#character study ish

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

Brother will you believe (until my bones are dust)

Tim will always be the first.

The first bird to hold a mantle covered in the corpses of Dick's wings, the first to carve a space into his heart, to make an all consuming void that only a brother can be.

"Bruce's alive, I can prove it."

He's angry at the world at Batman. How dare he leave, making another mess for Dick to clean up. Damian a child that he barley knows, Jason angry and vying for a cowl that both know, they don't believe in.

It's been years since Dick has worn the suit he worked so hard for. Passed from Jason to Tim. Only one with his actual consent not that his consent ever seems to matter anymore.

"Grayson, when will Drake be gone? He's unneeded."

Tim is all he has the only constant the only thing he can actual lean on. His little brother who has had his throat slit by Jason, and Damian is doing his damn best to push his out. He's backed into a corner.

Choices, a constant balancing act that all the acrobatics in the world won't allow him to slip from. Selfishness is his only net and for once he isn't gonna hit the ground.

"Tim I need you, I need my brother, I need someone to watch my back. We can come back to it but for now I need to breathe."

He leans back into the smell of coffee and absolutely horrid axe body spray that every teenager seems to love and just inhaled. He can feel a knife uncomfortable against his back, and what sounds like typing but he doesn't dare move.

His net curled around him and for once the world is quiet. Jason, Damian, and Bruce can come later.

For now it's Tim and Dick Grayson and he can feel the air.

[sexy-raccoons]

So something interesting I’ve noticed is how people treat Lockwood’s character especially how they handle his obvious suicidal tendencies. I mean, Winkman picked up on it within literal minutes of meeting the kid it’s not like he’s hiding it well, but anyways

George: George treats Lockwood’s tendencies as something you have to work around. He doesn’t really like it, but he doesn’t try to hard to stop it farther than telling Lucy she has to be able to tell him no or she’ll “make him worse”. We see this and we know George cares about him a whole deal and we know that they’ve been bets tied for a while now and yet George hardly knows anything personal about Lockwood. George doesn’t extend a helping hand so Lockwood doesn’t attempt to take it

Kipps: We all see how Kipps treats Lockwood’s disregard for life. He believes that there is no saving Lockwood and the best thing they could do is let him kill himself before he drags someone down with him, which we see when he talks to Lucy saying “you don’t know what he’s really like” and something along the lines of “you better leave before he drags you down with him”. Kipps not only doesn’t extend that helping hand but he takes it and runs from Lockwood as fast as he can, and so Lockwood doesn’t even pretend to like him (plus he’s a bit of a jerk but they’re all jerks Lockwood just has a tolerance for some of them)

Lucy: And here’s where it gets interesting. Unlike the others she doesn’t run away or dance around the problem, she looks it dead in the eyes and tells it to stop. She offers Lockwood her hand again and again and each time she does it Lockwood gets a little closer to taking it because each time she does it is a time no one else tried. Everyone had given up on him, decided that he was a lost cause and his fate was sealed, but Lucy just wouldn’t stop and so when she offered her helping hand, Lockwood took it. Yeah he doesn’t quite know what to do with it now that he has it but the fact that he took it is what important. It’s why she was only there for a couple months or so and he was opening that door when George couldn’t even ask about it after a year of living with the man

The reason why I love Lucy and Lockwood together so much is this. It’s because Lucy never gave up on him and it gave Lockwood hope in himself. The two make each other better people and that’s amazing

[riovidalswife]

everyone's talking about tua season four and how five & lila didn't make sense and how out of character it was for five and yes , i entirely agree on five's behalf .

and as much as i'm a fan of diego and lila ( they're actually me and my girlfriend )

lila's response & later actions are entirely in character .

people seem to forget she was an assassin as trained by her mother after her parents were killed ? i don't know if it's because they haven't seen s2 in a while or they don't like to think woman has character beyond wife + mother but i digress .

