#but like genuinely people got so hostile so fast like good lord

[mcflyy-rules]

Mission Impossible 7 spoilers

Adding this:

Fun fact: I don’t like Ilsa. I’m not an Ilsa stan. I like the movies for other things than Ilsa. She’s actually my least favorite character (not of the whole franchise, but of the last few movies) don’t get me wrong, she’s badass, and she means a lot to Ethan, which is great. But like. I watched Mission: Impossible for Tom Cruise and because I was a HUGE fan of the original television series. Im less upset about Ethan’s choice and more upset that that was the way they decided to go with their storyline. In a perfect world, neither of them would’ve died, but Ilsa made her choice to save Grace. Good on her. Ethan deserves better than that, I think he and Ilsa would’ve made a good match. That’s what I’m getting at. I think killing her was unfair, I don’t want Ethan Hunt to have to make that choice and I don’t want him to be an awful person.

[megatontiddies]

Your fallout OC as a companion taken from @goovat ask meme except I'm using it as a writing prompt/ oc development? I guess? because I think it's cool and I'm bored and want to write it all anyways

Anywhompst this is for Alwine and since it's pretty long (like really long you've been warned) I'll throw 'er under the cut

What perk would they give the player?

Occam's Laser

While Alwine is an active companion the player gets +40% damage with laser weapons and +25% headshot accuracy in VATS with scoped laser weapons. One shot kills produce 2X the XP.

How do you recruit them? are there multiple methods?

After the player levels past level 10, or alternatively, upon finding Paladin Danses Recon team Alwine will be found as a new recruit for the BOS. Once the player does the first two repeat quests by Haylen and Rhys and The Lost Patrol quest begins she is available to assist the player in the mission. After the mission is complete she may offer to follow the player as a companion if the player has chosen the more diplomatic speech options with Brandis and Danse. If the player chose the more aggressive/ rude options while speaking with the two then it will require a small speech check in order to be a companion.

What raises and lowers their affinity?

Raises: Minutemen/ Helping Settlement quests, Stealing from wealthy NPCs, BOS quests up until BB, Helping Anyone, Honorable Actions, Amicable Dialogue Choices (for the most part)

Lowers: Murdering innocents, Stealing From Settlers/ Not Well Off NPCs, Unnecessarily Rude Dialogue Options

How do they react to certain things? what do they say? (eg. lockpicking, grabbing junk, killing?)

Lockpicking:

(nostalgic/ thinking to self out loud/ amused) " Really coulda used a trick like that when I got locked outta my house that one time..."

(humorous/ surprised) " And here I was ready to blow 'er open"

(thinking to self out loud/ amused) " Hell o' a lot quieter than kickn' er open"

Grabbing Junk:

(blanket statement/ flatly) "it's amazing what you can build outta junk"

(enthusiastic/ bubbly) "It might be radioactive but if ya render it down with a bit ah castor oil it makes a great paint for glow sights"

(humorous/ matter of factly) "I'd rather carry 40 pounds ah junk than fork up an arm and a leg to buy the same shit later from Crazy Myrna"

Player Overencumbered:

(genuine concern) "If ya keep pickin' shit up you'll slip a disc"

(teasing/ amused/ worried) "Jeeesus look at yah! You look like a pack brahmin!"

(teasing/ amused) "With yer pack so stuffed if ya fall on yer face you'll never get up again"

Murder:

[Alwine Hated That]

(angry/ surprised) "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

(angry/ confrontationally) "You better spit out a good reason for that and fast"

(angry/ bewildered) "Are you for real?"

notes: Alwines reaction to murder is exclusive to people she genuinely feels are innocent. She's comfortable with deaths she deems necessary (or if the person made themselves known as a pretty awful person).

Cannibalism:

[Alwine Disliked That]

(disgusted/ shocked) "oh? OH. Great, like there wasn't enough nightmare fuel out here"

(disgusted/ worried) "In't there, like, a brainworm or sumn' you can get from doin that?"

(disgusted but still attempting to be light hearted/ humorous) "Like it blue eh? I prefer mine rare... a lil less peopley too..."

Stealing in general:

[Alwine Disliked That]

(irritated) "Hope that wasn't somethin important"

(irritated) "Should I be sleeping with one eye open round you?"

(irritated) "Like people don't have enough shit to worry 'bout out here..."

Stealing/Pick Pocketing (but from wealthy/etc NPCs):

[Alwine Liked That]

(approving) "Lord knows they have more than nuff' to share"

(approving) "Doubt they'll even notice it's missing"

(approving/ musing aloud) "The unyielding greed and ignorance of the wealthy was the catalyst of Armageddon"

Pick Pocketing:

[Alwine Disliked That]

(surprised/irritated) "Why don't you spit in his eye while you're at it"

(irritated/ humorous) "I feel like I should put a cat bell on ya"

(irritated) ~audible scoff~ The player is likely being glowered at

Enemies Found:

(Shocked/ Excitably) "Y' ello!"

(loudly/ warning) "On yer flank!"

(loudly/ shocked) [weirdish sound presumably before lashing out a punch of hit of some form] " GWEHHK!"

Enemies Lost:

(quietly/ nervous) " shit... where'd you go you bastard"

(quietly/ nervous) " Lost 'em"

(quietly/ to self/ nervous) " I swear to lord if ya jump out at me..."

Enemies Killed:

(satisfied/ calmly) "good riddance to bad rubbish"

(loudly/ excitable) "Bingo!"

(quietly/ almost a whisper/ to self) [only if player is sneaking] "...bingo bango bongo..."

Player stops talking mid conversation:

(sympathetic/ lighthearted) "Sometimes I loose track of my thoughts too"

(genuine worry) "Ya good? Take yer time."

(humorous/ teasing) "Not a thought between those eyes is there?"

Player removes all garb:

(shocked but also amused/ between light laughs) "oh?"

(mindless banter/ avoidance) " This would probably be a good stun tactic if y'aint fraid of gettin yer tidbits shot"

(humorous/ almost scolding) "Y'aint invisible... just so ya know"

Player loots a corpse:

(plainly) "Any ammo?"

(joking/ light hearted) "Guess they won't be needing that anymore"

(statement/ plainly) "Grim business but you can find some good stuff sometimes."

Player starts swimming:

(plainly/ matter o factly) "Ain't no way I'm going in there"

(humorous but fear is present in voice) "If a big fish decides you look like lunch I ain't gonna be able to help ya"

(almost nostalgic/ sarcastic) "Yeah me and the brick tied for the swimming contest back in 63... I'll just stay on the shore"

Player jumps from high place:

(genuine concern) "ouch! you good?"

(soft yell/ concerned/ as if watching player fall) "aaAAaaa!?"

(oblivious to the player falling) "Where'd ya go?"

Do they periodically give the player items? what kind of items?

Bowls of various soups if player interacts between 5 and 9 PM. Every other time she'll give the player Fusion Cells.

Would they be able to do specialized task? (eg. repairs, hacking)

Not necessarily a task but if the player was to put various junk/ weapons in her inventory then she will periodically/ randomly mod them.

Would they be romancable?

Yeah probably? I think? In my AU she romances Paladin Danse but that would probably not be something that could happen as an NPC in Fallout 4 so??

If it were something like Mass Effect it would probably be like a Garrus/ Tali situation where if the player never romanced either characters then they would form a romance.

Do they have a unique outfit or weapon?

Alwine wears a black BOS jumpsuit for the first half of the game up until BB. After that she'll wear military fatigues. She'll wear the same over armor (BOS heavy armor) for both but after BB the BOS symbols are sanded off. It would be a unique unremovable armor set.

What would be their personal quest, if they have one?

This one is a bit weird since the player would be taking the role of the Sole Survivor. That being said I've always found that one empty cryo-chamber at the end of the vault hall interesting. There probably is a reason for that (like it just wasn't occupied or the occupant died before vault scientists had their spit) but for the sake of this AU/ prompt we'll say that she had a similar entrance to the vault as the sosu, bringing her babe into the vault and getting frozen with Kellogg snatchin both their children (this is lazy writing I know but I don't know how to write this without fundamentally changing her character). The only difference is that somehow maybe Alwine was released/ thawed earlier and got a bit of a head start. Because Alwine is no longer the sosu she wouldn't of encountered Preston at Concord and Codsworth likely either wouldn't of recognized her or simply acted like it was prewar and spoke to her only as if that was the same narrative giving her no sense to what was happening or how much time has elapsed. Alwine would of wandered out on her own and then stumbled onto Paladin Danses recon team and eventually got inducted in hopes of finding her child.

For her personal quest it would likely be trying to find evidence on what happened to her child. The quest would start with the player character going into the institute, and since companions can't follow the player there (minus X6), she would request that they find out what happened. After some digging the player will discover that Alwines child was killed in experimentation over 60 years ago in trials to make experimentation safer for 'father'. The player can bring this information back and Alwine will be devastated but grateful for the player finding this out for her. Despite being fairly amicable with the player she insists she needs time to grieve and that following the player is a cold reminder of the pain. Regardless of what the player says she parts ways with the player and goes back to the Prydwen and will idle there until the Liberty Reprimed quest where she will disappear from the map. Alwine will remain missing from the map until Blind Betrayal where she will be standing outside the bunker blocking Elder Maxon, as well as arguing with him, from entering the building. The player's choices will affect how Alwine responds.

- If the player executed Paladin Danse within the bunker then Alwine will become immediately hostile to the player. She will be forced to be killed by either the player or Maxon.

- If the player spares Danse then chooses to execute him when confronted by Maxon then Alwine will make it clear that she will not hesitate to become hostile to defend her friend. With a red speech check the player can convince her to stand down but she will be remorseful and refuse to follow the player afterwards and disappear off the map. Her body surrounded by a myriad of dead raiders will then be a random encounter while wandering the commonwealth. If the speech check is failed she will become hostile forcing the player, or Maxon, to execute her.

