily, but delight at that pain.

The scar had to still be there, of course. The reminder of its existence, swathed in the heavy winter fabrics she wore now, made his fingers itch. If he could just get his hands on her—get his mouth on her, if she would just stop being so obtuse—but he didn’t think he’d be so fond of her if she wasn’t.

“The same way the government probably drove you and your siblings back to the compound and dropped you off,” she replied at last, her voice tight, “isn’t that right?”

John flashed his teeth at her in a grin. “Very astute, hellcat.”

Her expression tightened at the moniker. She sucked her teeth, fixing her eyes forward again, shifting back into the strategy of being withholding of her attention rather than entertain him.

“Oh, come on,” he said, swinging around in front of her and stopping her single-minded journey across the pastureland. “You can’t say you didn’t miss me even a little bit, Ell.”

“I told you,” she replied tartly, “not to call me that.”

“Because it reminds you of what it was like when we’re together,” he agreed.

An exasperated noise came out of her. “Did you forget that I lied to you?”

“At the end, sure,” John said, eyes flickering over her face. “But I don’t think you’re so good a liar you could lie about all of the times you said please, or the way that you said my name, or—and I think you’ll recall I’ve insisted on this bit from the beginning—the undeniable connection that we’ve had since we met.”

“You are a fucking lunatic,” Elliot snapped, her face flushing red. “And don’t fucking talk about me like I’m—like I wasn’t there, I know what I—” She sucked in a sharp breath; lower, and more threatening, “I’m aware of what I said. Of what I did.”

“And you’re going to tell me that it was all fake?” he prompted, unwilling to let go of this little thread. Gripping, sliding through his fingers, but he wouldn’t be so quick to let it escape him now that he didn’t have to think about her mother pitching in an unwanted opinion. “That you lied the whole time and you don’t feel anything for me, that—”

“Of course it wasn’t fake,” she bit out. Her voice had gone venomous, sharp, unbridled in its timbre. “I’m not a fucking psychopath, John, I can’t fake loving someone like you can.”

John opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He hadn’t been expecting that. Sure, there was a part of him that was sure Elliot had her doubts about his intentions, otherwise she wouldn’t have fucked off to the middle of nowhere (nor turned them in), but—still?

“You think I—” He paused again, blinking. “You’re not that stupid.”

Her eyes narrowed. Everything about her stiffened, quite suddenly, like maybe she was bracing to take another swing at him. “You are fucking begging for a punch to the face.”

“I mean,” John began quickly, waving his hands a little, “that you surely don’t think that whole time I was just—”

Elliot made a disgusted sound and brushed past him, letting out a high whistle; the sound immediately drew a flurry of activity as a flock of birds when bursting from the treeline, followed closely behind by Boomer’s gray-and-black speckled form. John fell back into step with her, huffing out a breath of air. He was going to table that discussion for later—she was clearly still upset, still a little sore and tender from their departure, and that was fine. There were a lot of things at play concerning his wife’s mood, including but not limited to being pregnant.

So she did, he thought, glancing at her through the corner of his eyes. Love me. Back then, and maybe now, still.

“How have you been sleeping?” is what he said instead, when the moment had spread between them long enough for him to think that he was safe to speak again with incurring her wrath once more. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Fine,” she replied, her voice tight.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. Elliot blinked once, slow, clearly trying to temper herself. “I just remember what a restless sleeper you were, back home.”

He wanted to say, I saw you at three AM, twice, staring out your window and then walking out into the snow barefoot. I saw you sleepwalking, I know you aren’t sleeping well.

He wanted to say that, and he couldn’t, because if Elliot knew he’d been tailing her for a while she’d go berserk—pull the plug, self-destruct, take whatever loss she had to in order to fucking end him.

“I’m sleeping fine,” the redhead reiterated. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something; her eyes flickered uneasily, like something was bothering her and she hadn’t been able to say it to anyone but maybe she wanted to, and maybe she could say it to him, but something in the treeline drew her attention away. They were about ten yards away, now, the low breeze skimming pine needles against each other as Boomer barked conversationally at the birds that had so rudely taken flight.

Elliot’s molars clicked, grinding together. Her lashes fluttered, and she sucked in a sharp little breath through her nose.

“Elliot?” John glanced at the trees, but that was all he saw—tall, dark pines, bunching together erratically through years of growth spurts and inevitable fellings. He turned his gaze back to his wife, gaze inquisitive. “What?”

“Don’t you—?” She stopped herself, and sucked in another sharp breath, and now John felt the concern spike sharp and hot in him, because when he reached up she didn’t even seem to register his movement; Elliot, the same woman who had snatched his wrist and threatened to snap it in half for having the audacity to ‘sneak up on her’ when he’d been in the middle of talking to her, completely transfixed on something that he couldn’t see.

“Elliot.” He tried something firmer this time, his hand coming up to sweep the strands of her hair away from her shoulder and neck. The gesture finally startled her out of wherever it was she had gone, yanked her back to reality.

Her shoulder bunched up to her jaw in an effort to deter his hand, swatting at him absently with her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you going to tell me where you were just now?” John asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

“I was here. Just thought I saw something in the trees,” she replied tightly, turning away from the treeline and clearing her throat. “Just birds.”

Just birds, she said, even though the birds had already taken off and the forest was otherwise still and serene. Behind her, Boomer whined before beginning to follow her back towards the house. Elliot moved with a newfound purpose, one that she had been distinctly lacking before.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. John turned his attention back to the trees, searching for anything—any tangle of branches of play of shadows that might read sinister or threatening.

Only the trees and their shadowy pines. He thought about that night he’d fished Elliot out of the Family’s grip, when she’d been so fucking drugged up to her gills that she’d balked at the sight of the treeline on their way out. I don’t think I can, she’d said then, her voice pitching high with the anxious vibrations of panic. John, I don’t think I can—

“John,” Elliot snapped from ahead of him, “are you coming, or are you just gonna stand there all fucking afternoon?”

He thought about the way Ase had grabbed her hand, blood and viscera coating Elliot like she’d become a tried-and-true Scream Queen. If he searched long enough, if he sat in the memory long enough—did Ase’s mouth open? Had she said something to Elliot? What had she said?

“John,” came the grinding demand, again, less patient than before. “As much as I would love to leave you to freeze to death for insinuating I’m stupid, mama would hate to have to deal with a corpse on her property and I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I missed our banter,” he replied, though the jest did not quite land the same way that it would have were he not so deep in his own thoughts. By the time he’d started walking in her direction, his back to the forest, something uneasy had settled just under his skin; the feeling of being watched, eyes on the back of his neck, anticipation prickling along like his spine.

The house loomed, polished and pristine, on the horizon; as they picked their way across the snowy field, Elliot puffing out breaths occasionally from the labor of it all, John tried to shake that pervasive feeling of dread that had settled over him.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Weyfield was just Weyfield, a small town not unlike Hope County, and maybe he was just jumpy from the way the Family had conducted their business, and maybe it was the same for Elliot, who had certainly been put through a different experience than he—but regardless:

The sooner they got out, the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Shouldn’t have agreed to let him drive me here.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

It was stupid. Stupid, I should have put my foot down, told him to fucking stay at the house and wait for me to come back.

“Elliot?”

She blinked, vision fuzzing and refocusing around the sterile white of the doctor’s office. Her abdomen was sticky, and the ultrasound machine had been turned off along with her shirt tugged back down. Like usual, Dr. Harding did not say anything about the gossamer-webbing of scars, but did pause upon first seeing them, as though she hadn’t seen them times before.

“Sorry?” Elliot said, the apology quirking up at the end in question. She sat up from the bed, the paper crinkling beneath her as she moved.

“I asked,” Harding reiterated, “have you been getting enough sleep?”

Elliot knew the answer. She felt the exhaustion souring in her mouth already, the way something spoiled when it went too long without attention. A sickness. She should say that she hadn’t been sleeping well at all, that she’d begun sleepwalking, that

(seeing things, I’m seeing things when I close my eyes and when I look in the dark treeline, I see faces, heads, people I don’t know but they feel familiar and their faces drop down in between the branches of trees on invisible silk threads and their terrible dark mouths open but they can’t scream)

she’d been feeling out of sorts, as of late. That seemed like a nice way to put it.

The dark images that had fluttered between the trees on her walk earlier that morning with John felt as real as any memory—and that wasn’t to say that her memories always felt real, because they didn’t. But the validity of this morning’s waking nightmare of floating heads drifting between tree-trunks, swinging loosely while John asked her how she’d been sleeping.

“Fine,” Elliot said after a moment, feeling a fresh wave of nausea come over her. “I think, um, maybe the stress about the baby is keeping me up at night.”

Harding regarded her for a moment. The severe sharpness of her dark hair pinned back did nothing to soften her expression—though the woman was hard-pressed to be cheerful, she, at the very least, never sugar-coated anything. “Have you been trying those breathing exercises before bed? And spending time at the stables, as I suggested?”

“I have,” she replied, which wasn’t entirely untrue—she was doing at least one of those things. “It’s just been a lot of—stress, is all. I’m sure it’ll get better once the holidays are over.”

“That can definitely help,” the woman agreed, nodding her head and typing a few loose notes into the computer. “If you find that you aren’t getting enough sleep—enough,” she continued, pointedly, “restful sleep, you let me know and we can figure out some next steps.”

Elliot nodded, coming to a stand; the sudden movement had her head rushing, and she for a second she thought again of the floating heads, swaying with the breeze through the pine boughs.

“I’ve been sleep-walking,” she blurted out impulsively, her doctor’s gaze turning quizzically towards her. “I mean—um, just twice.”

“Do you have a history of it?”

“No,” Elliot began, “but I’ve always been a restless sleeper.”

“It’s not uncommon for sleepwalking to increase with pregnancy, Miss Honeysett,” the doctor replied, her voice even-keel. “It sounds like you’re under quite a bit of pressure, as well. I would suggest trying something mild—an over-the-counter sleep aid would be fine. Unisom is a typical one. Try half of one first, and see how it makes you feel.”

“Okay,” she murmured, sliding her coat back on. Something that was less heavy-duty than the pills her mother had left for her might be good. “Are there any—symptoms? To sleeping pills?”

The doctor adjusted the glasses on her nose, regarding her for a long moment. “Some adverse side-effects, on occasion. Usually with stronger, prescription sleep aids, you could have worsening anxiety and depression, day-time drowsiness. That kind of thing.”

So, no hallucinations, then. No sleepwalking, no lost time, no...

“Are you having other symptoms?” Harding asked.

You’ll think I’m crazy, Elliot thought, you’ll think I’m fucking nuts if I tell you about my dream with the television, and Joey’s body, and walking out nearly to the treeline in my sleep clothes. You’ll think I’m fucking nuts and I’ll have to be committed.

So Elliot said, “No, just curious,” and Dr. Harding hummed as she scribbled the name of the sleep aid onto a sticky note for Elliot to take out with her.