five understands lila , they've both killed for the same organisation. after that , they both experienced the same six years of the mundane normal life after a lifetime of kill after kill just to find a solution, murder with no end goal in sight. for lila this means never being in one place too long , her only proper connection being her 'mum' the handler and lets be foreal that's not exactly a healthy relationship . to go from that to having a family , being a mum and living in a stable environment is one hell of a change .

she has the opportunity to escape that , at first for a little while , with five . someone who knows what it feels like to carry more bodies than family and once they look past each of their potential egos & etcetera there's familiarity in that . and when they get stuck he knows how to survive too , they exist for seven years - unsure if they even have a world to go back to . and to find safety, along with the last person from your world it's a combination like no other for her .

she has someone who understands her , the chaos of the situation , the sudden relief of safety after seven years & no idea if you have a home to go back to is the perfect recipie to make lila's brain tick . she's in a situation feeding into all sorts of different ways of her brain and it's exactly what she needs , of course she's going to chase that .

also its the folklore love triangle

[themarginalthinker]

@roseate-lagomorph as there's too much info to just put in a reply on a post lol

Here is some of the romantic pairs and their relationships one can find in the Warren:

-Blue and Tweak are in....something of a relationship, though whether the two of them would categorize it as romantic if they were asked is. Well. Probably not? They do engage in ~*activities*~ and, without spoilering too much, there is a definite physical aspect to it, but it's more complicated than a romance. (As for whether they understand what Charlie says when she calls them 'kimessis'...well, Tweak does, and refuses to explain it to Blue, and laughs at his poor, non-homestuckian confusion.)

-Jen and Fenster: mlm, they're canonically married, rings and all, and have been for the better part of the 20th century. And even beyond that, they're more monogamous than most Kindred would be. For as much as they love to yell at each other, arguments one can hear halfway across the warren when they really get into it.

-Tanner, Neb, and Kink: two Nos and a ghoul between them. The three are pretty inseparable and have been together for a good while. Tanner might not say no to a one-night-stand, Kink is canonically a sex worker of various scenes and specialties, and Neb is a (willing) blood-doll for the pair who also does paid feeding work for Kindred in the city if they have the money or goods/info to trade. Always sold together do not separate them lol.

-Might not be a relationship other than a mentor/cool older aunt type deal, but Charlie has a crush on Bobbin, which, if she has it her way, the older Nos will NEVER hear about lmao.

-Charlie also has....something(tm) going on with Toreador fledgling Amber Glass. A lot like Tweak and Blue's 'relationship', but more like Amber suggests doing something utterly batshit, Charlie tells her how dumb a plan that is, inadvertently makes suggestions for how to do the Bad Plan better, and then tries to hold on as Amber does that bc now she's got Charlie Involved.

-Zephyr is aroace and would like you to ask before giving hugs, even if she usually accepts them, thank u.

Overall, these relationships are the most stable and long-lasting of what the characters are doing romantically/physically with other people, but they act more as the core of their romantic life, rather than the breath of it. Being a Kindred is a different experience than being Kine, and that means that their perception, both physically and mentally, of sex and love can shift a little. Especially when you live for centuries. All of them have their flings, one-night-stands, preferred feeding partners, preferred torpormates if any at all, preferred confidants and loved ones and clanmates. It's sort of understood that being with someone doesn't necessarily mean you're with them all the time, or that seeking other avenues of attention means you won't be loyal to your core.

[verymuchablog42]

king by florence + the machine is SUCH a nancy wheeler song, omg

"You need to go to war to find material to sing" "But you need your rotten heart" "I need my golden crown of sorrow / My bloody sword to swing" "I never knew my killer would be coming from within" "A woman is a changeling, always shifting shape" "I was never satisfied, it never let me go" "We argue in the kitchen about whether to have children / And about the world ending, and the scale of my ambition" "The very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most"

do you see the vision? tell me you see the vision, i am going crazy over this

[moonlight-breeze-44]

I would like to agree with EVERYTHING OP said, this is a great analysis of Tammy's character. I love what NCIS: New Orleans did with her, and I love that they did it so casually.