- If the player spares Danse then convinces Maxon to spare him then Alwine will express gratitude and her perk will become available. Unfortunately for Alwine her disobedience and willingness to become hostile towards the elder causes him to kick her out of the brotherhood. She will remain at the bunker with Danse until the player completes the quest and then upon the player returning Danse will disclose that she has gone to the Castle in order to join the Minutemen where she can be reobtained as a companion.

What are their opinions on certain factions? (eg. brotherhood, NCR)

Minutemen:

Genuinely believes that they have the best interests for the Commonwealth. Worries that they lack the men and firepower to take on the Institute or any other large faction that could pose a threat. This Worry is dissuaded after The Nuclear Option and her affirmation towards them only increases. With time, resources, and good leadership, Alwine believes they could become a major player even outside of the Commonwealth.

BOS:

At first is amazed by their technological advancements and firepower especially compared to the rest of the Commonwealth. The comradery is nostalgic and comforting for Alwine as it reminds her of her days in the US Military as a Power Armor Mechanic. After some time she realizes that they're a bit lost for direction grasping at straws for purpose and that their idea of "freeing the Commonwealth" might be misinformed well intention fueled by fear and dogma. When she was new to the commonwealth and didn't understand much about anything really the fearmongering and racism towards ghouls and synths were more tolerable (but still uncomfortable) it eventually become almost intolerable the longer she stayed and the more informed she became about the natures of both.

Railroad:

At first is weary of them. Alwine is careful around people who keep secrets and after spending so much time in the Brotherhood interacting with the Railroad pushes her hackles up. She does like how they work to help the synths, especially after BB, despite being mostly associated with the BOS. She becomes more comfortable after becoming more educated about synths, between the Railroad themselves informing her and the data collected by the player at the Institute itself, and eventually embraces the Railroad as a necessity after BB.

Gunners:

Heavily dislikes them. To her they're essentially just militarized raiders.

Institute:

Has a hate towards them that just strengthens over time. Their ignorance and misuse of technology is both a tragedy and crime. For the most part she pities them but strongly believes that their destruction is absolutely necessary.

Nuka World:

They're raiders so Alwine is pretty hostile towards them. Despite this their organization and brutality makes Alwine careful about making them enemies. If possible she would work to keep them out of the Commonwealth as much as possible or at the very least work to create some kind of truce of sorts to prevent a major confrontation (which would likely be devastating to both sides).

Atom Cats:

They remind her a lot of her friends prewar with the way they talk and their fondness for power armor. She likes them.

Children of Atom:

Alwine believes in freedom of belief as long as said belief does not infringe on the beliefs and freedoms of others. As long as they are respectful of herself and others she will act the same. Alwine is also a bit curious about them she would likely ask a bunch of questions if they allowed it. Other than that she would keep her distance, mostly due to the rads.

General voice lines? (in reaction to companion wheel selections)

Talk:

(friendly/ bubbly) "What's crackalacin"

(friendly/ inquisitive) "You okay?"

(spacy/ broken out of thought) "Hmm?"

Trade:

(friendly/ bubbly) "What's mine is yours"

(joking/ teasing) "finally got tired of carrying that junk eh?"

(joking within a genuine question) "Hey maybe I can carry the big guns instead of the junk for once....no? maybe?"

Follow:

(plain/ firm statement) "Got it"

(bubbly) "Comin!"

(bubbly/ softly) "Oke Doke"

Wait:

(plainly) "alrighty"

(plainly/ softly) "I'll just sit tight"

(masking nervousness through humor) "Don't leave me here too long... might forget what I'm waitin' for and wander off"

Where would you find them in the world?

She would be located at the Cambridge Police Station. Then later at the Castle.

Which game would they be from?

Fallout 4

Miscellaneous facts?

If the player puts alcohol in her inventory and the player gets 'drunk' she will match the player for drinks and her basic dialogue will be slurred for a short time after

Alwine will loot the entirety of corpses, clothes and all, when asked to loot bodies.

Alwine will periodically build weapon and armor mods which can be taken out of her inventory by the player

Alwine refuses to go in water and a hit box specifically for her prevents her from entering. This results in a glitch that has Alwine swimming in the air several feet above the water while the player is swimming.

If the player uses console commands to force Alwine into the water she will sink to the bottom similar to if she were wearing power armor. Note: This does not affect her health she will just idle at the waterbed.

[ugminseo]

MUN INFO

name/alias: aries age: 18+ pronouns: they/them timezone: cst, which i’m pretty sure is GMT-6 discord: moonlitsea#3705 little trivia fact about you: i’m currently taking a gap year which means i have way too much free time on my hands (but i’ll probably still be slow with replies rip)

CHARACTER INFO

character name: park minseo stage name: n/a age: 24 zodiac sign: capricorn group/band/position: pretty and boys, guitarist/songwriter info links or quick points about your character:

when she was about a year old, her mother left her and her dad to join a band and be with her secret lover. bc of this, her dad banned music inside the house and did his best to dissuade minseo from pursuing it (and look how well that turned out, lol). minseo doesn’t find out about any of this until she graduates high school.

is a staunch loner all throughout middle and high school. her only friend is a former musician turned store owner who teaches her how to play the guitar. it’s actually not as sad as it sounds. but the good thing about not having a social life is that it leaves her with more time to study.

applies to music school (*cough* k-arts *cough*) on a whim, gets accepted, dad finds out, essentially tells her she’s on her own from that point on, and permanently damages their already-strenuous relationship!

works all throughout school to pay for the expenses her scholarships don’t cover. discovers a lot about herself during this time (like the fact that she is a FLAMING pansexual with severe attachment issues), makes genuine connections with ppl her age for the first time in her life, and finally experiences true freedom. 

fast-forward to the present: she’s got a stable job writing at a popular music magazine. granted, she doesn’t get to choose what she writes about and her pieces are heavily edited before being published but, hey, it’s steady income. she’s also in the process of starting a podcast where she can talk about her music-related interests and opinions more candidly. 

still trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship with her dad, but it’s getting harder and harder by the day (she understands her mother more and more as well).

the band is still her number one priority as of right now, though. 

plots or any development you’d like to see for your character:

i see y’all like angst, so i am kindly asking you guys to break minseo’s heart. actually, i’d love some past loves for her. relationships that ended on godawful terms, relationships that simply faded over time, or relationships she still hasn’t quite moved on from. both platonic and romantic relationships are welcome!

alternatively, minseo’s safe havens. the people she seeks out when she’s on the verge of collapsing under the weight of everything going on in life. i’m talking platonic soulmates, members of her chosen family (and perhaps someone she’s a little too dependent on?)

@pab: hi cuties, i’m open to everything under the sun. 

@fka: give me all the hostility. i’ll give you minseo’s imposter syndrome and bottled up guilt. 

a roommate plot would be nice bc lord knows minseo will do anything to save money. hell yeah, let’s split that rent!

fake friends are always messy and fun esp bc minseo develops attachments in .2 seconds

this is a growing list, but if any of these tickle your pickle feel free to hmu

[aelaer]

Whumptober 10: Unconscious

This scenario has been written before and written better than this (a story by phierie immediately comes to mind) but I figured that people like two cakes more than one; even if this cake is subpar in comparison, it's still cake. And it fills three prompt fills for me, so hah. Let the people eat cake. For Whumptober Day 10, @badthingshappenbingo Outnumbered in a Fight, and @stephenstrangebingo Power With a Price. Cards at the end.

Not Endgame compliant because the year thing always screws me up. And too many dead heroes.

Fandom: MCU / Doctor Strange Characters: Stephen, Wong, Tony, Sam, Scott, Hope, and a guy from the tie-in comic book who's totally played by Rupert Graves here. Warnings: Nothing beyond your usual magical battlefield shenanigans.

——— 

It was during Stephen's first months in Kamar-Taj when he learned that if a being gave their word while in the presence of a certain sigil, they were bound by their oath. If they broke it, it genuinely would mean their destruction.

At the time, he knew the sigil worked with demonic entities, but had no idea if it worked with dimension-eaters composed of pure energy like Dormammu. Still, it became one of many spells that he practiced thousands of times while stuck in the time loop. After all, if he was going to make a bargain with the ruler of the Dark Dimension, he might as well try everything in his power to make it stick.

Luckily for him, the sigil seemed to work quite well with Dormammu, and the Dark Dimension remained away from their reality.

At least, until today.

The multiverse was a funny thing. For reasons that still remained unknown to Kamar-Taj, small rifts in the fabric of reality naturally appeared across the universe all the time. In the vacuum of space they repaired themselves all but instantly. On planets or moons with any sort of atmosphere, they lingered a bit longer; and on planets that had the same nitrogen- and oxygen-based atmosphere that supported carbon-based lifeforms, they could linger long enough to cause an issue.

According to a sorcerer about three hundred years ago that was especially fond of numbers, statistics, and probability, it was about a two percent chance of a naturally-occurring rift to grow large enough to need a sorcerer to manually close it. Of this two percent, there was a half-percent chance of a sentient being coming through the rift, and another ten percent of that half percent of that two percent that said sentient being would be hostile.

And that was just the type of day Stephen was having.

It turned out that one of Earth's natural rifts, located in The Middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire, had exploded in size overnight. It also turned out that it just so happened to be a rift to the Dark Dimension. If it weren't so obviously a natural rift, Stephen would suspect Dormammu's hand in its creation.

But Dormammu kept his part of the bargain and was nowhere near the rift. Unfortunately, it seemed he may have possibly found a loophole in the binding oath that kept him to its literal word, but allowed him to toe about its intended spirit.