“You have a healthy baby, Miss Honeysett. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” The brunette gestured for Elliot to head out the door, walking with her back up the hallway that led to the front lobby once again. “Next appointment we can find out the gender, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, surprised. Was it that soon already? Had it already been that long of being—like this? With child? She swallowed, pleasant little flutters in her chest. It was the first time that she’d felt something other than dread concerning the baby. Well, first time, sans John’s annoying little assertion about his claim. Why had that bothered her so much?

“You can decide to keep it a surprise,” Dr. Harding added, sound a little amused. “Think about it, and in the meantime, get some rest. Half a pill to start, remember.”

“Will do, thank you.”

She waded through the small collection of people in the lobby and out onto the street. Something strange was humming inside of her—it was sad, she realized, with a little spike of panic. She felt mournful. So fast, and so soon, she would figure out the baby’s gender, and suddenly the baby would be all the more real and she’d have to start thinking about names, she couldn’t have a baby without a name, and how was she supposed to pick a name? How was she supposed to decide something a real human being was going to be saddled with, forever?

Was the baby a Seed? Or a Honeysett?

Which one was she?

“What’re you doing, just standing out here? You’ll freeze.” John’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, shaking her back to reality again. He must have seen her standing there, glassy-eyed in the middle of the sidewalk, from where he’d been waiting—perhaps, if she was lucky, even suffering over the fact that he hadn’t been allowed into the doctor’s appointment—and come out. He’d kicked up a big enough fuss about not getting to come in that she’d said, fine, you can fucking drive me there, but that’s it, and true to his word John hadn’t pressed the matter any further than that.

Even though he wanted to. She could tell he wanted to, the second they had parked on the main street. She could tell he wanted to say, so, maybe I do come in, hm? What do you say to that? But he hadn’t. And that was...something.

Fuck, she needed to stay focused; she couldn’t keep letting her mind wander like that. Twice in less than an hour?

“I was just—thinking,” Elliot replied, feeling exhausted already. John’s brows furrowed at the center of his forehead, and she sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

He arched a dark brow loftily. “Like what?”

“Like you fucking care,” she snapped.

“Contrary to what you might believe concerning my feelings for you,” John quipped, his voice tart, “I do have every reason to be invested in the well-being of our baby.”

She thought to reiterate again that the baby was, in fact, hers, and not any part his, as she was doing all the work and John had done nothing to endear himself as an acceptable father-figure, but she was too tired. Something about the doctor’s office and the way she’d had to dodge the truth of how she’d been feeling left her empty, scooped out her insides like she was a Jack-O’-Lantern and left her floating, aimless.

“Ell,” he began. His voice had pitched lower, now, and his hand reached up; she saw it move in the corner of her vision and something inside her said, yes yes yes, this is what we want, we remember you, we know you. He twisted a loose curl around his finger, letting it smooth out against her shoulder, the corner of his mouth ticking upward when she absently batted his hand away. “Tell me about the appointment. Did everything go well?”

“The baby is fine,” she told him, and then sighed. “I mean—healthy. The baby is healthy. The doctor wants me to pick up an over-the-counter sleep aid, so we’ll need to stop at the store on the way home.”

“I thought you were sleeping fine?” John prompted. He sounded sly. His was a gotcha tone, the way he got when he thought he’d walked a particularly fine circle through the holes in what she chose to tell him or not. Elliot’s expression flattened. She ignored the way that he was looking at her—hungryhungryhungry, always greedy and never, never content with what he had—and fixed her eyes on the passing traffic behind him.

She said, “Just when you’re being somewhat tolerable, you have to go and ruin it.”

“If it’s intolerable for me to point out when you’re withholding information from me about your health,” he demurred, “then I’d prefer intolerable.”

“I cannot believe that I have to say this to you,” Elliot bit out, the sudden spike of irritation flaring hot and violence in her chest, “but I don’t fucking owe you anything. I don’t owe you the truth, or an explanation, and quite frankly, the fact that I allowed you to even chauffeur me to this fucking appointment is a sign that I’m being incredibly generous with you—far more generous than what you deserve.”

John’s teeth flashed in a grin. Before, back in Hope County, the venom had bothered him—he’d hated it, frowned and fought back with a little poison of his own, despised that he had to work so hard to get to the nitty-gritty underneath. But he had once, and perhaps now that he had known her, it only thrilled him.

How frustrating.

“Everything I did,” he said, lowering his voice as he closed some of the small distance between them now, “whether you believe me or not, was for us—”

“Ugh.”

“—and I might have gotten a little heated,” John continued, and this time when he reached up again Elliot’s mouth twisted into a grimace and she tilted her face away, don’t say it don’t say it don’t you fucking say it fuck you fuck you fuck you, “back at the ranch, but I meant it when I said that I l—”

“Honeysett!”

It was Via. Her greeting immediately cut off John’s words, effectively driving a wedge between their metaphorical—and physical—closeness. Snapped her out of the magic of his cologne and his voice and his hand coming up to her shoulder with its grounding weight.

“Missed you at the barn today,” the blonde chirped, cheery as she approached, hands tucked into her fluffy parka pockets. Her eyes flickered over to John, inquisitive. “Friend?”

And then Via turned her eyes back to Elliot, waiting expectantly. It struck her quite suddenly that Sylvia was checking—that despite the kindness and warmth in her voice, she was giving Elliot the opportunity to escape, to wave a red flag and ask for help. She said friend?, and what she meant was, is this man bothering you?, and it made a fuzzy warmth spread right through Elliot’s chest, uncomfortable in the softness is inspired in her.

“Hey, Via, this is...” How best to proceed? How to explain, this man is the father of my baby—which, by the way, I’m pregnant—and also technically we are legally married, oh and also he’s supposed to be in Federal custody right now but he isn’t, somehow, but it’s fine, we’re all good? “...my...John.”

Sylvia eyed her for a moment, sticking out a gloved hand. “Howdy, Elliot’s John. I’m Sylvia.”

John was clearly trying not to have the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he shook Via’s hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Sylvia,” he replied pleasantly, once again reminding Elliot that the man was a tried-and-true practiced liar and could slip a perfect face on at any time. The knowledge was almost enticing, to know that she’d seen him without the masquerade, more than once.

It made, in hindsight, reflecting back on that moment he’d come unraveled at the ranch—No way, baby, I’m fucking it for you—have a different light. She had done that to him.

Good.

“Y’all busy?” Sylvia asked, blissfully not prying any further for an elaboration on what the nature of their relationship was. “I was just about to meet Wyatt at the Wild Rose. It ain’t trivia night, but they do have a live band playing tonight that’s supposed to be good.”

“Oh,” Elliot said faintly, “I don’t think—”

“That sounds excellent!” John interrupted. “I’ve barely seen anything of Weyfield. What do you say, Elliot?”

I say you can eat shit, she thought, but Sylvia was watching her closely—trying to make sure everything was okay, she supposed, considering Elliot had said nothing of John since they’d become friends. She took in a little breath and looked at the blonde, giving a small smile.

“No harm in a little time out of the house,” she agreed after a moment. “I’m starving, anyway.”

She wasn’t hungry in the least. The sticky note with the doctor’s suggested sleep aid was crumple in her pocket, and a little sweaty from the way she’d been clutching it, but somehow the idea of returning back to the house only seemed to fill her with more dread.

The tv, buzzing static, dull and thrumming in the back of her head, in the roots of her molars. HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? And the heads, twisting and turning in the breeze, their silk-spun puppet threads invisible, their mouths swinging open as they try to scream.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

“Well, can’t have you starvin’,” Sylvia said amusedly, looping her arm through Elliot’s own and beginning to walk. “You’re not keeping my girl well-fed, Mister John?”

“Trying my hardest,” John replied, his gaze sly, “but she can be a bit ornery.”

“Hm, that does sound like her. Where are you visitin’ from, anyway?”

As they chattered, over her, John on one side and Sylvia on the other, Elliot got the distinct impression that her friend was quietly, politely fishing for information without putting Elliot under the stress of it.

HAVE YOU

Snow underfoot. The forest breathing, expanding, swelling because it holds some great, dark beast just waiting for her to get close enough.

BEEN HAVING

(Itwaitsforyouitwaitsforusallanditwillhaveyou)

STRANGE

“Careful,” John cautioned, reaching for the door with all of the gentlemanly nature of a man not possessed by the devil to hunt her down across states, “it’s slick.”

He opened the door into the Wild Rose, the sweep of warm air rushing over her a pleasant shock to her system that managed to draw her back to reality. Sylvia nudged her inside, effectively planting herself between Elliot and John as they moved single-file into the crowded bar.

She was tired, and having nightmares, and once she finally got some sleep she would feel a lot better about everything. All she needed was some sleep. And in the meantime, try to enjoy her time with her friends as best she could.

Get some sleep. Feel better in the morning. Burke’s old mantra popped up in her head, running through the worn grooves that were a sad, bittersweet sort of comfort to her now; the second you think you can’t anymore, you keep going anyway. Dig, dig, dig, until her fingers were dirt-packed and bloody, as deep as she fucking needed to go to keep moving, because it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

Sylvia had drifted out from their little formation to make her way to the booth they had recently staked out as their own, where Wyatt already sat waiting and waving for them. John planted his hands on her shoulders, squeezing and lowering his mouth to her ear. “What do you want to drink?”

“You’re acting awfully domestic for someone who should be in Federal custody,” Elliot replied lowly, looking at him over her shoulder just in time to see him flash a smile that was all teeth.

“C’mon, hellcat,” and he all but purred the words at her, making her skin prickle in a type of anticipation that wasn’t purely dread. Traitorous, treacherous body. “You can at least play at liking me while your friends are around.”

“Iced tea.” She shrugged, disembarking his hands from her shoulders. “No lemon. A lot of ice. Think you can swing it without, I don’t know, lying halfway to Hell on your way there, Slick?”

“Anything,” he replied, pitching his voice even lower amidst the din of the bar, “for my lovely wife.”

Elliot’s head snapped around, ready to grab a fistful of his shirt and remind him to watch his fucking mouth, but he’d already started his journey to meander through the crowd and reach the bar on his little fetch quest.

Fucker, she thought, even when her stomach twisted with something other than vicious disdain. John had only been here for a day and was already too comfortable taking liberties; she’d have to make sure that got nipped in the bud before he got any funny ideas about his own personal redemption arc.

It would have been nice, to just be able to turn off any and all feelings whenever she wanted. But she couldn’t, and that meant she’d have to do the next best thing:

Get John the fuck away from her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Eden’s Gate did not make a good first impression. Eden’s Gate did not even make a good second or third impression; in fact, Isolde had come to the conclusion that Joseph’s little compound was incapable of making any impression that didn’t fill the observer with a sense of despair. Every time she stepped out of the little building Jacob had set her up in, she was overwhelmed with disgust—eyes followed her, but none of them held anything beyond a dull spark of interest, nearly smothered by what seemed to have been a full-body beat down by the other cult.

The other cult, she constantly had to remind herself, because that’s what Eden’s Gate was. A cult.