Because the thing is, yes, we need queer representation in media that discusses the struggles we have to face and the shit we have to go through on a daily basis. It's IMPORTANT for shows to cover homophobia, coming out, and loss of friends/family because of sexuality. Because that's real. That's what a lot of us face.

But, and this might be a controversial opinion: I think stories like Tammy's are equally as important.

On NCIS: New Orleans, Tammy's sexuality is never an issue. She comes out cleanly, casually, and on her own terms to her team. Jokes about her sexuality are perfectly woven into everyday conversations that she has with them. Her team, from Day 1, has been 100% accepting and supportive of Tammy. No muss, no fuss. There were never even any serious conversations about it. Her sexuality is normalized to the point that they portray her relationships as a plot point like they would any straight character. Asking for relationship advice, discussing past trauma, etc. It's so PERFECTLY executed and real. And I argue that it's so, so important to see.

Because this world can be scary for the LGBTQIA+ community. For young kids who are just beginning to realise they're a part of it, it might even feel like a bad thing. They might even wish that they could be straight, or cis, or what-have-you. I know I did. Because the truth is that, even in 2023, our world is still unfriendly. I think it's important to be real about that, but I also think it's important to have stories like Tammy's where her sexuality is never an issue to teach people that being gay/trans/etc. does not have to be a curse. It can be a normal part of someone's life.

Teaching normalcy, and advocating for stories like Tammy's, can also help people realise that this is the BASICS of what we want. I've seen so many people argue that we want too much, that the LGBTQIA+ community is asking for way more than they deserve. But the truth is, THIS is what we want. We just want to be treated like normal fucking human beings.

Sure, maybe Tammy's story leaves out what it's like for some people growing up and coming out; maybe they won't find it realistic. Maybe some would even find it idealistic. But for me, this is the gold standard. This is a kind of representation that we don't see hardly enough in media, where it is a normal and accepted part of life. I don't know about you, but I want that. (Sorry for the ramble)

Representation in Media: Tammy Gregorio, NCIS NOLA

(** note this is based purely on my analysis of the matter and personal experiences with representation. I also apologise for any lack of clarity in my articulation of these points)

In general, I have a lot of thoughts on Tammy, but one thing I really think about is the fact that there is a canon lesbian character, who in my opinion is executed very well. Because to me and I know to others representation is important.

The first thing the writers do right with Tammy with regard to her sexuality is the casual way it’s dealt with. For example, when she and Sebastian have banter about whether or not Sebastian likes the red head in “Treasure Hunt” and there’s the little exchange of Tammy saying “oh she plays for my team.” And another episode where Sonja is talking about Chris’ girlfriend and there’s the “She’s not your type,” exchange between her and Sonja. Those sorts of exchanges are realistic (i speak purely from my experience( and they aren’t forcefully inserted, they fit the moment and the characters.

Another thing I quite like is how Tammy’s sexuality is a part of her, but it isn’t her. She’s such a complex character with layers of personality, wit, trauma to deal with, and care for the people around her. And unlike some other shows, her gayness isn’t brought up when the show wants ‘token representation points’ and needs to stick a gay couple on the screen. It fits into who she is and isn’t a separate entity, to make the show look more represnative. She’s very real in that sense. This point hinges off the previous in a way as those aforementioned exchanges don’t serve to remind the audience that there’s a gay character necessarily, they serve to display a repartee between her and her friends.

The way the team is so casually okay and accepting of everything is also another point I enjoy. One of her centric episodes hasn’t been homophobia from anyone on the team or team related. It’s always been accepted, I quite like that. And on the flip side of that. The relationship with her mother she talks about in ‘Waiting for Monroe’ is a good representation of tension in relationship due to having to hide a large facet of yourself.

I really adore that it’s not a large rift between the two of them, just that Tammy is uncomfortable coming out and being herself because she and her mother fight so much. That sort of situation, while heavily aggressive homophobia can be present in relationships, seems so real to me. That apprehension of wanting to remove a part of yourself that may seem more ‘abnormal’ to make others comfortable is so brutally honest. And the way it’s extended to Tammy’s mechanism of relationships now is also realistic in that vein, because that sort of feeling of removal extends to life even when you’re away from the source.