After his first (and hopefully only) encounter with Dormammu, Stephen had taken the time to read more about what was known about the Dark Dimension; that's when he first heard about the Mindless Ones. Whether they were originally beings of a universe Dormammu had consumed or natural denizens of his dimension was unknown, but it turned out that they managed to survive in the Dark Dimension in a way that most life did not, to the point that they were potentially a nuisance to its lord. 

These Mindless Ones were named for what they were: from Earth's last encounter with them over four hundred years ago, they were described as golem-like creatures made of hard stone, about nine feet tall, lacking true sentience, seeming impervious to pain, and fully focused on destroying anything within their path. They were also described as having the ability to break a sorcerer's usual spells for shields and restraints, making them near impossible to contain and necessitating their destruction when they last came to Earth.

With how rapidly this rift had opened, Stephen suspected that while Dormammu had no hand in its creation, he very likely had drawn these Mindless Ones to it so that they might tear at it until they could slip through.

And Stephen was sure Dormammu was monitoring their progress from afar. Bastard.

With a dimensional rift such as this one, they could not conceal the battle within the Mirror Dimension, leaving them in the open fields of New Hampshire doing their best to cull the tide while making some headway into sealing the rift.

And their efforts weren't cutting it.

"We need to close the rift to have any hope of surviving this!" one of the masters shouted over the noise of battle.

"What do you think we're trying to do?" Master Grem of the London Sanctum shouted back. "We keep getting interrupted!"

Stephen had tried floating high above the Mindless Ones to work solely on sealing the rift, but it turned out that they had no issue tearing into the ground and throwing it up at him, both interrupting him and causing dangerous conditions for the other sorcerers present. So for now he worked painstakingly slow with Grem in between attacks their way even as the others did what they could to shield them when their usual shields were all but useless.

"Looks like we have reinforcements," Wong said.

Stephen looked up and he saw Iron Man and the Falcon fly in. He quickly took out the communicator the Avengers had given him a while back and jammed it into his ear. "Who's here?"

"Me, Wilson, Lang, van Dyne," Tony cited as he blasted one of creatures. It faltered, but remained upright.

"What are these things?" Scott asked.

"Mindless Ones," Stephen managed before he needed to fully concentrate to repel two of them so they did not end up smashing him into the ground. When he caught a break, he could see the four of them already in the thick of it. "Not from around here."

"Figured out that much, Doc!" Sam retorted through the earpiece.

"We don't want them getting beyond us," the sorcerer added as he avoided another one. "And they're getting harder to contain."

"I'll scout the perimeter, make sure none of them got loose," Hope said.

Even with the addition of the four Avengers, which helped cull their numbers to keep the fight manageable, the rift was ever growing and both he and Grem were unable to concentrate long enough to get any sort of meaningful process with closing it. And with every passing minute it grew larger and the number of Mindless Ones coming at a time steadily grew.

This needed to end, now. And he had a theory as how to accomplish that, but it was not something he had ever had the chance to try before.

Now was as good a time as any.

"Tony, Sam, I need you to cover me," he said as he began to ascend.

"Copy," Sam answered.

"Got it," said Tony. "Do they have projectiles?" The two of them were entirely too fast for the Mindless Ones to properly see in the sky, never mind throw things at.

Stephen, however, would be a sitting duck. He flew up to the largest part of the rift, answering, "If the ground counts as one, then yes." He then blocked out the rest of the world about him and concentrated.

Sorcerers gained their powers from other realities and planes of existence within the multiverse. These powers varied in both the strength they gave the sorcerer and the strain they placed upon their body, but generally speaking, the greater the source of power, the more it demanded upon the physical form. This cosmic balancing act made it so only those with the most determination and willpower could draw upon the most powerful of magics.

And Stephen was as stubborn as they came.

Drawing power from the Dark Dimension was considered foolhardy at its best and breaking natural law at its worst due to both what it did to the human body in the long term and the very dangerous possibility of giving Dormammu a gateway into their dimension. The Ancient One was powerful enough to block any of his attempts, while Kaecilius and his followers were, of course, attempting to prop the gates wide open. Neither of them, however, had ever considered one-time use directly from the source.

And he had the source staring right back at him. So he set himself to gather power from the multidimensional energy about them and began to pull from the direction of the rift.

At first, it didn't hurt; it was rather uncomfortable, if he had to place a word on it, like putting on clothing one or two sizes too small. More importantly, as he began to weave the energies of the Dark Dimension upon the edges of the rift to close it, it held much longer than their attempts before. But in order to close it fast enough against the Mindless Ones' constant damage, he had to increase the rate he drew in power and quicken his spell by threefold, at the least.

So he did. And as he continued to draw in more and more energy, he completely lost sight of the world about him. The uncomfortable feeling turned into a tighter and more painful sensation, but Stephen was well used to pain and knew how to endure it for necessity's sake. He pressed on, keeping a tight hold of the spell and refusing to let go as he kept the flow of energy continuous.

He started drawing upon the Cloak's innate magic as his began to falter; they were nearing the largest part of the rift and the Mindless Ones were tearing at its walls and fighting back. This was not a fight that could be won via endurance, not against their endless numbers; it had to be closed now. With that thought, Stephen drew upon the depths of his own inner power, supported by the Cloak's magic, and sucked the multidimensional energy out of the air in one last great spell to seal the rift in one swift move, to seal it more like a zipper than the stitching he was performing before.

The pain was excruciating. Stephen's vision went dark and he felt the rush of air about him as he passed out.

———— 

"What the hell is Strange doing?" Grem asked after destroying another Mindless One. There seemed to be no end to them.

Wong frowned. "Likely something ill-advised. It seems he at least has some cover from the Avengers." They could not dedicate a sorcerer to just serve a helping shield for Stephen; there were still too many on the ground and not enough sorcerers to defend someone in that position.

"I guess that's an improvement for him!" the other master retorted, then threw himself back into the fray.

Above, Tony blasted a projectile of rocky ground into smithereens before it could hit Stephen. He frowned at the sorcerer who, from what he could see, wasn't actually doing anything but a few gestures. "Whatever you're trying to do, you better hurry it up," he mumbled to himself.

A few minutes later, Scott said over the comm, "I think the rift's shrinking!"

Tony turned to look and he was too close to get a good eye on it. "What do you think, Sam?"

"I think Scott's right; it's starting to get smaller."

"It needs to shrink a bit faster if we want to stop these things!" Hope said, and Tony couldn't help but agree as he blasted another two of them several times until they finally crumbled. These guys were tough and even he was starting to lose firepower. And from what he could see, the people on the ground could only last for so long.

Another couple minutes of fighting passed before something that sounded like the world's loudest suction cup echoed through the area. As the sound ended, the only Mindless Ones in sight were the ones still on Earth's ground; the rift to the Dark Dimension was sealed closed.

And Stephen was falling from the sky.

"Shit!" Tony said as he raced towards him, but he was too far— 

Sam swooped in and caught him at about fifty feet. He grunted over the comm, but managed a, "Got him."

"Is he okay?" Scott asked.

"He's breathing. No idea what's up with the cloak, though."

"Less talking, more finishing these things off!" Hope interrupted them, and she was right; there were still plenty of these alien rock things on the ground that needed to be killed, so Tony covered Sam and Stephen as he blasted the so-called Mindless Ones from his place in the air.

Some fifteen minutes later, the last of the Mindless Ones were dead and Tony descended with Sam, Stephen still unconscious within his arms. He carefully set the sorcerer down as several of the other sorcerers either hurried or outright portalled across the battlefield to them.

"He's alive," Sam said to them. "I didn't see anything hit him, so I'm not sure why he's out."

"That's what happens when you draw in too much power at once," Wong said as he kneeled beside Stephen, quickly writing a few runes over him. "It takes its toll upon the body. And for this one he drew from both his own body and the Cloak's magic to harness great dimensional power."

Scott's brow furrowed. "Is he gonna be okay?"

The sorcerers did not immediately answer, instead watching the symbols over his body as they slowly changed shape, but eventually one of the shifts in the symbols made Grem sigh in clear relief.

Wong's expression didn't change, but his shoulders relaxed. "It appears so. He's just exhausted himself. I don't expect him to wake up for a few hours."

"The cloak, too?" Hope asked, eyeing the red garment with a not-very-well-hidden concern.

"The cloak will recover faster," he answered, and her own stance relaxed in relief.

Tony peered Stephen over. "Does he need any medical aid? Compound's not too far away, especially with the quinjet."

Wong shook his head. "As I said, he's just exhausted himself. Thank you for the offer, though. We'll take it from here."

"Thanks for the hand, too," Grem added. "The rest'll never admit it, but it helped." The Avengers looked amused at the comment.

"Glad we were in the neighborhood," Sam said. "And tell the Doc to take better care of himself. He's a doctor and supposed to be setting a good example."

Grem snorted. "Yeah, we'll see about that." He opened up a portal to Kamar-Taj and Wong floated Stephen's body through. By the time they had closed the portal behind them, the Avengers realized that the rest of the sorcerers around them had made very quick work of disposing of the remains of the Mindless Ones and had also departed, leaving the four of them alone. If it weren't for the upturned dirt and large holes in the ground, it would appear that nothing had even happened there.

"I don't really like magic," Sam said.

"Yeah, it sucks," Tony agreed.

Scott shook his head. "You guys are definitely just jealous of them."

"What?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Methinks the gentlemen do protest too much," Hope quipped.

"Absolutely ridiculous." They continued their good-natured banter as they made their way back to the quinjet.

————

((Ehhhhh definitely not my favorite piece I’ve ever written but three prompt fills so there ya go. Sadly was unable to fit in a pun about the other title the Mindless Ones have earned themselves in the comics, 'Black Hole Sons', into the story. You know, with the big hole in the sky. And also the song. Yeah. Oh well.