A few miserable days at the hands of Montana’s coldest winter by record had her in a foul mood. The snowfall seemed inevitable, like it wouldn't ever stop, and the amount of times there had been paths shoveled between buildings—all leading to the chapel—were equally endless. Isolde couldn’t imagine coming to fucking Montana for fun, let alone for work, and yet she was somehow here for the latter and not the former. Distinctly, painfully lacking in fun.

It didn’t help that Joseph was insufferable. It didn’t help that every time he fixed his eyes on her, she felt an uncomfortable heat dripping down her spine like some kind of molten IV, like they hadn’t left on the worst of terms. Like she hadn’t told him to get the fuck out of her loft, like she hadn’t thrown an engagement ring on the floor like it was poison.

That was a time of her life that she had the distinct desire to not revisit, not even once, and yet in his presence—she found it nearly impossible to ignore. Joseph seemed to take a special, muted pleasure in making her hackles raise, and at least that hadn’t changed about him.

“Sol!”

Jacob called to her from halfway down the compound’s yard, a truck idling beside him. She stopped her trek back to her little hovel and looked at him, arms crossing over her chest.

“You wanna get out for a little?” He inclined his head toward the truck. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

“What kind of errands do the Collapse dictate?” she asked.

“The important variety.”

“Hm.”

She didn’t elaborate on that any further, and Jacob waited only one heartbeat before he reached for the driver’s side door and opened it, slowly.

“Going once—”

“I am not a child, Jacob.”

“—going twice—”

Fuck, did she want to get out.

“Fine,” Isolde snapped, “but bring that truck here. I’m not hiking through a snowdrift to get to you.”

Jacob, sounding quite pleased with himself, replied, “I thought you weren’t a child?”

He seemed moved enough by the dramatic eyeroll to oblige her, and if he found it annoying, it didn’t show; enough so, at least, that Isolde was able to clamber into the passenger side of the truck once he pulled it around, tapping the snow off of her shoes before pulling herself in.

“Thank you,” she huffed, shutting the door and rubbing her fingers to circulate the blood again. “This weather’s a bit abnormal, don’t you think?”

“Not anything out of the ordinary for this time of year, no,” Jacob replied. He nudged the windshield wipers on, plowing a thin layer of snow that had already begun to accumulate off of the window before starting to pull out of the compound. “I think you’re just not suited to the snow.”

“Could have told you that myself,” Isolde snipped. “I’m a hot-blooded creature.”

Jacob made a noise, something like an mm, a place between agreement without incriminating himself by agreeing too fervently or elaborately. She glanced over at him through the corners of her eyes as they turned onto the highway. In the comfortable silence that elapsed between them, Isolde settled back against the seat of the truck and tried to appreciate being out from the stifling dread of the compound.

It did seem to her that Joseph was markedly different than he had been, before. In the few instances in the last couple of days where he hadn’t been picking a fight with her, it almost felt normal—but of course, he was doing it in his own way, this pot-stirring, this instigating. With politeness. With kindness. By remaining completely unrattled by anything she said to him, every, any critique, so self-assured in his righteousness that not even reason could make him look twice at the state of his congregation.

Then, he had always been that way. Righteous. Assured. She had found it appealing, once—she liked a man with confidence—but now she found it—

Equal parts frustrating and attractive. Objectively, of course. Not anything that she felt herself.

“Trying to account for the bodies of the Family against the ones we know we saw before,” Jacob explained, when she had been quiet long enough to let him sort out his thoughts. “Seems like they started killing themselves, in pairs, once the two leaders were done with. I sent out a couple of scouts and they radio’d back some locations, but they’ve gone quiet for a while.”

“Dedication,” Isolde murmured, digging the nail of her thumb into her lower lip. “How dreadful.”

“The dedication, or the act?”

“Both. Imagine being so bound to something or someone.”

Jacob’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, and he brought the truck to a crawl. Two bodies, swallowed by snow nearly up to their waists, sat propped against the cliff face. He fished a pad of paper and a near-worn out pencil out of the center console of the truck and held them out to her.

“Mark it down, Sol.” When she blinked at him, he continued, “What, you thought you were gonna get out and not help me?”

“Well, I was hoping.”

She sighed, taking the pad and pencil—a glorified secretary is what I am, she thought bitterly—and marked two tally marks down. From where the car was stopped, she could see that the arms of the corpses came together, and though it was buried in snow, she had to think that beneath the white frost their hands were intertwined.

They went like that for a while; Jacob would drive to a spot, have her mark down the amount of bodies, and then go on. By the time they had reached Fall’s End, Isolde had counted nearly twenty dead bodies. As they rolled into the far end of town, Isolde realized very quickly that most of the buildings were blackened, and when she rolled down her window, the stale scent of charcoal still sat in the air.

“What happened here?” she asked, grimacing and scrunching up her nose.

“Dunno,” Jacob replied tightly. “Someone with an agenda.”

Isolde’s gaze snapped to him, to try and wring any information out of his expression, but true to his nature Jacob remained completely unreadable. It wasn’t until they had gotten to what appeared to have once been a bar and tallied up the bodies there that Jacob threw the truck into park.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, eyes fixed forward. When Sol followed his gaze, she realized that it was fixed on someone—someone running towards them, frantically, nearly falling over themselves in the snow.

“Is that one of yours?” she asked. “Jacob?”

“Shh.”

He had busied himself fishing around in the back seat, and as he did Isolde squinted, trying to get a better look at what was going on. The man running definitely had to be Eden’s Gate—he had the big red emblem on his shirt, but he wasn’t wearing any coat, and—

And there were others.

“Jacob,” Isolde said, “there are more.”

“What?”

“Bodies,” she managed out, “there are more bodies.”

The snow wasn’t so deep on the roads that she couldn’t see the width of a body, and she did—see it, that is, tousled dark locks reflecting wet and sticky in the overcast, late-afternoon light. The man running was waving his arms and yelling for help, and then he fell over one of the bodies, fell to his hands and knees over the body of someone else, and made a sound kind of like anguish.

Jacob finally managed to pull out what he’d been looking for—a pair of binoculars—and immediately lifted them to his face.

“Shit,” he said. “Fuck, they’re ours.”

“All of them?” Isolde demanded. “They’re all—”

“Yes,” he bit out, opening the driver’s door and grabbing the rifle from the back seat. “They’re all ours. Isolde, stay in—”

Jacob’s words were cut off by the violent crack of a gunshot. For a split second, Isolde saw nothing; in the space between heartbeats, sluggish from panic, she saw the arterial spray coming from the back of the running man’s body before he hit the ground, screaming.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead, he was still crawling, dragging himself through the snow, leaving a smear of red behind him, and that’s when Isolde saw them.

Jacob had stopped moving as well. The person at the far end of the main road leading through Fall’s End had yet to shoulder their weapon. From here, Isolde could see that she was tall—short-cropped, blonde hair, swathed in dark clothes, but beyond that the features were near impossible to make out.

“Close the door,” Isolde hissed, not moving, her instincts screaming to duck but the fear that sudden movement would draw attention prevailing. “Jacob, close the fucking door.”

The eerily satisfying click-click of what could only be the bolt-action rifle in the hunter’s hands clattered around in her head. The rifle was returned to their shoulders, brought up level, and then fired again.

Out of pure instinct, Isolde flinched—but once again, the bullet was aimed not at them, but at the man already crawling in the snow. The sound of the gunshot, and the subsequent bullet-on-bone impact, was enough to make her stomach churn; now, at least, the man lay slumped in the snow, one of the many bodies that seemed to have been the unfortunate pull-and-fire clay birds for the stranger.

“Who,” Isolde whispered furiously, as Jacob carefully put the truck into drive without letting it move forward at all first, “Jacob, who the fuck is that?”

The redhead’s expression was unforgivingly tight, pulling taut with it the scars and mottling of his skin visible outside of his beard. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather kept his eyes fixed forward, as he closed the driver’s side door.

“Fifteen men,” he ground out between his teeth, “that’s fifteen fucking men I sent out here to figure out the body count.”

The stranger finally lowered their rifle, apparently satisfied with their work. This far away, it was hard to tell, but Isolde got the distinct impression that they were being watched, looked at now, where before the attention had been elsewhere.

And then it was confirmed, because the stranger lifted one gloved hand and pressed her index and middle fingers right against the hollows of her jaw. A snakebite. A cut right to the carotid. A message.

Jacob cranked the wheel, the tires shrieking in protest against the snow as he pulled between buildings in a sudden rush of acceleration. The stranger was quickly cut out, stifled by the side of the used-to-be-bar, leaving them out of direct range of a sniper rifle. Not that her companion seemed that pleased about it, anyway.

“Fuck,” he bit out, seething as he tried to navigate the narrow space in the clumsy Eden’s Gate truck. “Fuck, did you count how many bodies were on the ground?”

“Hm, no!” Isolde snapped viciously. “I was a bit too busy trying to make sure they were going to shoot us!”

Jacob gritted out another string of swears between his teeth, turning the truck until he could take what looked to be a back alley in the opposite direction of their little hunter. He checked the rearview mirror frequently; his expression was set in a deep frown, and he only looked at her once before continuing his regular scanning of the road behind them.

“Well, aren’t you going to turn around?” she demanded.

“For what?” Jacob replied flatly. “I’ve got a hunting rifle, not my HTI.”

“I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care,” Isolde bit out.

“It means, the chances of me getting shot before I get a shot on them are significantly lower,” he told her, his knuckles whitening along the steering wheel, “and as confident as I am that I could kill them before they killed me, I’m not confident they wouldn’t take a shot at you first.”

Isolde’s stomach rolled. It wasn’t the violence that bothered her—it wasn’t the death, or the guns, or even the blood—but the message itself. The Stranger had been hunting the Eden’s Gate men and women for sport. For fun. To pass the time, while they waited. But what for? What could they be waiting for?

She stayed quiet, listening to Jacob radio back to the compound quick, short orders that flew right over her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about it—the gesture. The stranger. Who were they? The remainder of the other cult, perhaps? What were they waiting for?

You’re next, that two-fingered, snake-bite-right-to-the-carotid gesture had said.

You’re next, and I’m coming for you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sylvia did not seem that impressed with John Seed, and Elliot could not blame her.

John was exceptionally charming. So charming, in fact, that he and Wyatt seemed to get along smashingly. It was almost frustrating, how quick the blonde took to John—but then, Wyatt did strike as the type of man who got along with everybody until they gave him a reason to think otherwise. After all, he’d been kind to her, and she was...

Needless to say, Sylvia was a harder sell, which was nice. Reassuring. It made Elliot feel more grounded, to see Sylvia politely smile at John’s chatter—she’d nearly forgotten how much he liked to talk—but then decidedly turn to Elliot to ask her about something or dive into a different conversation. It was pointed, and if the way John watched them interact was any indication, the message of it was not lost on him.

By the time the evening had drawn to a close, for her and John at least, the brunette had departed to go warm-up the Jeep and left her standing by the doorway, keeping warm, with Sylvia.