That being said though, a criticism I have is they haven’t resolved any of that tension. Tammy is so out and doesn’t keep long term relationships and I understand it has to do with her characterisation and her past traumas. I respect that to an extent, but I would like to see her begin to work through that barrier because lesbians deserve to see a good relationship on screen. And another criticism I have is the way they sort of drop ‘love interests,’ however temporary they may be, without any sort of lead up or reference. For example Tammy and Alyson were supposedly dating for at least a month (I feel like somewhere six weeks was specified but I could be very wrong) but we hadn’t heard anything of Alyson until it was convenient to bring her up to the plot of the episode. Yes, bringing her up furthered Tammy as a character, but setting that drop and that moment up could have been done better by at least referencing Alyson and making her seem real.

Overall, I’m so ecstatic at the representation Tammy provides. Like i am so ecstatic every time she has a moment or a one liner, or something that seems so real to me. And I’m sure there are other criticisms other people could have but these are just my own observations and conclusions.

[sabo-torao]

Small disclaimer before you head in: this whole post will be referencing the TCB translation. I know VIZ handled the exchange I'm discussing differently, but I couldn't find anyone who talked about the original version and as a result I don't really know who is closer to the original meaning. In any case, the "analysis" should still stand. Whether Dragon was commenting Sabo's firmness or admiring his resolution, Sabo's still putting on a mask, and that's the point I'm trying to break down. Enjoy!

This very specific interaction between Dragon and Sabo in chapter 1083 has always stuck out to me.

"My, you really are unshakeable."

which is an appropriate response to what Sabo said, of course. What kind of sensitive person reacts that way to the death of an innocent, right?

Even so, I can't help but compare the thing Sabo said to his actual, genuine reaction to King Kobra's death.

He's devastated.

Sabo brokenly screams Kobra's name, and his expression is one of full despair; he never thought about killing Kobra, let alone letting him die. On the contrary, he actively tried to save him.

Kobra told him to just let him go, that he was dead weight and he shouldn't be concerned about him, but Sabo straight up refused. In fact, Kobra's actions read way more as a sacrifice than an inevitable death; the king let himself die, knowing that this way Sabo could flee and reach Vivi and Luffy safely.

On the Lulusian ship, we see Sabo think about Kobra's last words to him and actively trying not to cry (and failing).

That's not an unshakable man. He's suffering, he's grieving. He realizes he failed his very own mission of saving the king and lets the meaning behind Kobra's actions and words sink in.

It really puts his former reaction into perspective.

Sabo's firmness, seriousness and coldness in front of Dragon and Ivankov are nothing but a façade. He acknowledges that what he's about to say might come off as harsh, and that, even if he does feel sorry for Kobra, the tragedy doesn't weigh him down thanks to the results it brought, but it all sounds like he's reassuring himself more than actually showing his indifference.

Hell, he even drinks his glass of wine right after having said that "he doesn't really care". How can anyone take his words seriously?

And we've been knowing Sabo is inclined to do this sort of thing since Dressrosa; he acted all cool and composed in front of Luffy but the second Koala called him on the Den Den Mushi he was weeping, having a hard time believing that his little brother didn't punch him or hate him for being alive all along. He even denied he was crying!

All because Sabo hates being seen as vulnerable, especially in front of the people he thinks he has to be strong for (Luffy, Dragon, etc). It's something I think goes back to how his parents treated him, since they scolded him for, y'know, having emotions and being a normal kid in need of love, but i digress.

I once saw someone describing Sabo as a very cold person in comparison to his brothers, even going as far as to say that Sabo doesn't care if people die if it means achieving the Revolutionary Army's goals (using this very interaction as proof), which couldn't be further away from the truth.

Bonney even says outright that it's weird seeing a "radical revolutionary" act so friendly when Sabo helps her out. Why would he do this if all he ever did was for "The Cause"?