Also, this is my 15th fill for Stephen Strange Bingo and I still don’t have an actual bingo because my muses clearly hate me.))

[waterlilyvioletfog]

Lyanna Was Fond of Flowers- A Meta on Lyanna, the Tourney of Harrenhal, Consent, the Tower of Joy, and Finally, Roses

[@nobodysuspectsthebutterfly um here? A gift? This is as good as I can write it right now. Please tell me if I did alright!] 

Lyanna Stark was sixteen years old when she died. I don’t think I can stress this enough: Lyanna Stark was not old enough to order a fucking pillow pet when she died. There, that’s as bluntly as I can put it. You got that? She was not old enough to dial a phone number and ask for an as-seen-on-TV stuffed animal. That’s how young she was. 

With this firmly in the front of our thoughts, let us proceed into the depths of the tangled woman-child best known as Lyanna Stark. Don’t worry, It’s better under the cut.

Rhaegar Targaryen, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms rode up to Lyanna Stark, the daughter of a Great Lord, at the Tourney of Harrenhal, 281 AC. The greatest tourney of its time, with prizes several times what was offered by Tywin Lannister at the Lannisport tourney of 276, this was a Big Fucking Deal. Hundreds of people flocked to Harrenhal. Hundreds of people were in attendance to this moment, a moment that would go down in history like Paris gifting the apple to Aphrodite. This is the moment, Westerosi historians will all agree, that e v e r y t h i n g changed. Picture it if you would- a lovely April afternoon, bright banners in every color imaginable, hundreds of strangers packed into the stands to watch the jousting, like some medieval superbowl. Picture a man more beautiful than anything, with streaming silver hair, ride up on his white horse towards a pretty young girl. 

It looks like a song, doesn’t it? The prelude to a grand Opus, the prelude to a master gardener’s final work, his last best hope of making a ripple in history. You see that too? Good. That means that you understand some level of the context this story is in. 

It all looks like a song to Lyanna, too. The prologue to a love story. Her love story. She’s fourteen years old, and this is a man she met only a few days ago under the silent gaze of a tree and maybe a few men in white cloaks. The Crown Prince extends a crown of flowers in her direction, a crown of blue roses, winter roses, her very favorite sort of flower. We’ve drawn this moment half a hundred times before. There’s always someone just out of frame of the painting though, someone just out of sight. 

A woman. Another woman. The first woman. Princess Elia Martell of Dorne. Now Princess Elia Targaryen of Dragonstone. Her daughter is at home, her son a bun in an oven, if even that. We can’t quite see her expression: is it rage, is it hurt, is it guilt, is it disappointment? Perhaps it is fear. I’ve heard people say that they could feel the weight of a moment, that they could feel the strings of fate tightening inextricably around them- perhaps Elia could feel them too, could see the eventual carnage and destruction, perhaps she could see her children’s blood upon the walls of her home, perhaps she could hear her own screams. We’ll never know, I suppose. The painter has blurred out the faces of everyone except for the prince and the maiden. Don’t be fooled: he wants you to forget about everything but the song for the moment. Don’t forget Elia Martell, who walked among vipers and was unbitten. 

There’s someone else in the painting, too. There, lurking in the shadows, is our future king. Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End, a hulking blue-eyed brute. He’s nineteen and his betrothed has just been handed a flower crown by a gorgeous man. He’s nineteen and his future wife just received a declaration of love from a married man. Can you see him, our Menelaus? I know he can be hard to see; I didn’t see him either, in the beginning.  

Lyanna accepts the flowers. She can’t very well tell him to go away and give them to Elia, can she? 

The smiles have died. The party is at an end. Our players return, like birds, to their nests.

Fast forward another year. It is 282 AC. Aegon VI Targaryen has been born, and Princess Elia Martell, it is revealed, will not be able to give birth to any more children. Rhaegar is faced with a dilemma: he believes that in order to save the world, he must have a son and two daughters. He has two of the three children, but still he needs his Visenya. His wife cannot give him his Visenya, but she must still be born. Can you see it? Can you see the Silver Prince brood as he plays his high harp? Can you hear his self-absorbed sighs of torment? 

Lyanna Stark is in the Riverlands. Why, we can’t be sure. It most likely is because her brother Brandon is getting married in a few weeks, but who knows? Lyanna is further south than that, on the grounds of Harrenhal. Perhaps she and the Prince arranged this; how else could he have known where to find her? If so, who contacted whom? And why? Perhaps it started out as something innocent, a maintenance of a friendship formed under the gaze of a tree. Perhaps it turned into laughter, and teasing, and flirting. Perhaps it turned into something not-so-innocent as Lyanna confessed that she didn’t want to marry Robert. Perhaps there were murmurs of sympathy from a pretty prince, because he hadn’t particularly wanted to marry his wife either. 

Perhaps there was a promise to a fifteen year old girl that she didn’t have to marry a drunken man-whore if she came to meet him at Harrenhal in a month. He would protect her, squirrel her away not far from his family home of Summerhall. She could live there for the rest of her days, or at least until he could remarry again. And the fifteen year old believes him, because he’s the Crown Prince and she knows that he can make all these things happen. She believes him, because she has faith that she is in a love song. Lyanna believes him, because beautiful people never lie. 

And if, for an instant, she feels a moment of doubt, this is what she realizes: she has been carrying on an emotional affair with a married man for a year. Her reputation would be ruined if anyone found out. If she refuses him, he could ruin her, he could burn her alive, he could tell his father that SHE was the Knight of the Laughing Tree and watch as she gets dragged to the pyre. And perhaps- perhaps- she has already lost her maidenhead to this Silver Prince because no one really knows what happened at Harrenhal. 

Can you see it? Picture her, if you would, the painting of a fifteen year old girl, with a long face and infinite grey eyes full of songs. Picture her, biting her lip, agonizing over her decision: does she stay or go? 

She goes. She goes alone, without telling anyone where she’s going, because then they could find her, then they could stop her. Lyanna’s watched Downton Abbey, she knows better than to leave a note. 

(But maybe, ponders a butterfly, maybe she did write a note, and maybe it was sent and maybe a three-eyed crow in the far, untouchable North, stopped the letter from going where it was supposed to go. The saviors, after all, could never be born if that letter reached where it had been sent.) 

And so Lyanna Stark disappears for a year and a half to the Tower of Joy.  

Little is known about what went on in the Tower of Joy. We don’t know when they got there, we don’t know if Rhaegar raped Lyanna, we don’t know if she knew about Brandon and Rickard, we don’t know if she tried to escape, we don’t know whether she was happy there, we don’t know if Rhaegar genuinely cared about her. We do know that Rhaegar and Lyanna had sexual intercourse at least once. We do know that Rhaegar left at some point. We do know that the Kingsguard stopped Eddard Stark and his men from entering the tower as Lyanna screamed for them. We do know that she knew about Rhaegar’s death at the Trident and the Sack of King’s Landing and the fate of her son’s half-siblings. We do know that Rhaegar left her in hostile territory, 15-16 years old and pregnant, with only a wetnurse to help her through the birth itself. 

Lyanna Stark dies in a bed of her own blood, in her brother’s arms, begging him for the life of her child, clutching desperately to the dead petals of long withered winter roses. Lyanna Stark, sixteen years old, dies. Lyanna’s bones are brought back to Winterfell, and so is her son. And we know what happens next.  

Can’t you see her, lying there? Don’t you see the bed with its pale sheets, and a gaunt young woman sweating and bleeding her life out onto them? Can’t you smell the metal tang of blood and the salt of sweat and tears? Can’t you hear Ned Stark’s sobs, his terrified promises, the squalling of a newborn, the murmuring of a wetnurse by the name of Wylla? Can’t you feel the tension, as Wylla, Howland, and Ned decide upon what’s to be done? Can’t you hear the last strains of Lyanna Stark’s song:

Lyanna, your song is the song of girls everywhere. You did not do everything right, but you didn’t do anything wrong. You trusted a man you shouldn’t have trusted, and now you lie dead in your bed. Oh Lyanna, oh Lyanna, willful and beautiful and dead. 

Can’t you smell the roses? 

The gardener cackles as our hearts plummet into our stomachs and the orchestra falls silent. Lyanna, prelude to all, with a prologue of flower crowns and an epilogue of dead rose petals, it is fitting that you were fond of flowers.

[charliejrogers]

Paddington (2014)

Sometimes you watch a movie and want to be challenged. You want your head to explode. You want to get lost in a world of plot twists and double-crosses. Other times you don’t. TV more often than movies fills the role of comfort food for people looking for passive media, but let’s all take a moment to recognize the power of a good comfort movie. Sometimes your comfort movie is that dumb rom-com you’ve seen 1000 times, other times a mindless action movie of good vs. evil. Many comic book movies certainly can fall into this camp, but really any series like Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings can become comfort food whenever those fans begin to think of the characters more like old friends than avatars on a screen. And never is that more true than when a childhood friends makes their way onto the big screen.

I don’t believe I have ever read (or has someone read to me) a Paddington book. In fact, after writing that sentence I had to Google whether Paddington was a series or a single book. I’m not from the U.K. so please excuse my ignorance. It’s not that people in America don’t know Paddington he’s just not as popular here as he is across the pond. Therefore when this hit theater six years ago and I heard critics rave about it, I didn’t get it. Christ, it was even nominated for the best British film at the BAFTAs in 2015. There was Paddington, a family movie about a walking, talking bear, right next a serious drama about Stephen Hawking (The Theory of Everything) and the very adult ScarJo sci-fi film Under the Skin. Plus, think also I was at an age where I was “too cool” for kid’s stuff. I was in college, so why watch a movie that could make you happy when you could watch something that could project to others how smart you thought you were. All of this is to say that, I went into this movie without the advantage of nostalgia, something I suspected might have been boosting audiences’ and critics’ scores.