“You sure you’re doin’ okay?” the blonde asked after a moment, propped up against the wall in the tiny little doorway that led out to the main street. “You look tired. Stressed out. I was worried when we didn’t hear from you this morning, about comin’ to the barn.”

Elliot felt a little pang of guilt digging in, just there below her sternum. “I’m okay,” she promised. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I—had a doctor’s appointment this morning that I completely forgot about until my mama reminded me, and John showed up this morning too, so it’s just been...”

“A crazy day,” Via agreed, her nose crinkling cutely in amusement. “He’s a funny fella, that John of yours.”

Oh, if only you knew. “I think so, too.”

“What is he?” she asked, conversationally. “Maybe a—car salesman?”

Her friend’s playful jab was enough to elicit a laugh, billowing out of her and catching even herself by surprise. But then, she shouldn’t have been shocked to find that Sylvia had gotten a quick read on John. Given the way she’d quickly diverted from the attention on Elliot’s scar and carried on, she thought maybe Via was more perceptive than she liked to let on.

“Lawyer,” Ell replied, and Via winced comically.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean—Elli,” Via intoned playfully, “he might as well be sellin’ you snake oil when he’s a lawyer.”

Elliot sighed ruefully, glancing out the window to see John clambering out of the front of the jeep. Snake oil seemed a light judgment for him, all things considered.

“Hey, Via,” she began, swallowing a little, “if I tell you something, you’ve gotta promise you won’t say anything?”

Via regarded her curiously, head tilted. “Okay, sure, Freckles. What’s up?”

She shifted on her feet. “John and I are actually, um—” Elliot paused, swallowing thickly. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to, because saying it out loud—her, and not John—made it real. Gave it legs. Forced her to face what had happened and what she couldn’t change yet.

“You don’t have to,” Via told her gently. “I could tell there was somethin’—you know, out of sorts. You don’t get a slick-talkin’ lawyer grinnin’ like the cat what ate the canary if he hasn’t done somethin’ to piss a woman off.”

Elliot shook her head. “We’re actually, uh,” she tried again, pulling at a loose thread on her shirt, “m—married.”

Saying the word out loud didn’t feel as wretched as she thought it would, which was almost three times as concerning. She felt, instead, more dread waiting for Sylvia’s reaction—waiting to see what her one friend had to say or think about that.

The woman’s face screwed up comedically. “Oh, Freckles,” she said, her tone teasing. “Say it ain’t so.”

“I’m not kidding!” Elliot felt a nervous little laugh bubble out of her. “I mean—what, Via? You clearly have an opinion on him.”

“I don’t know the man from Jack walkin’ down the street,” Sylvia demurred. “I just think...well, I just think you’re a real peach, you know? And you didn’t seem too pleased to have this John walkin’ around, and I take that kind of thing seriously.”

Sighing, Elliot scuffed her shoe against the ground, watching John pick his way through the crowd back down the street.

“We left on—bad terms, sort of,” she explained. “He showed up to make amends.”

“Do you want to make amends?”

The question caught her off-guard. It was an obvious one—obvious in that, it should have been one of the first things anyone asked her regarding John, even John himself, and yet: no one had. Not a single person had asked her if she wanted to suffer through making amends with the man who had lied to her, violated her trust, and still somehow managed to be the one person she didn’t have to fear seeing the worst, ugliest parts of her.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said after a moment, clearing her throat. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then I will reserve judgment,” Sylvia replied firmly, “so you can make a decision on your own.”

The door to the street opened, bringing with it not only a waft of chilly wind, but John himself and the scent of his viciously-expensive cologne. It took every ounce of Elliot’s self-control not to burst into laughter at the absurdity of it—John Seed, charisma-extraordinaire, somehow managing to make poor first impressions both on her mother and her friend.

“Car’s all warmed up,” John announced, rubbing his hands together. He glanced between the two women, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “What’s so funny, hm?”

“Nothing,” Elliot replied. “Just talking about you.”

This piqued his interest. He said, “Good things, I hope,” and she could see it on his face—the painful reminder of the way John had craved Joseph’s approval, the way he’d lit up like a nuclear mushroom cloud the second Joseph deigned to say anything remotely kind to him.

“Jury’s still out,” Sylvia said lightly, and then flashed a pretty smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry bud! We’ll get you there eventually.”

John tried very hard to feign polite laughter, but the uneasiness bled through readily—and it was a little satisfying, to see John squirm, to see him out of his element, no longer surrounded by a constant chorus of Yes hitting his dopamine centers nonstop. No wonder the man had a conniption anytime someone dared to dislike him.

“Better get this lady home, she looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing,” Sylvia announced, reaching and giving Elliot a gentle hug. “Night, Freckles.”

“Goodnight.”

John and Sylvia bid each other a pleasant goodbye as Elliot stepped out onto the street, careful to avoid icier parts of the concrete as she made her way to the car. Her brain felt fuzzy—a lot of socializing, a lot of time spent trying not to let John get to her. It had been long enough since she’d had to hold her walls up for so long that she felt exhausted from doing it, even for this long.

Maybe that was his strategy. Wear her down, then swoop in, just like last time.

“Did you have fun?” John asked, and she realized that she was at the car, having climbed into the passenger seat already. He closed the driver’s side door, settling in before carefully beginning to back out of the parking spot.

“I mean, having you loom over my shoulder the entire night was a little odd.”

He made an affronted sound. “I was not looming.”

“You were,” Elliot told him, “a little.” She paused, feeling the exhaustion pulling at the edges of her vision, begging for her to close her eyes—but she couldn’t. Not in the car, not with John driving. If she did, he might just keep driving and not turn back around. “It’s funny—”

“My quote-unquote looming?”

“How much different you are,” she finished, “when you’re not around Joseph.”

John was clearly trying very hard not to look like he was stiffening at her words. Gotcha, she thought, with a little pinprick of pride. Yeah, I didn’t forget. I didn’t forget how much you hated it when I brought him up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” John replied, keeping his voice light. “I’m exactly the way I’ve always been.”

“You haven’t tried to drown me a single time.”

“That time was a miscommunication,” he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to drown you. Just—coerce you. And besides, that’s behind us now. I know you, Elliot Honeysett, intimately, which means such forms of brute persuasion aren’t required.” He paused. “It’s much better when you indulge me willingly, anyway.”

Elliot’s nose crinkled. “You sound fucking nuts when you say that. ‘That one time I thought about drowning you was just a miscommunication’. No wonder Sylvia doesn’t like you.”

“So she told you? That she doesn’t like me?”

He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering over to her, and when he saw the very subtle upturn of her mouth he exhaled out of his nose.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not necessarily. But if I was—it would be the least you deserve.”

He was different, out from the insane pressure of the cult, out from under Joseph’s thumb. It was like, given room to breathe, he was suddenly relearning what it was like to make his own decision—to exist outside of Joseph. Back in Hope County, John had been fervent in his belief that he owed Joseph everything. Maybe the distance had done him some good.

Don’t, something inside of her insisted viciously, as she turned her attention out to the side of the road where the headlights illuminated snowdrift after snowdrift. Don’t get soft on him. That’s how he got you last time, you know. Don’t let it happen again.

But if he wanted to press the issue about Sylvia—or about her comment concerning Joseph—John seemed to exercise a remarkable amount of self-control and instead focused on driving. In the quiet, without him chattering on about doing things for them or how much he missed our banter, it was almost...Comfortable.

“Finding out the gender,” Elliot said after a moment, the exhaustion now settling like a deep chill in her bones. “Of the baby, I mean. At the next appointment.”

The brunette shifted in his seat. In an attempt at nonchalance, he said, “Oh, yeah?”

What am I doing? she thought. He plays nice for one night. He’s good at that. Short-term goodness.

“I’m nervous,” she added after a moment. “About finding out.”

“Not excited?” John tilted his head.

“No,” she admitted. “Nervous.”

Ahead of them, she saw the dark blur of a figure. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. John was saying something—something about how he’d read a number of books and it was normal to feel nervous, or some other kind of psycho babble—but she shifted forward in her seat, eyes straining to see.

“Slow down,” she said, “I think there’s a dog...?”

“What?” John asked. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

“Just up ahead. Have you not been paying attention to the road?”

He made an indignant sound—“I am the best driver between the two of us, you know,”—but before Elliot could think up a response, the dark, furred creature slowed down ahead of them, stopped in the middle of the road, and turned its head.

The headlights caught it immediately. It was a dog, four-legged and large and shaggy black fur, but when it turned its head, it was a man’s face, the mouth slung open and the gently-rounded teeth of a human’s mouth blaring white in the headlights. Something dark and slick oozed between the teeth, in that split second, she watched the dog-human-creature push off from the ground and stand on its two hind legs.

She screamed, and John swerved, and immediately threw the car into park and slammed his hand on the hazard lights button.

It was dread, pure dread and fear, sending a pulse of adrenaline straight to her brain. Bent over at the waist, Elliot closed her eyes tight, trying to will the image out of her head, out from behind her irises. John had quickly unbuckled and reached over, his hands doing the same to hers.

“Elliot,” he said urgently, fingers pushing the hair back from her face. “Ell, take a breath, come on—sit up, you have to take a breath—”

“Is—is it gone?” she asked, but the words came out closer to a wail, the fear spiking viciously in the timbre of her voice. Please, God, what the fuck, please let it be gone. God, oh fuck, what the fuck what the fuck— “The—the—”

“There’s nothing—?” John stopped. Elliot frantically scrabbled at the high neck of her parka, fingers shaking and clumsy. “Ell—”

“Can’t breathe,” she managed out. “Too hot, can’t—”

The brunette reached over the console and stilled her hands. She was still bent at the waist, but he made do, pulling the zipper of the parka down until she could pull her arms from it; once it had been deposited in the back seat, his hand went to the back of her neck.

She sat up slowly, her eyes immediately making a frantic search of the road. There was nothing. Only quiet snowfall.

“Where—” She paused, swallowing thickly. “Where did it go?”

“Ell,” John murmured, “there wasn’t anything in the road.”

“What do you mean?” she moaned. “I saw it, the—I saw the—”

“You saw...?” he prompted. His thumb swept across the back of her neck, coaxing.

“The dog,” she insisted. “It was a dog, but it had—it’s face was—it was a man’s face, and it f-fucking—it fucking stood up, John!”

He was watching her carefully, his gaze searching her face for a long moment. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t see anything,” he told her. “Just that you—you just screamed, so I pulled over.”

“I’m not crazy,” Elliot bit out, her voice wobbling.

“I know,” John replied plainly. “Maybe it was just—you know. The snow. In front of the headlights.” And then: “Have you really been getting enough sleep, Ell?”

She felt her lip tremble, the desire to cry almost overwhelming. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t stand John being tender to her, worrying about her, questioning the validity of her saying that she had been sleeping fine because he could see that she couldn’t. He was wretched and wicked and it needed to stay that way.

“Please take me home,” she said finally, re-buckling and rolling the window down to let the cold air on her face. “Please just take me home.”

John waited for a few heartbeats before he turned the hazard lights off and put the Jeep in drive.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he told her after a moment, glancing at her a few times. “I mean it, Ell.”