Yes, Sabo is ruthless, rude, violent at times, and his friendly demeanor could be seen as a little more volatile than that of his brothers', but he's not heartless. He's not a "meanings to an end" guy, he proves it time and time and time again, and it's disheartening seeing people label him as such.

Sabo is kind. He may not be as warm as Ace and Luffy, but he is fundamentally a good person. A generous, kind, caring, sensitive person.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it.

[myreygn]

do you ever think about how sanemi's animosity towards tanjiro makes so much sense from a narrative perspective because tanjiro is literally everything sanemi isn't?

both of them lose their fathers at a very young age, only that sanemi's father was a horrible abusive jerk who inflicted severe trauma upon his entire family while tanjiro's father was the coolest guy around whose lessons continue to motivate tanjiro and impact his life in a positive way.

both of them have to deal with a beloved family member turning into a demon, only that sanemi ends up killing his mother and has to come to terms with the fact that although she became a monster he still killed his mother while tanjiro manages to guide his sister through her monstrosity and finds ways to help her keep her humanity in tact.

both of them lose their families with only one younger sibling remaining, only that sanemi and genya get separated and estranged while tanjiro and nezuko never lose their close relationship.

[spoilers below the cut]

both of them have to deal with their younger sibling being a demon (one way or the other), only that sanemi's hatred towards demons as a whole makes it impossible for him to look at genya the same way while tanjiro loves his sister all the same, no matter if she's demon or human.

both of them try to protect their younger siblings from danger, only that sanemi can't think of anything but straight up abuse to try and push genya away which remains unsuccessful while tanjiro and nezuko work together well during fights and tanjiro still manages to keep her safe.

both of them fight with the goal to keep their siblings alive, only that genya dies and leaves sanemi with a ton of guilt and regret while tanjiro and nezuko get their happy ending.

both of them are thrown into the conflict between demons and humans out of nowhere, only that sanemi spends a considerable amount of time on his own, killing demons without any assistance while tanjiro gets sent off with a hashira recommendation letter to urokodaki's where he receives a proper training and finds a new home and family.

both of them find companions along the way and form meaningful relationships with them, only that masachika dies young with sanemi being unable to protect him while tanjiro, zenitsu and inosuke stay together through everything and manage to survive even the final battle.

and a lot of this is meta knowledge, a lot of this is information that sanemi doesn't have about tanjiro. but he does have some of it and i think it's enough knowledge for me to put up this theory: sanemi envies tanjiro. because both of them went through unspeakable trauma and grief, both of them lost people close to them, both of them had to deal with similar situations.

and yet tanjiro is kind. he's friendly and good, people trust him, people love to befriend him and he inspires them wherever he goes while sanemi is bitter and nasty and simply incapable of forming and maintaining these connections in the way tanjiro is because who'd want to be friends with a cruel jerk right? and tanjiro loves to take lonely people under his wing, but not even he is willing to forgive sanemi for most of the story and i can only imagine how that must sting because no one wants to be lonely and yet sanemi can't even blame him. he wouldn't forgive himself either.

[commiecricket]

the concept of the batfamily having a secret language/code is the single best idea i have EVER seen. because you know they absolutely would. i particularly mean communicating in chirps, whistles, tweets, tongue clicks, etc.

dick would start it during his robin days. as a kid, it’s the coolest thing he can imagine. eventually he stops responding to bruce’s usual messages over comms until he uses the corresponding whistle. over time, there is a sound for almost every situation. even their own names.

then he teaches it to jason to be a little shit. he’ll never admit it’s also so he knows that if it ever takes too long to reach the comms, dick knows he can let out a sharp whistle and his brother will be there. (and because it makes him feel closer to his little bird).

jason isn’t there to teach him, but tim learns as well. dick will chitter soft reassurances after an argument with bruce. a whistle out in the field, a chirp before they head to bed. tim embraces it fully— its feels more like family than anything else he’s known. it becomes second nature.

barbara gets to learn a bit, too. she isn’t as fluent in the language but can decipher messages as well as any of the robins. when she finds her hands full as oracle, she knows a sharp whistle into the comms will let the bats know what’s happening.