Paddington from director Paul King tells the story of one unnamed Peruvian bear who is among the last of his kind. What makes this particular species of bear so special is their uniquely high intelligence. The film starts with a black-and-white film reel documenting the journeys of the explorer who was the first among men to stumble upon this particular subset of bear, sometimes back in the early 1900s. The explorer first instinct is to hunt and kill the bear to bring back to a British museum, but he is eventually won over by the sheer intelligence of the bears. They are already master builders and have developed unique, modern-looking housing structures when the explorer first finds them, but quickly he discovers they can understand English,  can even reproduce it to some extent, and are adept at new technologies. The explorer leaves them with a phonograph and a record of him talking about how to be a proper gentleperson in London.

Fast forward some hundred years, and the original two bears the explorer essentially perfected their understanding of English based off the explorer’s record. They also know quite a bit about early 20th-century etiquette and about a hundred different ways to tell fellow Londoners that it is raining outside. And though now aged and frail, they have passed much of this knowledge onto their young nephew whose character can be summed up by the following four traits: 1) undying love for his aunt and uncle who raise him 2) utmost and strict adherence to etiquette 3) deep desire to belong to a home 4) obsession with marmelaide.

All four of those things turn out to be of vital importance when disaster strikes his home in Peru and he is forced by his aunt to seek a new home in the only other place they know: London! With only his uncle’s hat and a marmelaide sandwich on his head, the bear stows away on a freighter to London. He heads to the nearest train station as he has heard stories about how during WWI, orphaned children would show up to train stations wearing certain necklaces to signify their need for a home. The bear does just that, but the world of 1914 is very much different from the world of 2014. People don’t so much as look at the bear. If they do, they assume he’s a poor beggar, vendor of cheap goods, or just a plain con-artist. They’re too busy rushing this way and that. “In the age of technology, Britain has lost its way” the film seems to suggest. Or, more cynically, it seems to make a comment (albeit) on xenophobia and Britain’s lack of openness to immigrants, especially prominent given the distinctly colonial feel of the explorer’s documentary and his attitudes towards these “primitive” creatures.

Except, of course, this is a light-hearted family film. A fantasy film at that. For example, no one is freaked the fuck out like they would in real life by a talking bear roaming around a major metropolitan area, in some cases doing serios damage (albeit accidentally) to various property throughout town. E.T. this is not, so there’s no plotline of the government trying to snatch him up for research purposes, nor does this apparently talk place in our reality where the bear would become an instant viral internet star.

Instead, as a family film, the movie mostly focuses on the idea of “family.” The bear is eventually approached by Mary Brown (Sally Hawkins), the matriarch of the Brown family who are a well-off family who live in a cozy townhouse in a quaint London neighborhood. Mary is more empathetic to the bear’s plight than her ill-tempered husband Henry (Hugh Bonneville) who is a risk analyst who sees the bear for what he is: a risk! Still, he begrudgingly agrees to let the bear, who names himself Paddington, stay with them for one night, but then he’s off to the orphanage  institution for young souls whose parents have sadly passed on.

Mr. Brown’s not wrong about Paddington (voiced by Ben Whishaw) too. Despite his undeniably genuine nature and complete absence of my ill-will, he’s a natural klutz. His childlike innocence and curiosity finds him tinkering with things that just ought not to be tinkered leading to a movie defined by its many great misadventurous set pieces, such as when Paddington accidentally floods the Brown’s bathroom to when a pickpocket accidentally drops a wallet that he stole and Paddington begins chasing him around London in grand fashion, not understanding why the thief doesn’t want his wallet back.

More than anything, though, Mr. Brown’s hostility towards Paddington stems more from his concern for his children, specifically that his son Jonathan (Samuel Joslin) will end up being hurt either as a direct result of Paddington’s activities or will simply try more daring things inspired by Paddington’s free-wheeling and wild spirit.

What I love about the character of Mr. Brown, who truly seems to be the secondary character after the titular bear, is the way he is a true character and not a one-dimensional rule-follower. The way the film (comically) demonstrates that Henry Brown was not always Mr. Brown, but was a motorcycle-riding Wildman who was suddenly and permanently changed by fatherhood makes him an incredibly relatable character, and grounds this silly cartoon in something of a reality.

Less can be said about Mary Brown. Sally Hawkins does a wonderful job portraying her seemingly boundless kindness and love, but ultimately there’s not more to her character than just being nice and kind. Her only story arc revolves her relationship with the Browns’ daughter Judy (Madeleine Harris) who is a stereotypically moody teen who doesn’t want to introduce her boyfriend to her Mom because, as Paddington puts it, “she suffers from a terrible disease called embarrassment.”

But no one’s watching this movie to watch the Browns or learn about their characters. It’s nice that Mr.’s character is so well-established as it makes his little sacrifices and gestures to try to help Paddington so satisfying. One second he was pushing to get Paddington out of his home, the next he’s in a dress breaking into an archives to learn more about the explorer who originally visited Paddington’s aunt and uncle one hundred years prior.

This little detour to the archives relates to one of the two other sub-plots to the film. The first is how Paddington’s quest to find a new home (since Mr. Brown refuses to let him stay with his family forever) leads him to want to find the explorer (or at least the explorer’s family) since he figures they of all people would love to take in as family a bear whom their father had so loved. The second subplot (and the more hackneyed and boring plot) deals with Nicole Kidman’s Millicent, a deranged, taxidermist employee of London’s Natural History who has a nasty side hobby and collecting (and stuffing) rare animals. She hears rumors of a talking bear, she starts to hunt him. Kidman actually does a very good job leading a cartoonish seriousness to the role, but just the whole subplot feels very perfunctory, like the studio was afraid no one would want to watch a movie that didn’t have a clear bad guy. Add in a sub-plot to this sub-plot where the Browns’ sad-sack neighbor Mr. Curry (Peter Capaldi) teams up with Millicent in the hopes of being her lover, and you got my least favorite part of this movie.

Taking away the villain plot would deny the Browns the opportunity to rescue their little friend from the jaws of danger, and prevent me from seeing that tear-jerking display of love with which the film ends, so I suppose it’s worth it. With snow falling around them and love in the air, Paddington with its focus on the importance of family, is almost a Christmas movie, or at the least is a perfect movie for the holiday season.

It’s also funny for all ages. I can imagine sitting in a theater with children and hearing the little cackles of children as Paddington fights a shower head using a toilet seat lid as shield and toilet brush as sword. The film does not go for easy jokes. Its physical comedy is often elaborate, and there are plenty of jokes meant for the adults in the room that aren’t necessarily sexual in nature. For example, the Browns’ daughter is learning Chinese “for business,” which means she’s learning phrases such as “How do I get to the business center?” and “I’m being investigated for tax fraud.” But more than anything, it’s a distinctly British film in its humor, favoring throw-away lines and sight-gags over fart jokes. One of my favorites in the idea that Millicent’s office is full of taxidermied heads of exotic animals, and when she walks into her workshop on the other side of the wall, we see all the rear-ends of these same animals. Another pitch perfect moment is when a downtrodden Paddington finds himself at Buckingham Palace and having revealed the sandwich he keeps under his hat for emergencies, we find out what things the Queen’s Guard keeps under their Bearskins. It’s silly and ridiculous in a way perfect for a kid’s film.

I also love how the film gives us a view of the world through Paddington’s eyes, and I give much credit to the film’s director Paul King for translating for us through film Paddington’s essential innocence. Twice, once towards the beginning, and once at the end, the film presents us with a toy-house that is an exact replica of the Brown’s home and we can actually see the Browns walking about and interacting in this odd meta-moment as Paddington narrates their goings on and provides his interpretation of what is happening. It lends an air of frivolity to our lives. Yes, the world is sad an hard, but for those innocents, the children, it’s a world of wonder and curiosity, a dollhouse in which anything is possible.

In the end, this movie is damn near perfect comfort food. It’s family focus creates a heart-warming tale that helps tries to inspire us that, despite our splintered isolated world, the world can be a place of love and welcoming. I wish the villain weren’t such a drag, but I am happy to report that despite not having any contact with Mr. Paddington in my life previously, I fell in love with his character almost instantly and am very happy to count him among my cinematic friends and follow him on any of his next adventures.

*** 1/4 (Three and one fourth stars out of four)

[theatrekidgerardway]

Hey y'all! I did this bit of creative writing for an online workshop and ended up really enjoying it!

---

When Charlie first met Patrick D’Souza in the tenth grade, the first thing he thought was, “No wonder he doesn’t have any friends.” D’Souza was always hesitant; he had this pained look on his face like he was dying to correct you about something but knew a million reasons why he shouldn’t. When he spoke, which wasn’t that often, he was terse. His words were sharp like a knife and he spoke like he knew better than you. Though, knowing D’Souza, this wasn’t exactly inaccurate. He always had his nose in a book, but not some Harry Potter novel or something, it was usually something about economics and it was usually thicker than the school textbooks. D’Souza never ate in the cafeteria, always preferring the company of a teacher over, what he referred to as the “mind-numbingly idiotic conversations of arrogant teenagers- or even worse, the self-deprecating ones.” He wasn’t self-deprecating. In fact, most of his peers would classify him as arrogant. However, no one really picked on him or befriended him, few even spoke to him. At first, teachers thought it was because he was black, despite the diversity of the school, and considered reaching out to his parents. But, after close observation, they realized it was just because he got into a debate with anyone who ever tried to start a conversation with them, and students just got tired of him. Charlie didn’t really care about the hostility, however, and struck up conversation with Patrick on multiple occasions. He didn’t like D’Souza all that much, didn’t pity him either. He was just curious. D’Souza never seemed like he was paying attention in class. He looked like he was focused on something better but still managed to get straight A’s the entire time, though every teacher mentioned something about his lack of social skills in class during parent-teacher conferences and on report cards. Eventually, they realized their efforts were futile. At least, until Charlie Cambell started showing up at lunch in their classrooms.