“Fuck you,” she replied, exhausted and feeling furiously wound up. “Just take me home.”

Get some sleep.

Feel better in the morning.

[the-family-fortune]

Earlier today Cali asked me quite possibly the worst thing you CAN ask me

And boy howdy did I have some thoughts. 

idk if ive mentioned it here before or not but I have a lot of feelings about the idea of redemption in psy2. I LIKE the idea that no one is beyond redemption, that people can be good and that we are all, at our core, just hurting. and those are the themes that psychonauts plays with. mental illnesses that are seen as "scary" like the inmates (though the inmates themselves are rarely presented as scary, with maybe the exception of Edgar because he's just. huge.) - bipolar mood swings with inexplicable rage, Edgar's anger issues and sheer strength combined into an intimidating figure, and the stigma of multiple personalities like how Fred acts meek one second and then on the warpath the next when he "switches". All of these oooh scary mental illnesses are literally just people grappling with trauma. Edgar's OCD and the trauma from high school, Fred's... weird genetic memory issues, and Gloria's inner critic and the death of her mother. These things are like, Normal People Problems (sorry fred idk what the fuck is up with u buddy ur on another level all together) and really contextualize the inmates' mental illness in a way that emphasizes the main theme of empathy. 

I intentionally leave Boyd out of this because while the root of his mental illness is schizoaffective paranoia, his ROLE as the Milkman and in fact his entire mindscape is the product of Oleander's hypnosis.

So like, I VIBE WITH THAT, its a really really interesting take on the conversation about mental illness and how these things do not make people inherently bad or scary!!

But I feel like, BASED ON WHAT WE KNOW RIGHT NOW, that the Galochios - or, at the very least, Zalto on his own - fall into a different kind of category.

The Galochios from the start are jealous people. They're jealous of the Aquato's fame and think that they deserve more recognition which in and of itself isn't a bad thing per se - wanting to feel appreciated and recognized and seen is just a basic human desire, I think. But jealousy isnt a mental illness. Jealousy is a natural human emotion that we, as rational and empathetic people, must make the conscious choice to deal with in healthy ways. The Galochios don't, and they let that consume them from the start - where they allow themselves to hate the Aquatos for their fame, where they allow themselves to ostracize Marona, where they drive her out of the family and where they attempt to drag her back, it's not the product of mental illness destroying relationships like someone in Edgar's position might experience, but pure pride and jealousy directed towards the Aquato family.

And like from there its just all downhill

And I could argue that from this point things compound to create a mental landscape that maybe isnt the picture of health in the Galochios, because grief can really, really fuck you up, and regardless of how they acted, losing a daughter or a sister when Marona died, could not have been easy.

But I cannot read "the Galochios crowded around the tank to gleefully watch Lazarus's decapitation" and be like "aw they're just hurting 8(" because mental illness is not synonymous with undue cruelty.

Like the Galochios at every turn are presented with A Choice and by god they're determined to make the wrong one. Whether or not this is motivated by grief or jealousy or whatever doesnt matter, because even when you are mentally ill it is still the bare minimum to not gleefully watch someone you dont like get decapitated, u know?

That is, I think, them consumed by jealousy and hate and seeing nothing wrong with it because it benefits them and hurts people they dont like. Thats. that's not mental illness that's just being an asshole

So while I absoLUTEly vibe with Psychonaut's theme of empathy and compassion and understanding that mental illness isnt bad or scary, and that we're all struggling with something, I think that narrative has two sides to it, and the same way that "we're all struggling with something" lends to the idea that we need to extend compassion to others, the Galochios being so stubbornly cruel as to be irredeemable in the narrative of psychonauts two lends to the equally important theme of "but you can not sacrifice yourself for people who do not WANT help"

Because of the nature of the things the Galochios have done (and perhaps, are still doing, as we move into the secrets behind the RoR and Psy2 narrative) I think that it would take a LOT. A LOT. for the writing to pass off a Galochio redemption in a meaningful and complete way, because of the nature of the choices they make. From what I know about them right now, these are not the actions of people who are... hallucinating grandeur or some greater purpose who believe in some hidden agenda like Boyd. From what I can gather and what we already know about the Galochio backstory, this is just the kind of people they are. 

 Now, taking into account Zalto specifically, I can without a doubt see him having some major psychological damage. Like I said earlier, grief can really, really fuck you up, and Zalto experienced more grief than reasonable, all at once, with the tank accident. He was already not the most stable person. ("But Daisy!" I hear you cry, "Augustus lost his entire family in a year and didn't snap like that!" True but look me in the eye and tell me you think he's coped with it in a healthy manner. Augustus experienced unreasonable amounts of grief and as a result his ten year old thinks he wants him dead.)

So if that turns out to be the case, and we see a level where we actually do deal with that grief in a healthy way (which imo would be very interesting to see the trauma of grief treated the same as mental illness - even though we all experience grief at some point, sooooome of us dont quite take it as well as others, whoops!) we could see the baseline path to a Zalto redemption.

But really it all boils down to responsibility for their actions and how they handle their trauma and the fact that eight Aquatos were murdered does not automatically become sympathetic because Zalto was dealing with grief. I personally, would be really interested to see the Galochios as villains end the game as villains and for that stubbornness and unwillingness to accept empathy or help be shown as their downfall, because irl its incredibly unhealthy and self-destructive to refuse help or refuse to SEEK help when you very clearly know that something is hurting you, and that you are in turn hurting others.

I also REALLY don't want them to be given the Oleander treatment.

As much as I love Oleander, I feel like a lot about his character was mismanaged, and he was turned into comedic relief in RoR.

like. A lot of my thoughts on the psy2 narrative as a whole relies heavily on the li-po document of course but the story that we were given IN psy1 vs the story that we are told in the document are so STARKLY different.

"Oleander wants to take over the world because he's angry at tall people from that time from that time his dad killed his bunny, which traumatized him" is NOT the same as "Oleander spent his formative years FIRMLY BELIEVING that his father saw him as a burden because he was small, thought he was nothing better than pig slop, and witnessed the death of an animal that he had a psychic connection to, after which he spent his entire life attempting to make his father proud only to be rejected by every branch of the military. By the time he was finally a Psychonaut and felt he would be able to make his father proud despite his stature, both of his parents died horribly in a meat grinder accident while he was away training." 

 NOT THE SAME HOLY SHIT.

Oleander had so much POTENTIAL but he was kinda shoehorned into a very two-dimensional role. Idk if it was because of budget or time or what, because the production of psy1 was very..... not great. But its absolutely a SHAME to see such a heartbreaking backstory reduced to "short and angry about it"

And it absolutely cheapens his redemption, too.

The fact that Oleander's story was so heavily pruned COMBINED with the fact that - while it's hinted at in game, its honestly INSANELY difficult to put two and two together imo because of how its presented, Ford outright tells us that Oleander's assignment to whispering Rock was the cause of his mental break (the camp sits on a motherload of psitanium. It makes psychics more psychics, and unstable people more unstable.")

that's never once brought into the resolution of Oleander's character arch and the processing of his trauma and how the psychonauts directly contributed to his deteriorating mental state that led him to try and take over the world because they so deeply misunderstand psitanium but decided to build a kids summer camp training facility on top of it

thats like... early experimentation with nuclear materials before we understood the dangers of radiation. Not to stay topical or anything, but its a clearly dangerous substance that the Psychonauts treat very blase.

But to get back on track there, I really hope that if the Galochios DO receive a redemption arc in psy2, which seems likely given the overarching theme of the games themselves even extending to Loboto of all people... I hope they don't butcher it like they did with Oleander's. Given that they've had five years and a LOT more experience with this genre and its storytelling conventions (plus the fact that they're just excellent storytellers to begin with) I have a cautious optimism that whatever happens with the Galochios it will at least be a satisfying conclusion. (For comparison, Oleander's butchered redemption is still kinda held together by the satisfying conclusion of the game, in which Raz actually becomes a Psychonaut so that isnt to say that psy1 didnt have a satisfying conclusion) 

and at this point im sure you're regretting telling me to talk as much as i want because if there's one thing you ought to know about me by now its that i never shut up about the Galochios and honestly I've had a lot of thoughts about them and the themes of Psychonauts and the general structure of storytelling in the Psychonauts games overall.

As for the Galochio family themselves, I'm fascinated to see exactly who survived and what the power structure of the remaining Galochios is. If Zalto makes the final cut, I want VERY badly to know how he treats his family and if his anger has kinda pervaded what was probably a long time ago a relatively tight knit family. I want to see the individuals involved in this, how far they're each willing to go and where that lies in relation to Zalto. Like everyone has their moral limits, and if Zalto is utterly consumed by his goal to either obliterate the Aquatos or resurrect his family (shudder) his tolerance for atrocities may be much higher than that of his family members, which would automatically sow dissonance within the family when one by one people start deciding this is too much, this is too far, we cant keep doing this.

[lesbian-bird-talks]

On: Appare-Ranman

This is my first official post, so hello and welcome! My name is Pidge, pronouns in the bio. 

This blog is entirely for me to just rant and rave about the anime I’m watching, probably long after they’ve finished because keeping up with seasonal anime would take much more out of me than I am willing to give. 

I don’t know how to work Tumblr well so don’t mind me too much if things look shitty! I’ll figure stuff out eventually.  Also, everything will be going under the break for people who’d like to avoid spoilers! Appare-Ranman came out in April of this year, but I know there are people like me who like to wait until a series is fully out before you go back and binge it. There will also be a TLDR at the start if you’d just like to read that!   

TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF RACIST IMAGERY

TLDR; The anime is okay. My favorite part was the relationship between Kosame and Appare, but I really wish they had done more with the interpersonal relationships between the other characters. The fight scenes are lackluster, there are large plot holes that aren’t ever explained, and most importantly one of the more important side characters is a black man with a noose around his neck. I’d give the anime a 2.5 - 3/5. 

STORY

Lets start this off with a basic summary of the narrative. Appare-Ranman centers around the duo Appare and Kosame. Appare is a genius inventor with big dreams and a lot of ambition, but less than great social skills. Kosame, on the other hand, is a cowardly swordsman who’s tasked with the job of looking after Appare. Due to a series of events, the pair end up in the middle of the ocean, stranded on a steam ship Appare built, and have to be rescued by a freight ship. The pair end up stranded in America, and enter a cross-continental race to earn the money to head back home. 

When I first saw the plot synopsis of this show I was super excited! I really like the idea of having such a contrast between old-school Japan and 1700′s America. On that aspect I wasn’t disappointed. What DID disappoint me were some of the more gaping plot holes in the story. The first of which being how in the HELL are two Japanese men fresh off the boat communicating with Americans? 

A freight ship captain might be able to speak Japanese since his business is overseas, although him having a translator would be more realistic. But what about the other citizens? Why can Appare walk right up to the owner of a car shop and ask him for a job? Eventually I let it go while I was watching, but it irritated me that it was never explained.  The plot itself doesn’t have too many big twists and turns. And when it did, I can’t say I cared about them all that much? 