stephanie embraces the language similarly to tim. she uses it more conversationally than in the field. it shows up more when she’s emotional. as she gets worked up about things, her words will start to melt into whistles and trills. her family can tell what mood she’s in by how her chittering sounds.

cass is similar. she uses it sparingly, but more often than speaking english. she finds it easier. when words are difficult, she can usually muster up a grunt or warble in response to someone. her heart is filled with warmth when, instead of prompting for further words or signing, her family will simply whistle back.

damian is a bit more difficult to convince. by the time he arrives, the noises are just another form of communication. he refuses to use it for quite some time. he convinces himself it’s childish and strange— words work just fine. but after bruce gets lost in the time stream, he allows it between himself and dick. eventually he starts to use it with the rest of the family. he uses it sparingly, definitely not as much as everyone else. but he quietly adores it. he loves the simplicity and security of a code that nobody else could decipher. and if it makes him feel closer to his siblings? well, that’s just a plus.

duke is caught off guard at first. his entire situation is bizarre when he first arrives, but he didn’t expect the robins to communicate like. well. actual robins. but hey, he can adapt to anything. so he joins in. members of the family teach him in their own ways. jason and cass will whistle at him in the field, which he learns to be his name. tim clicks a pattern when he arrives to breakfast— a sleepy greeting before he’s fully awake. steph whistles and purrs when they’re spending time together. the list goes on.

[fishhateme]

okay fine let's address the elephant in the room i've abandoned this blog BUT i needed to cope after singapore yall after a good two months of no contact with any media of my pookie danny and the subsequent exposure to THE maxiel paddel date (ft. temporarily adopted paddel prodigy??) i'm ready to be back on my bullshit

this time? angsty introspective danny and max comforting him, aka ao3 hasn't been hitting and im in crisis

if it sucks it's because i haven't written fanfic in ages (started uni and it kicked me in the teeth, the only reason i can justify spending time on this is because at this point it's a Coping Mechanism™)

also i know the whole part things is a pain in the ass but tumblr wont let me write posts as long as i want them to idk i hate technology i was born in the wrong century (id rather die of the black death at 20 than have to deal with hyperlinks again thanks for asking)

read it here

[geek-antic]

Soundwave is a powerhouse and an enigma and we don't talk about it enough so i'mma just gonna make a compilation of "how the hell did he do that" and "what the hell is he" moments that i've managed to find from across several transformers continuities

first off is from the first IDW comic continuity

this is never explained, so i can only assume its because soundwave is technically an outlier but i haven't seen a panel that shows other outliers having "off the scale" readings, whatever that means.

and then in the last moments of this continuity he sacrifices himself to save the universe/earth by using his outlier ability along with the enigma of combination to essentially connect the dead to the living in the entire galaxy for a hot minute . idk how the hell he did that or how he knew to do that, my money is on bad writing but i digress.

next up Transformers Prime

tfp fans: elaborate on that. tfp writers: no. transformers prime soundwave is definitely a powerhouse and an enigma for several reasons but number one is this god damn scene with ratchet exclaiming soundwave isn't your standard cybertronian and then to my frustration the show refuses to explain why.

also he can open portals. the only explanation for that is in the novels where he actually was part of the invention of spacebridge technology. i guess he could've incorporated that into himself, which frankly is kinda unheard of in of itself. but still I feel inclined to tell him that skywarp called and they want their powers back.