-

When Charlie thinks of Patrick D’Souza, he thinks of muffled snickers and judgemental snorts of laughter behind his sleeve. He thinks of long rants about how useless their shared physics teacher was while sitting on the empty bleachers at the high school long after dark. He thinks of the crackle of popcorn in the microwave and the soft melodies that Patrick played on the piano for him all those years ago. He thinks of loud delirious laughter derived from a moment that they couldn’t have recalled, but it didn’t stop their sides from aching as they sat together and talked about nothing.

Sometimes, he wonders what life would’ve been like if they had stayed in touch. If it would’ve been different, better. He thinks about graduation. The way that he was blind to how soon it would be until they had to go their separate ways, how fast it all happened. Charlie thinks life would be a hell of a lot worse if he still knew Patrick D’Souza, but that doesn’t stop him from combing through his yearbook to see if he was smart enough to write his phone number down. He wonders if this is how most people feel when they end up back in their childhood bedroom. If they feel this aching nostalgia for the worst years of their life. He hopes to God that they do; he’d hate to be torn up over someone like Patrick goddamn D’Souza.

Charlie closes his eyes and tries to think about anything else. He lets everything wash over him: the shuffles and conversation of family and people downstairs; the creaky floorboard on the staircase that prevented him from ever sneaking out of the house through the front door; the familiar buzz of the boiler that always kept him up at night, and caused him to frequently roll out of his window and bike to Patrick’s house. He thinks if high school was supposed to be the worst years of his life, he did pretty okay. Charlie sighs and looks down at the ten digits screaming up at him in neon green gel pen from the slick, mostly blank pages, of the signature page. He tells himself that he is perfectly calm and puts the new-old contact into his phone.

Five hours and a lot of contemplation later, he shoots off a single text. Hey. Simple, slightly pathetic, but still simple. Stupid, he belatedly realizes, when he gets a response. Who is this? Bracing himself for a whole lot of feelings, he types out: Charlie Cambell, from high school. I’m in town, visiting family. You wanna meet up? He holds his breath for no particular reason, and his heartbeat spikes with every movement those ominous three dots make before he gets a reply.

Sure.

-

When Charlie sat down with Patrick D’Souza eleven years after graduation at a coffee shop in Queens, he thought his once-best friend had been replaced by a clone. For one thing, the guy wasn’t drinking the disgusting ‘black coffee, no sugar, no cream, thank you very much’ that he ordered almost constantly when he was at the ripe age of seventeen. Instead, he had ordered, and this nearly gave Charlie a heart attack, because D’Souza ordered a goddamn pumpkin spice latte. The same drink that he claimed to abhor years before he was enjoying with gusto while sitting right in front of Charlie. But the most astonishing thing about Patrick D’Souza, besides the fact that he’d managed to maintain small talk with Charlie without bringing up politics, was his job.

“I’m a therapist.” Charlie gaped at him. The least empathetic, possibly most arrogant person he had ever met (and Charlie was friends with some absolute jackasses when he was a teen), with his hoity-toity books and his constant corrections of how you’re supposed to live your life, spent his adult years helping other people.

Finally, Charlie replied, “You’re joking, right?” Patrick laughed in response. Charlie listened to the sound; it’s so different from the subdued giggles of high school. This — this was an actual laugh. Loud and boisterous and a little embarrassing, but he looks at Patrick D’Souza and his wide grin and the telling flush barely visible on his dark cheeks but visible nonetheless and wonders why he didn’t stay friends with this guy after high school. Then, he remembers high school and realizes there were many good reasons for that.

“Well, I don’t blame you for saying that. I was kind of awful as a teenager.” Patrick winced.

“Kind of? You were a goddamn fool. I’d know, I was the one who had to deal with you every day for three years straight.”

“And whose fault is that? You could’ve left me alone anytime you wanted. Jesus, I don’t know why you even spoke to me, to begin with.” Patrick sipped his coffee and stared off into space; he looked like he’s pondering the universe, but Charlie would be unsurprised if he was actually thinking about food. He lets the silence stretch on for a few minutes before answering the implied question.

“For the record, I befriended you because I couldn’t dissect you like I could with the rest of the student body, and decided that was awful.” Patrick raised his eyebrows.

“Gee thanks,” Patrick took another gulp of his latte, “I guess I should be glad it wasn’t out of pity? I genuinely don’t know how to respond to this.” He looked a little bitter, but his voice was light enough that Charlie knew he hadn’t pressed any nerves.

“Kind of a dick move, but I was sixteen, and most sixteen-year-old boys make decisions that are made up exclusively of dick moves, so I don’t feel too bad about it.” Patrick snorted mid-drink, splashing a little coffee. Charlie grinned.

“Hmm, nice to know little has changed since I last saw you then.”

“Excuse you, I happen to be a charming young man. My nan told me so herself,” Charlie stated proudly with a playful smirk.

“Oh, Old Lady Cambell? Lord, I hope her dementia hasn’t let her believe her grandson is anyone other than the little shit he truly is. Please, I’ve met your grandmother; the only person who’s more aware of how awful you can be is, well, me,” Patrick replied, an easy smile on his face.

“Yes, I suppose you did have a front-row seat to the shit-show that was my personality in high school. I’d like to think that I wasn’t as bad as my mom says, but something tells me I was worse.”

“It’s me. I’m something. I’m telling you, you were worse.”

“Piss off,” Charlie exclaimed with a smile. “You can’t pretend like you were an angel back then, though. Judgemental idiot with dreams of being on Wall Street. Look at you now, drinking coffee at a Starbucks and reminiscing with old friends from school. Something tells me your younger self would be appalled at what you’ve become. What happened to that, anyway? The business, I mean,” Charlie asked, leaning forward in his seat. Patrick’s wide smile dimmed into a thin line. His eyes grew clouded and far away as he stared down intensely at his cup, brows furrowed and voice quiet.

“Um, sophomore year of college. My dad passed; car crash, drunk driver, you can put the pieces together. I took over for a few months, but years, and I mean years of preparation — ” His voice cracked a little. “I was in love with the idea, but only the idea. I memorized the information, I didn’t understand how hard it would be. I ended up signing it off to my uncle, and going back to an undeclared major my junior year.” Patrick paused with a sigh, and Charlie glanced up at him. 

The noise of their surroundings felt suffocating, too insignificant; Patrick was telling him about the death of his father and questioning his life’s purpose while people all around them were just happy to sit and live their lives in complete ignorance of the conversation. Charlie had the intense urge to stand up and yell at everyone for no real reason but pushed that down as Patrick continued. 

“I don’t think it was pressure from my dad, at least, not entirely. It was all internal. Pressure from me, to be the best and do my best and take over this great company and be the great leader and person I thought I had to be, y’know? It was this desire to reach this destiny that I thought I had to fulfill, this role I thought I had to play because it was the only role I ever knew. It never occurred to me that there were other options, and even when it did, I was too stuck-up to consider them.” Patrick stared up at Charlie, waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry, about your dad. I wouldn’t say he was nice, but he was a good person. How’d Dani and your ma take it?” Charlie said after a long pause. 

“As well as you’d expect. Aunt Teresa, the one who talks to trees, she came to take care of Mom for a bit. Everyone was in shambles, and Dani couldn’t do it on her own. They’re better now, after some gentle coaxing to find someone to talk to; Mom was convinced Father Lewis was enough, but I eventually got her to see someone. I’m seeing a therapist too, so the psychoanalysis of myself isn’t completely amateur.” 

“Better late than never, Lord knows you needed it in high school. So, why therapist? Any specific reason, or did you just throw yourself into the first degree you could think of?” Charlie asked.

“Well, it’s like you said. If I had a therapist when I was a teenager, I probably wouldn’t’ve had that mid-quarter-life-crisis. And, the whole point of being a therapist is helping people understand their emotions and deal with them. It’s a profession completely devoted to helping others. Plus, it’s definitely improved my social skills.” Patrick grinned, looking down at the table, and it seems to light up his face.

“Saying they improved implies you had social skills, to begin with,” Charlie joked, knocking his foot against Patrick’s under the table. They glanced up at one another, savoring the comfortable silence and chasing the last drops of caffeine in their near-empty cups. The conversation rose and dwindled with varying degrees of awkwardness for the rest of the afternoon until they were being kicked out by exasperated baristas and trying to stretch their time together so it was endless. Eventually, they parted ways with a promise for lunch the following Tuesday and a goodbye similar to a sickening couple going, “You hang up!” “No, you hang up!” before finally separating. And if they spared a few lingering gazes, well, it had been eleven years. 

-

Fin.

[comicbookuniversity]

First Photo of the Inhumans is...umm no: How to Fix the Inhumans

So the first photo of the Inhumans Royal Family came out today. The show will premiere on IMAX first and then finish up its first season over on ABC. And yeah, this is does not look good. This is the first visual sign of Marvel maybe needs to slow it’s roll on making things. Look, Marvel’s MCU work is formulaic, but it’s been a surprisingly well done formula considering the number of times we’ve been exposed it; I mean it gave us the Russo Bro.s’ Captain America films and those are spectacular. And the only times it has noticeably failed is either when they try to do too much or just stray too far from it. And yeah, this looks like a low budget knock-off made by some other studio. 