Jing’s race helped to reinforce the themes of doing the impossible and not letting others define what you’re capable of, but it felt very hamfisted in it’s message about femininsm and “girls can do the same things boys can”. I got tired of them repeating that so much, and I really wish Jing had been the one to punch that smug bastard at the end of the race instead of her boss. He doesn’t get the right to defend her after not even giving her a chance until she nearly crashed. 

Kosame killing the person who killed Hototo’s family felt,,,very rushed. And something that should have been used as an experience to develop Hototo’s character, who I believe stayed pretty static along with the rest of the cast, was instead used to develop KOSAME, who apparently lost his mother as well.  Speaking on that - I laughed at the scene that showed Kosame’s mother getting killed. I giggled at that shit and you wanna know why? Because the way it was set up was ridiculous. 

The murderer hops out of the bushes, he slashes his sword across the mother’s back, and then just... runs away down the street. 

We do not learn why he does this, we just see it happen. It’s meant to be a dramatic reveal about Kosame’s past and yet it’s almost comedic in it’s suddenness. But I also laugh at a cockroach singing scat so what the hell do I know? 

The latter half of the story doesn’t really contain any huge flaws, and most of it’s weaknesses come from the fact that the cast itself is fairly weak and I just couldn’t get invested in the stakes. When Sofia got kidnapped I just didn’t care all that much. The only two things I knew about her character was 

a. she could drink a lot 

b. she took up her mother’s role as Al’s caretaker

That was virtually it. If she lived or died I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Which is really bad when this is meant to be the climax of your show, this is when I should be the most invested. 

CHARACTERS

Most of the characters are fairly one note, with none of them having anything that makes them particularly stand out beyond their odd choice in fashion. 

Speaking of odd choices in fashion, lets talk about Crazy TJ

The singular black character in the show, and you put a noose on him? Your singular black character, and you decide that you want to make him violent with questionable morals? Your singular black character, and you make him as unempathetic as you possibly can?  I love anime god BOY HOWDY do I hate how racist anime can be. 

Crazy TJ isn’t the only one-note character, though. Most of the supporting cast don’t have much going for them. What can I say about Jing? That she’s a feminist who likes to race? And what about Al? The only three words I can think of to describe his personality are “rich white boy”.

I’m unsure of how I feel about Gil, though. On the one hand I think he pairs well with the idea of “the only limits you have are the ones you set for yourself”, with Gil being the immovable object to Appare’s unstoppable ambition. But at the same time he just felt very...over the top. And there was never any time given to explain just how he rose to power or why he may be the way he is, or even why he’s doing what he is. He’s just an indiscriminate killer, and those sorts of characters can be fun, but it’d be nice to know a bit of his history so we can know more about why he is the way he is. 

All in all, there wasn’t much that stood out to me character-wise. They were all fairly bland, although there were a few interactions outside of the main three that I found to be really cute, like the relationship between Tristan and Hototo. But for the most part none of these characters would be all that interesting for me to watch go on an adventure outside of the happenings of the anime. 

The exception to this being Appare and Kosame. Mostly Appare. 

Out of all the cast I really do think these two have the most character development, with Appare learning how to care for and rely on other people more and Kosame learning how to take risks and opening his mind up to new possibilities. I really love their dynamic, and seeing them interact was probably the best part of the show for me. Kosame and Appare are like an uncle and his weird nephew who have a really wholesome relationship. If these two didn’t play the lead roles then I don’t think I would have even finished this show. 

And I especially love Appare. He is my son. My little baby boy. I love him with all my heart 

CLOSING REMARKS

All in all Appare-Ranman is an okay anime. The concept is interesting, and I did enjoy watching the characters race cross-country, but a majority of the cast is fairly bland, the plot and writing fall short in areas I feel are important, and there’s literally a black man with a noose around his neck. It has quite a few problems, but I like the overall message of not letting other people define your limits for you, and I really enjoyed watching Appare open up to Kosame and the other people taking part in the race.

 If there was another season, I’d like it to possibly be done with a different writer. And for Crazy TJ’s design to lose the noose. That shit is gross and I don’t understand what the character designer was doing when they put it on there. 

This rating is pretty arbitrary and not based on any scoring system, but I’d give Appare-Ranman a 2.5 - 3/5!

This isn’t the best review by a long shot but it’s just my personal experience while watching the anime over a three-day period. At the end of the day, these are all my opinions! If you disagree feel free to tell me, or maybe point out something you think I overlooked, just please keep it respectful~

[s3dgy]

i wrote a terrible self-insert fanfic when i was 11-12 and now i'm going through it and fixing my pronouns for Gender Euphoria™ reasons but leaving the rest of it alone, here are my thoughts but i'm not gonna provide any context

the plot of this fic was basically just the "you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid" meme

hoo boy was i Repressed™ and it shows

WOW i really have been a sucker for hurt/comfort from the jump huh

jesus fucking christ i could really go down a rabbit hole psychoanalyzing this shit

LMFAO 😂😂😂 I REALLY THOUGHT I WAS GONNA OWN NOT ONE BUT MULTIPLE LANDLINE PHONES AS AN ADULT

LIKE I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA LIVE IN APARTMENT THAT WAS LARGE ENOUGH FOR THAT TO BE A THING

IN THIS ECONOMY??? OH HONEY

okay WHAT the fuck was my obsession with owning a satchel??? like bitch??? hello???

side note: i did end up getting a satchel like two years later, so, yay for that i guess

cannot BELIEVE i simped this hard over an anime character when i was in middle school

wh- hang on what the fuck. that. that doesn't make ANY goddamn sense, how did i think that would work physically??? bitch

hm. you know what, That Sentence In Particular says some shit about me that i am not ready to unpack yet, so i'm not gonna!

you know i know i said i was only gonna fix the pronouns but it's my gender and i get to experience the gender euphoria so i think i'm also gonna change the way my hair is described to match the way it looks now

y'know, now i'm kinda understanding why my 6th grade english teacher prohibited me from writing fanfic for a school assignment but still. she was kind of a bitch about it and that was unnecessary.

god i remember writing this in the notes app on my iphone 3gs. i remember copying/pasting giant chunks of it to send to my best friend through kik messenger because she didn't have a cell phone. but most importantly i remember her hyping me tf up and how important that was to me. good times

hsfdgjsh my professors are gonna be talking to me in class like "so what'd you do last night? get any sleep?" and i'm gonna be like "no i fucking psychoanalyzed my childhood self through the lens of my old fanfiction"

BOY HOWDY WAS THAT A POOR CHOICE OF WORDS. REALLY WISH I HADN'T DESCRIBED THAT PARTICULAR ACTION IN THAT WAY.

bitch i am begging you to use normal fucking words p l e a s e

a MINIVAN??? of all the cars i could've picked for myself to drive, i chose A MINIVAN??? i mean it's practical, space-wise, but WHAT THE FUCK

of fucking course the minivan is green. i mean it still IS my favorite color tbf

wow this bitch did not give a FUCK about car insurance costs okay. damn wish i could be her 😔 she's out here tokyo drifting up in this bitch

oh my fucking god i did NOT understand how cars work lmao. or like, fuckin physics for that matter

i- did this vehicle just not have airbags in it or something??? because they probably fucking should've gone off by now holy shit

"put the car back into second gear" BITCH SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. TO THIS DAY I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT MEANS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE SECOND GEAR AND FIRST GEAR SETTINGS ON THE GEAR SHIFT OF MY CAR EVEN DO.

aaand we're just gonna... okay. i mean it makes sense in context i guess, but... okay. fine. you do you, kid.

wh- how did paint get scraped off the sides of the car??? the sides of the car never fucking touched anything i- fuck it. never mind.

i- okay i know the car thing was kind of bonkers per my earlier description but it wouldn't have caused THAT to happen

IT'S ON FIRE??? IT'S ON FUCKING FIRE??? B I T C H

okay so we're just back to our regularly scheduled programming after all that then? cool whatever i guess

y'know i'm not sure of the accuracy of that scientific technobabble but it sounded at least a little bit believable so. good job, past me. you get points for that one

my fucking god why couldn't any of these characters tell a halfway-decent lie to save their lives lmao

ahhh wait i remember why the car is Fucked™ now. it's because the mental image i had in my head of a different scene involving a car involved a different car, so i had to COMPLETELY DESTROY the first car i mentioned for some goddamn reason.

wh- MILK??? bitch what were you ON

[buzzdixonwriter]

Colonialism

You back into things sometimes.

One of my many guilty pleasures is old school pulp, which I first encountered with the Doc Savage reprints in the 1960s, then old anthologies, then back issues at conventions, and now thanks to the Internet, an almost limitless supply.

And to be utterly frankly, a lot of the appeal lays in the campiness of the covers and interior art -- brass plated damsels fighting alien monsters, bare chested heroes combatting insidious hordes, etc., etc., and of course, etc.

Once past age 12, I never took these covers or the covers of modern pulps such as James Bond, Mike Hammer, or Modesty Blaise seriously; they were just good, campy fun.

While my main focus remained on the sci-fi pulps, I also kept an eye on crime and mystery pulps, war stories, and what are sometimes called “sweaties”, i.e., men’s adventure magazines.

Despite the differences in the titles and genres, certain themes seemed to pop up again and again.

Scantily clad ladies, typically in some form of distress, though on occasion dishing out as good if not better than they got.

Well, the pulps that drew my attention were the pups made for a primarily male audience (though even in the 1930s and 40s there were large numbers of female readers and writers in the sci-fi genre).  Small wonder I was drawn to certain types of eye candy; I had been culturally programmed that way.

That’s a topic well worthy of a post or two on its own, so I’m putting gender issues / the patriarchy / the male gaze aside for the moment.

What I’m more interested in focusing on is the second most popular characters to appear on the covers (and in the stories as well).

The Other.

The Other comes in all shapes / sizes / ethnicities.  Tall and short, scrawny and beefy, light or dark, you name it, they’ve got a flavor for you.

“Injuns” and aliens, Mongols and mafiosi, Africans and anarchists.

Whoever they were ”they ain’t us!”

Certain types of stories lend themselves easily to depicting the villainous Other.

Westerns, where irate natives can always be counted on to launch an attack.

War stories, where the hero (with or without an army to help him) battles countless numbers of enemies en masse.

Adventure stories, where the hero intrudes in some other culture and shows them the error of their ways.

Detective stories, where the Other might be a single sinister mastermind but still represents an existentialist threat.

And my beloved sci-fi stories?

Why, we fans told ourselves our stories were better than that!  We didn’t wallow in old world bigotry, demonizing blacks and browns and other non-whites because of their skins.

Oh, no:  We demonized green skinned aliens.

Now I know some of you are sputtering “But-but-but you wrote for GI Joe!”

Boy howdy, are you correct.

And boy howdy, did we ever exploit the Other with that show.

I never got a chance to do it, but I pitched -- and had Hasbro accept -- a story that would have been about the way I envisioned Cobra to have formed and been organized, and would focus on what motivated them.