Next, we have the game Transformers: fall of cybertron. where he scavenges together all of megatrons parts and puts him back together which, yeah sure why not? it's essentially like putting a corpse back together but then he just REVIVES HIM??

with his mind completely intact despite having been decimated by Metroplex and being dead for several hours. excuse me sir but that shouldn't be possible. I guess I could just chop it up to the writers being a bit loosey goosey with their own rules for the world but it's still quite a feat. but thinking back to G1 where he did the same thing with skyfire I guess they assumed it's just something he can do?

although skyfire's revival was a bit more reasonable considering he was still in one piece and frozen solid which they explained to be the reason as to why he was kept intact. but I'm assuming that's why the writers were like "well let's just have him do the same thing for megatron" and everyone was like yeah okay why not. also like a lot of things in G1 this inbuilt high voltage canon/defibrillator is never brought up again which is hilarious and par for the course for G1.

there are several more moments throughout all the tf continuities where soundwave just does something inexplicable but these are a some of the moments that stuck out to me the most. I welcome others to add onto this post if they wish. because I'm sure I've missed some "how the hell did he do that" moments that would be a shame not to bring up.

[doodlesdreaming]

Three men and their Dad.

[embraceyourdestiny]

It’s literally so sick that the entire arc of forgetting and remembering sora in the kh1 to kh2 transition (and even the greater whole of sora’s character) is that sora is not a person you can forget. Even if the world is against you, even if he is purposely rewritten out of history, even if he dies and the universe says it’s time to let him go, sora will be remembered. He will always come back. He is that faint, pleasant memory in the back of your head. That even if you can’t remember the specifics of, you still remember how that memory made you feel. How the sunshine felt that day. Sora makes everything so real that even memories of him can be actual wishes to reunite with him one day, and a wish that will be granted by some miracle of the universe down the road. Sora is special; because he’s sora.

[rattycattyfanfic]

missing saw iii scene where lynn asks about the rosary on amanda's belt 👁️👁️👁️👁️

im so sorry this took so long omg. well. ok anyway have this now after like 6 months ;-; thank you so much for the prompt oomf!! <3<3

this is set slightly after the game as i couldnt figure out where to fit it into saw iii canon??

rated: T words: 3,377 cw: religious talk, possible blasphemy?, mentions of scars, substance abuse

Lynn returns to the scene of the crime like a ghost, finds herself in a cab towards the edge of town before she knows what she’s doing. She pulls her coat tighter around her as she gets out, smooths out non-existent creases, and shoves a fistful of bills into the driver’s hand before he can ask any questions and before she can come to her senses. 

It looks different in the daylight, in the harsh hot sun, but when she steps inside it’s as if she’s stepped right back into that fateful night. It’s dingy, a little damp, just as she remembers it. The only difference is a few strings of gaudy police tape leftover from the investigation gone cold, sticking out like party streamers amongst the grime. Lynn’s healed stomach wound itches like it hasn’t in weeks. She sticks her fingers inside her coat, between the buttons of her shirt, and digs her nails into gnarled scar tissue.

Amanda returns to the scene of the crime too, like a stray returning home, like a hyena sniffing for leftovers. Her hunched, hooded form gives Lynn pause, just for a second. She thinks about turning and leaving, suddenly feeling wide awake and stupid. The girl’s shoulders shake, or it seems like it from such a distance, the workshop stretching out between them, her shape fuzzy through those filthy plastic curtains.

She should go. 

She reaches deep into her pocket and pops a valium, and steps forward as quietly as she can.

Just as Lynn has been coming unwound the last few long months, fixating on details, reliving and re-reliving, Amanda also seems to be coming apart. She doesn’t move at all as Lynn approaches, seemingly stuck in place, lost in her head. Maybe her instincts have been dulled by grief or maybe she simply doesn’t care, doesn’t care to turn and look or jump to defensiveness as she would have that night. It works out better for Lynn, at least, but she can’t help but feel a little hollow at the thought of Amanda ghosting aimlessly for the last three months.

Lynn pushes through plastic and stops a boot-length away from the girl’s shoulder.

“You’re stuck too, huh,” Amanda murmurs without turning or looking. Her fingers worry the edge of the stripped and stained hospital mattress, head hung low. Lynn doesn’t know how Amanda could tell it was her. Maybe she’d spent so long stalking her prey that she knows by heart the resonance of her footsteps. Maybe she knows no one else would bother to come looking for her or come back to this tomb of a building. 