While the costumes certainly don’t look good, the more troublesome aspect is who is producing the show for Marvel, and that would be a one Mr. Scott Buck, who produced another work for Marvel. This is how that work turned out: 

I’m not hating on Marvel- I love them, but that doesn’t mean they get a free pass from criticism. So, with the costumes looking like they’re one step away from being a listed as costumes based on the actual suits worn by the actors and the show being run by a guy with a poor track record, there’s one last problem facing this show: the source material. 

Look, as much as Marvel as wanted it to happen, the Inhumans are not going to be the new mutants. While there are some similarities, the problem is that the metaphorical core of the Inhumans isn’t built on a compelling and resilient core like the other Marvel properties were built. It’s not that the Inhumans are inherently boring or anything- they’ve got some cool things going on, but they’re much more suited as supporting characters to be seen in small doses, rather than doing an ongoing narrative. They’re a story about a royal family in a metaphorical environment built upon democratic values, which means they’re at odds with the many of the core values of their peers. 

There is a cool story to be told with kingdoms (Games of Thrones is proof), but when you’re effectively a lone kingdom with nothing else to contrast against except democracies and the champions of democracies, then you’re the outsider looking in. Some might argue that Thor and Asgard suffer a similar problem, and while that’s partially true because the Thor films haven’t been Marvel’s most successful, they have the saving grace of having a single, interesting protagonist, rather than an underdeveloped ensemble. Black Bolt has been developed the most over the years, as have Medusa and Crystal, but beyond those three, the Inhumans cast falls short on being dynamic. Cool powers and looks can’t make up for a lack of personality. And Marvel has done more to develop the Inhumans property in the comics, but it’s probably not going to be enough for the TV adaptation since the Inhumans don’t have a back catalog of classic stories like Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, Hulk, or Daredevil. This means they’ll largely be working from original material based on the core concept and characters, and in my assessment that’s not a good idea. 

So what to do with the Inhumans? Well, it’s too late for them now, but here’s what Marvel should have done; hypothetically, it’s not too late if the rumor of an Infinity Gauntlet created reboot actually happens. They should have just revamped the Inhumans from the ground up while holding onto the major elements: alien contact (Kree), powers, characters, and Terrigen Crystals. Ok, with keeping only these elements, what kind of show could we build that would be able to sustain an audience and gain positive critical reception (assuming good to great execution, because every premise can be hacked to death no matter how good)? It genuinely only took me a few seconds to think of this, so it makes me think that Marvel simply hasn’t invested that much thought into how to basically reboot them for screen adaptation. This lack of willingness to adapt where necessary is not a good sign for Marvel’s future. 

The Inhumans should be a story about a group of people, who had been abducted and weaponized by the Kree, and they’re returning to Earth on the stolen colony ship of Attlalin. Since Marvel has already alluded to hostilities between the Kree and the Nova, a compelling backstory exploring this conflict and the Inhumans role in it could be explored that parallels the emotional journeys of their present as they try to reintegrate to Earth society. Marvel, like most other sci-fi, seems to be ignoring the whole time dilation issue with intergalactic set-up, these people could have been abducted within the recent past, similar to Star Lord, and they could be from all over the world to give the cast a diversity boost. 

This set-up allows us to explore a dual metaphorical core: the experience of returning veterans and the experience of refugees seeking asylum. This is a far more interesting, dynamic, and relevant set-up than bickering between members of an isolated and esoteric royal family. You have the conflict between the Inhumans and the international community as they talk it out as to what legal status these individuals have, the people who want to exploit them, those who don’t want them and see them as a threat, the internal conflict between the Inhumans as they decide how they should proceed as a group or individuals after having been banded together for so long and now finally how; and finally some good ole fashion supervillainy of various motivations. You have friends and families being reunited and old grudges being brought back to the surface. You have issues of experience and identity to explore. And you have a big alien conflict lurking in the background that has high potential for crossover. 

And importantly, this set-up fits within the Marvel tradition of power being forced upon a person and that person having their character being revealed when this power is put to use in some bombastic fashion. As they stand, the Inhumans are a strange aristocracy that metaphorically have more in common with the ultra-wealthy inheriting their money, which doesn’t personally test them in their use of power. This is how Marvel should have done the Inhumans- humans who were drafted into a larger conflict that they had no choice in and now find themselves in conflict with their home. Hated by a world they have to protect- yeah, that’s X-Men in a good way. 

But, since Marvel didn’t do that, we have to hope that one of two things is true. One, my concerns about the showrunner and costumes are overblown and it will be good. Or two, this show needs to be a flop to act as a wake up call to help Marvel refocus on creating content. Marvel can’t really afford to make mediocre content- tell that to Agents of SHIELD, am I right? Oh that’s a cheap blow, it has it’s moments and has been doing great this past season as I understand with Ghost Rider and HYDRA. But serious, Marvel has upped how many movies it releases each year, is continuing to expand its deal with Netflix, and is making shows on ABC, Hulu, and Freeform. That’s a lot, and soon enough, cracks are going to grow greater. I want Marvel to succeed, so I really hope they reconsider how fast they’re expanding. Hopefully, it will all work out, but yeah, these costumes are concerning. 

EDIT:

I can’t believe I forgot to talk about the huge, glaring error in this photo- it lacks the best Inhuman: 

Lockjaw. If this show doesn’t have Lockjaw, then it has failed miserably. 

[directorscutandsomeotherstuff]

Lord of the Flies: The Unknown Chapter??

(Welcome to Director’s Cut, the segment where we check our page after a while, find a bunch of new followers, and then learn, to our chagrin, that they’re all porn advertisement blogs. Good times. Let’s talk classic literature, shall we?)

(”Lord of the Flies” is not my favorite classic book, but luckily for me, nobody ever writes fanfiction for “The Man Who Was Thursday.” That sucker is sacrosanct, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. That being said, Lord of the Flies was an okay book. It’s a prime example of something your teacher would want to have you read in English class, since it does a bunch of boring, important stuff like teach you lessons about mankind’s indelible cruelty to man and the dangers of tribalism in trying circumstances. It’s really good, and as someone who read it *without* a teacher breathing down his neck, I can say that with complete confidence.)

(Which of course brings us nicely to the subject of our next little adventure, Neko-chan. Neko-chan apparently read this book in high school, and after carefully digesting all of its horrors and insights, decided that it could be vastly improved with every ounce of symbolism and nuance stripped out of it. Good stuff. Good stuff. But hey, at least he didn’t write a scene in which the red-headed choir boy almost kisses Piggy on the mouth. You gotta appreciate the little things.)

Hello, everyone! This is my first time writing a fic about Lord of the Flies. I had to read the story for English Honors, and I was really frustrated at how the story ended! (You mean, the ending in which the trappings of civilization is dangled over the head of boys who had committed atrocities, in the form of a polished Navy commander, as a cruel reminder of what they were before they descended into barbarism and madness? You’re right. That ending was just so lame.) So...I decided to write my OWN ending! Hope ya like it, though people tell me it's disturbing...O.O...I went really in-depth into human nature, and I wanted to show people how they really are. (Look, this is Tumblr, so I feel like it’s easy to be mistaken for hostility when I say this, but honestly, there’s something adorable about a high school student about to teach *me* about human nature. It’s like watching a baby trying to walk in their dad’s shoes, but with only marginally better syntax and grammar.) How they react to problems and what happens afterward. I also wanted to show how important revenge is to many people. So, I hope ya like it! Read and review, PUH-LEEZ!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Flies, and I only wrote this fic so that way I can have some closure on the book.

Chapter 13

Finally, when Ralph and the boys stopped crying, the British officer turned back to them and gave them a wise, but still naive, look. (It was also smart, and at the same time dumb. Perceptive, yet also careless. It was a complex look.) He tipped his hat at them, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he lifted his lips into a genuine smile. For all of his experience of warfare, for all of his worldliness, he still couldn't understand why the children had done the things they did. (The man had survived the Normandy Landings, but somehow violence was a completely foreign concept to him. Lieutenant Ross was actually the world’s dumbest sailor.)

Turning away from his dark thoughts, the officer looked the children up and down, particularly Ralph, and said, "Come with me, and we'll take you aboard my ship. There, you can get fresh clothes and clean up. Once you've rested, you can tell me all about your little 'war game.' (”I’m especially interested in the whole ‘setting fire to the island and trying to kill each other’ game you seem to have going on. Looks like a jolly good time, what?”) Then, once we've reached Britain, we'll find your mums and das, and all of you young un's will be reunited with your families."

The smaller ones, the youngest of Jack and Roger's tribe, gave a joyful shout, and they ran towards the British officer. The older ones, Ralph included, stayed further back, distancing themselves from the Naval officers. The British officer gestured for them to come closer; and little by little, the older boys walked closer to the sea shore, away from the cover of the trees. (No older boy could resist the gesture of a British Naval Officer. Little known fact; the Spanish Armada was defeated not by superior tactics or firepower, but by clever use of gestures.)

All except for Ralph. He stayed where he was, and when the officer told him to come into the boat, to go to the larger Navy war ship, he replied, "I'll be there in a minute. Let me just get something first."

The officer tipped his hat again, and replied, "You may go, but be quick about it. My crew and I will take the others to the ship, and we'll return for you. Be back here in thirty minutes. (”I’m sure you’ll be just fine, on your own, on an island that’s actively on fire. Just remember to keep a stiff upper lip, and all that rubbish.”)"

Ralph nodded his agreement, and quickly ran back into the dense undergrowth of the forest; which, in some areas on the island, was alight with fire. Ralph ran and ran, his breath coming in hard pants. He tripped over a thick vine, and he skinned his knee. But he just picked himself up again and continued to run. Finally, after several minutes of running, Ralph came to the place where the pig's skull had stood. That is, until he had broken it into two pieces and had taken the sharpened stick which it had rested on.