They were pretty simplistic greedheads in the original series, but I felt the rank and file needed to be fighting for a purpose, something higher to spire to that mere dominance and wealth.

I never got to do “The Most Dangerous Man In The World” but I was trying to break out of the mold. 

For the most part, our stories fit right into the old trope of The Other.

Ours were mostly about the evil Other trying to do something nefarious against our innocent guys, but there’s an obverse narrative other stories follow, in which our guys go inflict themselves on The Other until our guys either come away with a treasure (rightfully belonging to The Other but, hey, they really don’t deserve it so we’re entitled to take it from them), or hammer The Other into submission so they will become good ersatz copies of us (only not so uppity as to demand equal rights or respect or protection under law).

These are all earmarks of a very Western (in the sense of Europe and America…with Australia and New Zealand thrown in) sin:  Colonialism.

Now, before going further let’s get out terms straight.

There’s all sorts of different forms of colonialism, and some of them can be totally benign -- say a small group of merchants and traders from one country travel to a foreign land and set up a community there where they deal honorably and fairly with the native population.

The transplanted merchants are a “colony” in the strictest sense of the term, but they coexist peacefully in a symbiotic relationship with the host culture and both sides benefit, neither at the expense of the other.

Oh, would that they could all be like that…

Another form of colonialism -- and one we Americans are overly familiar with even though there are all sorts of variants on this basic idea -- is the kind where one culture invades the territory of another and immediately begins operating in a deliberately disruptive nature to the native population.

They seek to enslave & exploit or, failing that, expel or eradicate the natives through any means possible.

It’s the story of Columbus and the conquistadors and the pilgrims and the frontiersmen and the pioneers and the forty-niners and the cowboys and the robber barons.

It’s the story where different groups are deliberately kept separate from one another by the power structure in place, for fear they will band together and usurp said power structure (unless, of course, they band together to kelp make one of ours their leader, and build a grand new empire just for him).

It’s the story where our guys never need make a serious attempt to understand the point of view of The Other, because they are just strawmen to mow down, sexy lamps to take home.

I think my taste in sci-fi and modern pulp writing in general started to change around the mid-1970s.

Being in the army quickly cleared me of a lot of preconceptions I had about what our military did and how they did it.

The easy-peasy moral conflicts of spy novels and international thrillers seem rather thin and phony compared to the real life complexities of national and global politics.

Long before John Wick I was decrying a type of story I referred to as “You killed my dog so you must die.”  Some bad guy (typically The Other) does a bad thing and so the good guy (one of ours -- yea!) must punish him.

Make him hurt.

Make him whimper

Make him crawl.

Make him suffer.

The real world ain’t like that.

Fu Machu falls to Ho Chi Minh.

As entertaining as the fantasy of humiliating and annihilating our enemies may be…we gotta come to terms with them, we gotta learn to live with them.

That’s why my favorite sci-fi stories now are less about conflict and more about comprehension.

It’s better to understand than to stand over.

. . .

The colonial style of storytelling as the dominant form of story telling is fairly recent, dating only from the end of the medieval period in Europe and the rise of the so-called age of exploration.

This is not to say colonial story telling didn’t exist before them -- look at what Caesar wrote, or check out Joshua and Judges in the Old Testament -- but prior to the colonial age it wasn’t the dominant form of storytelling.

Most ancient stories involve characters who, regardless of political or social standing, recognize one another as human beings.

And when gods or monsters appear, they are usually symbols of far greater / larger forces & fates, not beasts to be subdued or slain.

Medieval literature is filled with glorious combat and conflict, but again, it’s the conflict of equals and for motives and rationales that can easily be understood.

It was only when the European nations began deliberately invading and conquering / dominating foreign lands that colonialism became the dominant form of storytelling.

It had to:  How else could a culture justify its swinish behavior against fellow human beings?

Even to this day, much (if not most) popular fiction reflects the values of colonialism.

Heroes rarely change.

Cultures even less.

We’ve kept The Other at arms length with popular fiction and media, sometimes cleverly hiding it, sometimes cleverly justifying it, but we’ve had this underlying current for hundreds of years.

Ultimately, it hasn’t served us well.  

It traps us in simplistic good vs evil / us vs them narratives that fail to take into account the complex nature of human society and relationships.

It gives us pat answers instead of probing questions.

It is zero sum storytelling: The pie is only so big, there can’t be more, and if the hero doesn’t get it all, he loses.  (John D. MacDonald summed up this philosophy in the title of one of his books:  The Girl, The Gold Watch, And Everything.)

It’s possible to break out of that mind set -- The Venture Brothers animated series brilliant manages to combine old school pulp tropes with a very modern, very perceptive deconstruction of the form -- but as posted elsewhere, imitation is the sincerity form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness, so while I certainly applaud The Venture Brothers I don’t want to encourage others to follow in their footsteps.

Because they won’t.

They’ll pretend they will, but they’ll veer off course and back into the old Colonialism mindset.

We need to break out, break free.

Here in the U.S. it’s African-American History Month.

The African-American experience is far from the Colonialism that marks most white / Western / Christian storytelling (and by storytelling I include history and journalism as well as fiction; in fact, anything and everything that tells a narrative).

It’s a good time to open our eyes, to see the world around us not afresh, but for the first time.

Remove the blinders. 

I said sometimes you back into things.

Getting a clearer view of the world I’m in didn’t come from a straightforward examination.

It came from a counter-intuitive place, it found its way back to the beginning not by accepting what others said was the true narrative, but by following individual threads.

It came from Buck Rogers and the Beat Generation and Scrooge McDuck and the sexual revolution and Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance and the civil rights era and Dangerous Visions and the Jesus Movement and Catch-22 and the Merry Pranksters.

It came from old friends, some of whom inspired me, some of whom disappointed me, and yet the disappointments probably led to a deeper, more penetrating insight into the nature of the problem.

This Colonialism era must come to a close.

It can no longer sustain itself, not in the world we inhabit today.

It requires a new breed of storytellers -- writers and artists and poets and journalists who can offer 

It’s not a world that puts up barriers by race or gender, ethnicity or orientation, ability or age.

There’s ample opportunity for open minds.

All it asks of us is a new soul.

  © Buzz Dixon

[dafukdidiwatch]

U.S.S INDIANAPOLIS: MEN OF COURAGE

Nick Cage mixed with WW2 and sharks. What can possible go wrong?

Answer: Everything

Nick Cage has just an attraction to me. I have known him for so long since I was little, I can’t tell if he is a good actor or if it was nostalgia. All I know is if there is a Nick Cage film, it is going to have that Nick Cage charm. And BOY HOWDY, this movie has it.

Let’s go with backstory first.

This movie is based on the incredible and horrific events that happened to the U.S.S Indianapolis, a Naval Ship during World War 2. It was sent on a secret and dangerous mission to deliver parts for the construction of the Atomic Bomb. However, on their way back a Japanese Submarine sunk it with a torpedo, leaving the survivors stranded alone in the middle of the ocean for 4 days filled surrounded by sharks who would attack the dead, injured, and living. Out of the almost 12,000 sailors aboard, only 300 would survive, making this the worst naval tragedy in U.S. Navy history.

And they made this movie.

Not going to lie, I was stupidly judgy through this movie. I mean, I tried goddammit, to watch and enjoy it straight. But I couldn’t help it. I care about this history. I’m fasinated by this bit of history, the horror and pain the sailors when through. This is THE Greatest Shark Attack in history. I was judgy because I wanted this movie to respect the event and tragedy that had happened, to do the survivors justice. And they tried.

God did they tried.

The problem is that they didn’t do it well.

Let me start with the good things about this movie.

1) Nick Cage was pretty Good

He plays Captain Charles B. McVay of the Indianapolis. There is still a bit of hokiness that comes from Nick Cage being Nick Cage. One is him talking to himself while writing a letter to his wife in the weirdest way possible. Another is the fact that his sunglasses makes it look like his eyes are closer to his forehead. But he does the role well I think. He makes sure to show that Captain McVay cared for his men, put their safety ahead of his own, did everything he can to help. I thought he did a good job.

2) They were respectful in the representation of the Japanese Submarine Crew.

The movie could have just not even show the submarine until the ship sinks, but no, we actually get to see the crew. We see the Captain Hashimoto dealing with the struggles of fighting their side of the war. How he cares for his crew, and how they will lay down their lives for the fight. The ship was sunk by Kaiten Torpedoes, basically an underwater version of Kamakazi pilots. They were manned torpedoes, so you see the men loading themselves in to be launched. So while the main focus is on the Indianapolis, it is nice they tried to be empathetic to the Japanese crew as well.

3) The side-characters were interesting enough.

With a historical story like this, the best way is show the movie is to let the audience see all the possible people that were serving on the ship. You see two best friends fall in love with the same girl. Two guys who were enemies and in jail together. A guy with a gambling addiction. The lovable engineers that you see up above. The brand new green commander who is a bit of a dick. My favorite one is the writer sailor. He writes what he sees and tries to bolster people up with his stories. Like, there is a lot of characters so even if you don’t like one plot-line, there are others you can enjoy. They may act goofy/overly dramatic at times, but the actors did a good job for you to root for them.

With that out of the way, things I didn’t like.

A) The cgi was too basic and shit in places

I wish, I WISH I can find a better picture to show what I mean. When we were watching, even my sister were going back and forth on whether it was good or not. Everything that was cgi was just weirdly too smooth. Like really look at it. It looks more like graphics for a video game. Which, is passable. But you can’t have passable for a movie. This movie came out in 2016! We have the technology for a hell of a lot better images than template models. At that was the better cgi. Because when the cgi is bad, it is glaringly obvious bad.

B) The Editing Kills Me.

They have a weird sense of pacing in this movie. When you hit the middle part of the movie, it’s fine. Decent moments of the sailors goofing around, hving drmatic romance, fights, struggles. But there are some parts of the movie where someone in the editing room was like “Oh shit, the people watching this won’t understand. Quickly! Put out that exposition as fast as you can!!”

An Example: the first 3 minutes of the movie. Minute 1: BATTLE! Ok, good, see our historical men in action. Minute 2: We are in a war council room where the Indianapolis has been chosen for a secret mission. “You mean the atomic BOMB?!” -> Basically the line used. And this was BEFORE meeting ANY of our main cast. So it felt like the movie was putting more emphasis on the ship rather than the sailors. 

It also didn’t help the movie Felt like it ended when the survivors were rescued, but didn’t Actually end for another 20-30 minutes longer. I appreciate them going in for historical accuracy of showing the actual aftermath to Captain McVay, but by that point I was so done and bored that I didn’t really care.

Plus they keep using the same periscope tracking shot 7 times! Seven! In the same scene. TWICE!! When the Japanese were firing in daytime, we see the same daylight periscope 7 times before launch. Then when they fired a torpedo at night, LET’S DO THE SAME THING since it went so well the first time.

B) The ship sinks titanic style, the fuck is that?? 

Not going to lie, while I am facinated by the Indianapolis, I do not know everything about what exactly happened. One of them was how the ship sank. But I am pretty sure the ship did not sink in the Exact Same Way as the Titanic. Where one side is lifted up, then got cracked in the middle, and so it was split into two parts. It was, it was bad. Because this tied in to the whole repeating shots thing, because I saw the same man holding onto a pole trying not to drop 5 different times. The Same Exact Scene. No difference. And I’m sure he fell in the exact same way as in the Titanic Movie shots.

(Note:The jail cell sailors during this part were very good, but I still have No Idea how the hell they got out. Let me know if you figured it out)

C) The Sharks were S H I T!

This is basically where the whole meat of the story should have taken place, nd it was AWFUL! Trash! They were stupidly inaccurate, trying to go for Jaws Chomp factor instead of being anywhere near historical. The sharks were all Great Whites, which wasn’t a thing. Because the sharks that historically attacked were Oceanic Whitetips.

But ok, you could get pass. The sharks look similar enough at first glance so it would be an honest mistake. Except that sailors were specifically talking bout “Great White Sharks” with colored pictures of great whites, (which think about that for a minute) so that was bullshit. in making the audience think Great White.

But ok, so what, who cares, the sharks still does it’s things right? Why should we care if they got the type wrong or not?

^Because of Shit like This!! This movie decided to try and shittily mimic Jaws and the Jaws ripoffs by having crappy cgi sharks launch itself out of no where to stupidly chops on the nearest sailors. God you could make a drinking game out of it. Take a shot for every shark you see. Which won’t kill you, because there were NOT ENOUGH SHARKS!!

^The sharks should have been like this. The sailors literally should have been like waist deep in sharks. There were a lot of fucking sharks. And yet! There weren’t any. The sharks only decided to freaking rocket launch themselves out of the water when it’s time for a jump scare, on any old person they can fine. And maybe the reason they decide to throw themselves to the nearest pound of flesh instead of going for the closest dead body is because

D ) THERE WERE BARELY ANY SURVIVORS!!!

Seriously! When the ship sank there were 800 sailors left in the water, We only see 60. TOTAL! Not even random background sailors. It was just Nick Cage’s group, then a separate group of 30 people, and random boats here and there.  God how could they have fucked this up! I don’t know if it was just, not in the budged to hire more people or what, but you can still get somebody. Show the survivors dammit!

It pisses me off because this could have easily solved their shark problem. Because if there were more people, you can see the sharks eat/take the dead bodies. Then when there is a ton more sharks, see them go after the injured and dying. Like, having screams constantly while sharks pick people off left and right, even if it is just background characters, would build so much more tension than just “guys have a good laugh, talk, and support each other, send the shark for the jumpscare.”

I will give the movie this though: While I feel like the majority of the ending was unneeded, I do respect that they have little end-cards for what happened to the character’s historical counterparts, as well as come footage of some of the survivors describing the experience.

Overall: Don’t watch it. If you wanted to watch it for the actual historical event, watch something else. They made note of smaller historical facts while completely screwing up the actual main event with the sharks. You can find better documentaries Here, Here, Here, Here, and Here. The last one has a clip of the special that I I saw originally and while you do have to pay to see it (Here), it is very well done.

And If you want to watch a “so bad it’s good movie” then maybe it fits the bill, but I just honestly don’t think it’s worth it. The editing and pacing will give you whiplash. The CGI takes you out of the zone.  Nick Cage tried his best, but not even his enjoyable presence could save the film. They make for a great movie to rag on, but having it be on an actual historic event like this just leaves a bad taste in my mouth

[cakeandcrows]

I remember this one time I was watching some documentary about a white actress, I can’t recall who. One of her first roles was something like... a German lesbian with some kind of drug addiction (I think cocaine?). Point is, in her interview segment about it, she said something like, “When my mother heard about the role, she said, ‘if I were you, I would have told the director to pick just one of those things, not all of them at once.’” And all I can think about is how like... so many of us on here are more than one kind of minority or ‘invisible’ identity, or neurodivergent, or in some level of recovery from one thing or another. 

Like, this isn’t huge news, y’know? Yeah, privilege is a thing. And people are so absolutely unaware of it when they have it that it makes me want to scream. I’m even unaware of my own privilege a lot of the time and I won’t go into a moment of how I feel when I realize I’ve forgotten, because my guilt on the matter is irrelevant. I just need to get better at keeping myself in check and that’s that. 

Yeah I’d love to be cis some days because of how much easier it would make my life (and honestly for not many other reasons, I’m pretty happy being trans... if it just... y’know, weren’t for how people react to it). Sometimes I think, “Man, straight people are fucking insane; how on earth do they function,” while looking back on the days when I thought I was straight and realizing that even back then I was lost as hell, but some days I’m just like, “If I were straight, would life really be so much easier?” And it would. It really would. If I were also cis at the same time. Etc. 

And I don’t want to make this into an us vs them sort of thing for even a minute, either, because everyone has common ground somewhere. Does that common ground always matter as much to one person as it does to another? Probably not. Jeff Be/os probably shares a home town with a fuck ton of people but I’ll bet he doesn’t give a shit about a single one of them, or that commonality, while you could see a popular rock band and never hear them shut up about how proud they are to be from the West Coast. Sometimes it just doesn’t fucking matter to other people what you have in common with them, because to them, what’s different is so much more volatile. And it goes both ways. 

There’s people from my home town, my graduating class, and even old friend groups that I could never see myself talking to again because of how we’ve split paths in beliefs and lifestyles. Or, maybe they’ve stayed the same and I’ve changed, or the opposite... and I’ll bet they’d see how I’ve changed and think the same things of me. “Wow, I want nothing to do with that person.” 

I’m just... constantly having little wake-up calls over and over again of how some people seriously think that I’d choose a harder life on purpose. And I’m not ashamed of living as I am; I’m very proud of who I am and what I’ve overcome to get here. 

Customers at work, where I feel like I live 2/3rds of my life these days, are always just like... a window into the world for me sometimes. Most people don’t mention my pronoun button. Some people don’t notice it outright and misgender me because they’re looking at my face; entirely being polite and engaged, and not at all aware of how they’re upsetting me. I let it go a lot of the time. It’s not worth it.

There’s the few good folks who listen carefully and patiently and are seemingly brought to a new awareness by my gentle explanations. They’re polite and they honestly revive part of my faith. Like the guy who opened his coffee order saying, “yes, miss,” and left the store tipping his hat to me saying, “thank you very much, sir.” God or whoever does things fucking bless that guy.

Then there’s the people who decide to look at my pin, and ask about it. So far, it’s either people who are just reading it aloud for the sake of it, and then becoming confused but not actually wanting to understand so much as they’re just desperate to make some kind of conversation with a Youth (which is wild because I’m 25??). They don’t actually care, so I don’t really put effort into explaining. They either cut me off mid-explanation, or listen and don’t say anything further. 

Then there’s the people who look at it and laugh at me. Or the woman who decided it was a good idea to read it, listen to my explanation, and say, “You know, my daughter tried to explain that to me. I just don’t get it. I think it’s silly and too complicated. People should just stick to the old ways.” Like... lady. What the fuck do you want me to do about it. Why the fuck do you think telling me this will make me happy or even... want to engage further. I straight up just don’t understand where these people get off. They’re just as rude and uninterested in me as a human being as the people who start rattling off their order and refuse to wait for me to get it all down before shoving their credit card at my face. They do not care. They do. Not. Care. And my patience is starting to wear extremely thin. 

I had a new coworker, who knows I’m trans, the other day stop mid-sentence to say, “Oh, you know, sister? Oh! Also, I call everyone ‘sis’, boys or girls.” “Not me, you don’t.” “...oh?” “You don’t call me that. Ever.” 

“ >:/ tch. Glad we got that out of the way.”

It’s not cute. I don’t think it’s endearing. I don’t think it’s funny. And I don’t give a shit if you call other people that. If you thought about it for five seconds you’d realize how insensitive and fucked up it is. If anyone, anywhere, I swear to god, just thought about ANYTHING for five fucking seconds... I wish... I hope, that they’d be better human beings than they are. 

Like, god, what a horrible inconvenience it is for you to have to stop and think about what to call another human being. To use their name. To use the right pronouns. To avoid nicknames or pet names that would be inappropriate for such a person. Heaven forbid you have to do that for anyone, right? Why am I different? Why are you trying to step on my toes and see if I’ll just sit here and take it? I know why. Everyone knows why. And I’m so sick of being the dog under the table who gets kicked every time it whines about having no escape or being surrounded by the feet of people sitting around the table. 

I don’t hate being trans. I don’t hate being pansexual. I don’t hate being poly. I don’t hate myself. I hate the people who hate me for being myself and intentionally or ignorantly go out of their way to make my life an extra level of hell Just Because They Can. , 

I have been bullied and abused all my fucking life by one kind of person or another and not a single excuse I’ve been given justifies it. Humans are better than this. I want to have faith in humans. And there are good humans; I surround myself with them. But if I have to pry yet another motherfucker’s eyes open to yet another goddamn social issue they were too thick-minded to notice, and then have them turn around and bless me and hail me for some kind of... Joan of Arc bullshit, calling my suffering and my existence some kind of blessing, like my life had to be this hard to spread words and messages across time and space to reach their Oh So Important Ears, I’m gonna choke. Or... even the people who mean well that just straight up make me think that they actually believe that the queer people in their lives are some sort of Manic Pixie Dream (gender) who’s come into their lives to teach them something new and advance their own character development. That’s what it fucking feels like! Being reduced to someone else’s educator and being placed as a Background Character in their own fucking Growth Arc. 

If there’s some sick destiny where I’m lined up to be some kind of flogged messenger to idiots for the rest of my life I want a motherfucking refund. Ship me off to the next incarnation. I don’t care if I come back as a ladybug for two days and die under somebody’s shoe. 

And I’m not somebody’s teacher. I’m not somebody’s martyr or savior. I’m not somebody’s free fucking Queer Almanac and Seasonal Guide to the Experiences of Not Their Own. I’m so fucking tired of explaining myself. 

I’m so fucking tired of People ™ But I also want to have so much faith in People ™ that I think I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. 

Sometimes people prove me wrong and it’s okay. Other times I write a several paragraph long rant at one in the morning. Fuck me honestly, just, fuck me and boy howdy do I wish I could pluck one or two things off my list of identities if only for the sake of not having to Explain Shit To People ™

And at the same time, I very clearly care about people. I want people to understand because fuck, I was there! I used to be some Jacked Levels of Crazy and I was hugely homophobic when i was a teenager. I look back on the way I used to be and I can’t feel proud of who I was and what I believed. I know a lot of it was internalized hatred and disgust. I know all of that shit now. But I see myself in some people and that’s the mistake I make sometimes. Most of the time, I’m fine; I help other folks learn something new and it’s good and I feel fine about it. I just hate feeling like other people assume it’s my motherfucking duty to tell them and speak on behalf of all non-cis, non-straight people everywhere. I sound like a goddamn Gender and Women’s Studies textbook. 

Fuck, I’m going to bed...