After a few moments of searching, Ralph finally found what he was looking for. One of the two pieces of the pig's skull. Ralph picked it up and brushed the sand from the snow-white surface. The bone had been bleached by the sun, and the wind carrying small particles of sand had smoothed out any rough areas which had been there before. He caressed the smooth white bone, and a cruel smile flitted across his face. (The Ralph got an idea. An *awful* idea. The Ralph got a wonderful... *awful* idea!) He looked up from the skull, and the look in his eyes was wild, untamable. Insane. One could say . . . .savage. (Neko-chan stopped writing at this point, to shake a fist up at the sky. “You hear that, William Golding?” she cried. “That’s how you write human nature. None of this symbolism, breaking-a-pig-skull-in-half bullcrap, just *tell* the audience that people are going savage. Maybe if you did *that,* your stuff’d be read by more than just kids in high school, you boring old dead guy!”)

Realizing that his time was almost up, Ralph quickly hid the half of the skull into the sack the officer had given him before he had left. Then he ran back to the meeting place as fast as his legs could carry him. And he made it--barely. (There, he found Lieutenant Ross, nervously explaining to his CO that it was perfectly all right to let Ralph run off on his own into a wildfire. After all, he gave Ralph a sack. That makes it okay.)

~ * * * ~ 

Once the group of boys were cleaner, the Naval officers began to interrogate them. And they were shocked at what had transpired on the island when there had been no adults to look after the group of boys. The awful way in which Simon had died, his body washed away so that there could never be a funeral. And the horrid way in which Piggy had died, his brains dashed upon the rocks, trying to keep order, even while the 'hunting tribe' had started to shove at the rock. (And that thing with the paratrooper, and all the other things that happened that you just spent twelve chapters reading about, that we’re going to repeat without any of the emotional impact or presentation...) The smaller ones started to cry as they told their story. It was slowly beginning to dawn on them how cruel some of the things they did were. But through it all, Jack, Ralph, and Roger didn't cry. Their eyes remained clear, and no sign of wetness showed. (Eyes had a tendency to turn transparent and bone dry as a common symptom of PTSD. Trust me, I’m an expert on human nature.) But all three of them had edged away from the light, hiding in the shadows, not allowing the British officers to see what they were feeling.

Until Jack finally stepped forward and said, "This . . . . .all of this was my fault. It was my fault that Piggy and Simon died. My fault. All my fault."

And then Roger stepped forward. "It was my fault, too. I was one of the leaders. I'm to blame as much as Jack. All the things that happened . . . . .everything is my fault too."

And finally, finally, the British officers could see what Roger and Jack felt as they came into the light. Remorse at what they had done. Horror, certainly. And regret. So much regret. (So much characterization, completely undone. Regret. Regret and horror.)

But Ralph, he stayed in the shadows, still refusing to come into the light provided by the kerosene lamps. His innocence had been stolen from him, and he was no longer naive to human nature, as many of the Naval officers still were. (Officers like Lieutenant Ross, who at that very moment was actually suggesting that that Stalin fellow “seemed like a nice chap.”) And so he hid in the shadows; one with the darkness. 

* * *

After several weeks at sea, the medium-sized British Navy ship came to the boys's original home: England. (Damn. I was hoping the medium-sized British Navy ship was going to take them home to Redwall. I wanted to see these boys hunting animals that could fight back with fucking swords! That would have been awesome!) Most of the boys were on deck, watching as London harbor came closer and closer. They 'oohed' and 'aahed' over all the different types of ships, all of them Allies to Britain. (Except, of course, for all the ships that were just British industrial vessels. You know, the ones hauling steel and stuff. Well, they were little boys, so they probably thought those were cool, too.) They even saw one or two American submarines, which they had never seen before.

But all of the boys, except for Ralph, knew that their happiness would be short-lived. The Naval officers had told them that they would be sent to Bedlam, the famous English insane asylum, at least for several years. (Lieutenant Ross assured them that was totally standard procedure, when he wasn’t being forced to swab the deck and prepare for his court-martial for severe incompetence.) Jack, Roger, and the small tribe of hunters knew this, and accepted this. For, as they had spent more and more time on the ship, surrounded by civilized people, their savageness had seemed to melt away, returning them to the boys they were before their Academy plane had ever went down. And it was then that they realized the true extent of their actions on the island. How savage they had been, the deaths and suffering they had caused.

Everything. And so, they accepted their fate without one word of protest. (You know, like people who suffered trauma totally always do all the time without exception. Can you say any different? Are *you* an expert on human nature, like I am?)

Ralph watched England come closer and closer from his vantage point in the doorway.

He watched the boys he had once considered friends, and thought. Ralph's thoughts were as dark as the murky water beneath the powerful war ship, and equally dangerous. (Harbor water is notoriously dangerous; Ralph’s thoughts were as deadly as a resting horseshoe crab on the bottom of the shallow end.) For, even as he stood in the light, his eyes were still shadowed. (Ralph’s anguish had finally given birth to the Sharingan. He would avenge his entire clan, one day.)

Four Years Later . . . . . .

Ralph smiled at the receptionist, his grin happy and carefree. She smiled back, totally charmed at the mask he showed her. "Sure, Ralph, go on in. You haven't been coming here for a couple weeks now, and the group misses you. Oh, and since they've been behaving lately, you can take them outside for a bit. But remember," she warned as she waggled a finger at him, "don't let them get too close to the forest. They might decide to get away, and they haven't finished their time here. The boys still have to stay here for one more year."

(Darcy made it a point to give every visitor to Bedlam a detailed history of their visiting habits and relationship to the other patients. It caused no end of annoyance, but the doctors kept her around anyway because she was a total hottie.)

Ralph gave the woman another bright, cheerful, false smile and reassured her: "Don't worry, Darcy. I won't let any of my friends to get close to the forest edge. I've watched after them before, and nothing has happened." 

Darcy smiled again, and waved him deeper into the insane asylum.

Ralph walked deeper and deeper into the building, (as opposed to walking into the building and somehow coming out the way he came, proving once and for all that Bedlam did, indeed, conform to basic Euclidean geometry,) until he came to a set of rooms that he knew very well. The rooms where his 'friends' had lived for the past four years, ever since they had come back from the small island.

He walked through the doors, and they smiled up at him. Jack, Roger, Sam, Eric, they were all there. Except for Piggy and Simon, Ralph thought, and his smile dimmed a little. (He supposed they decided not to keep Piggy and Simon’s corpses just lying around, anymore. Granted, it probably didn’t do the recovery effort any wonders, but even so...) Looking at the group, he said, "Hey, guys, guess what? Darcy said that we can go outside today; but we have to make sure not to get too close to the forest."

Their grins broadened, and they jumped up. It had been too long since they had last been allowed outside, and they were sick of being cooped up. Then the group, with Ralph in the lead, walked deeper into the building, until they reached a door leading to outside.

(They passed by Orderly Ross, who had to find a new job after being dishonorably discharged from the Navy. He waved to them as they left, saying to himself “Well, there goes a bunch of recovering trauma patients who were complicit in several murders, but they’re walking with that kid I gave a sack, once, so I’m sure they’re all going to be fine.” He then went back to scrubbing out bedpans.)

Once they were far enough away from the building, Ralph called the group over to him, saying that he had something to show them. The small group crowded around him, anxious to see what Ralph had.

He reached into the sack that he had been carrying and brought out an object wrapped in soft blue cotton. Painstakingly, he unwrapped it. And brought out the half of the pig's skull that he had taken from the island so long ago.

Once he had unwrapped it, he threw it down at the group's feet. They looked at it, then up at Ralph. And they were terrified at the look they saw in his eyes. Insane. Savage. Cruel. (His transparent, dry eyes only enhanced the effect.)

Then . . . . .the group ran from him, as fast as they could; deeper and deeper into the woods, desperate to get away from him.

Ralph smiled, a cruel, excited smile, and he reached into his sack again. He brought out a container of colored clay and marked his face with it. Then he reached into the sack one more time. But this time, he drew out a hunting knife, identical to the one that Jack had shown him when they-the small group of Academy boys--had first arrived at the island. (He reached into his sack again, and produced a whetstone to sharpen the knife. He reached into his sack again, bringing out a tin of cheese and crackers. “Can’t hunt murderers on an empty stomach.” He reached into his sack again...)

"Time to go hunting," Ralph whispered as a savage smile flitted across his face. And then he began to stalk his prey, hunting the boys as they had hunted him. 

My paragraph:

I know that my Chapter 13 for Lord of the Flies may seem disturbing to most people, but I wanted to go further in depth into the topics that the author brought up. The main one being human nature. Jack and the hunting tribe were able to go back to the way they were (The way they were, of course, being inmates in an insane asylum.) because they were not totally affected by their change. They did things, but they didn't have things done to them. (And as we all know, trauma only ever happens when somebody does something to you, personally.) Ralph was affected mainly because he had something done to him; he was hunted by Jack's tribe. (Nothing else qualified as being traumatic. The plane crash, the degradation of his friends, watching a kid get his head dashed open on some rocks...) Because of this, Ralph was able to fully see human nature; "survival of the fittest."

He was affected by this, and he went insane. (I understand human nature, which is why I think insanity is just a thing that happens to somebody who had a stressful situation.)  And also, another reason why I chose this ending for the chapter was because I wanted Ralph to have revenge.

Isn't that part of human nature? Returning wrongs done to you? And so Ralph returned the wrong that was done to him--by killing Jack and his hunting tribe. To make it seem ironic, I had Ralph hunt the tribe, just as they had hunted him on the day that the British officer arrived. With this chapter, I wanted to show the brutality of human nature, and what people become capable of when they are pushed to their limits. (Gaaawd! This is like watching cat videos for me! Listening to literary analysis from a person who just so totally gets it! I fucking love this blog, you guys.)