“Yeah,” Lynn says simply. She waits, curious to see how this will play out. She’d moved so slowly through the warehouse that her chemical crutch is beginning to kick in, and she can’t find it in herself to be scared, or angry, or anything more than sickly fascinated. She waits with bated breath for something to happen.

Amanda scoffs, a bitter, wet little thing. She scuffs her boot against the tile floor, kicks absently at the foot of the bed. “He should’ve let me kill you when I had the chance,” she grunts, and a shudder shakes her tiny frame. 

Lynn knows better than to ask for clarification. He is the reason they’ve both trailed back here, pathetically searching for answers or absolution or something, anything. “Maybe,” she murmurs passively. 

The girl spins in one quick move, her faded hoodie sweeping around her. She shakes the hood away, and her hair is greasy and wild. “Maybe?” she chokes, disbelieving. It’s not as sharp as it should maybe have sounded, and the wind goes out of Amanda’s sails. Her eyes are wet, raw, and she looks incredibly tired. “What, is that it? You came back here hoping I’d finish the job? Is the gift of your life really that bad?”

Lynn is unflinching. “I don’t know why I came back here,” she says. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

Another scoff. Amanda drags her hands over her pink cheeks, combs restlessly through her hair, all her movements speaking to something frustrated and lost and deeply, deeply exhausted. “Great, great. Real fuckin’ smart, doc.” She spins, rubs her face again with nails this time, and then her sleeve, and then turns back to Lynn. Pink lines streak down her cheek, raised claw marks layered on top of her frustrated flush. Her lip curls, and she sighs, only half committed to defensive snarling. “Well, you better figure it out quick, or fucking leave. I’m not in the mood for company.”

And then she settles again at the side of the bed, half-turned away from Lynn. Her hair curtains her face, but her fingers give her away, antsy still as they poke holes in the soiled mattress. She fingers the stuffing and sniffles every now and then, and Lynn is still no closer to understanding anything at all. 

Words spill out of her mouth before she can think better and swallow them. “Have you been here the whole time? Living here?”

Amanda shrugs once. She’s quiet, and Lynn thinks she’s maybe outstayed her welcome already, that she won’t answer. “Been here. Around,” she grunts. She sniffs again, and shudders a breath. “H-he had safe houses. Just in case. Only a couple haven’t been compromised yet.” 

Safe houses, compromised. Lynn is reminded that this is so much bigger than them, a wild goose chase of cops and accomplices straight out of a shitty late night crime show. She feels small, her and her sleepless nights and little orange pill bottles, just a small piece of a sprawling web of pain. “The cops aren’t looking for you?” Lynn asks, and wanders a little. She finds herself at the edge of the room instinctively, back pressed against dirty tile. 

“I’m careful,” the girl mutters. “It’s not hard to disappear, really. Not if you know how.” She digs her fingers into a red-brown hole and toys with a strand of stained stuffing, and then turns to eye Lynn cautiously, still picking. 

“Right.” Lynn thinks she knows, but probably not better than Amanda. She remembers pleading with Jeff, in this very room, in a lawyer’s office, wishing to be heard and doubting she’s even speaking at all. It’s not a problem she can easily fit with what she knows of Amanda, barking and looming as she had that night, but – maybe. No fixed address, almost no material belongings, and the scars on her arms visible even in this low light speak to an unsettling ghostliness, like she might suddenly vanish before Lynn’s very eyes. Her figure wobbles as Lynn ponders this, and she sucks in a steadying breath and slides to the floor, one palm pressed against the wall. 

Her hand slides against something dry and crumbly, and she quickly pulls back into herself. She places her palm on her knee instead, places her forehead on the back of her hand, wills herself to get it the fuck together. She used to be good at that, before exams, before surgeries. She’s out of practice now.

When she looks up again after god knows how long, Amanda is staring at her with a peculiar expression, like she’s something to figure out. She’s chewing her lip, something curious in her eyes – not unkind, but not exactly sympathetic either. “You didn’t learn anything,” she states. It’s not a question.

Lynn barks a short laugh, humourless and harsh. It feels too loud. She feels insane, out of place. Colours swim and pop in her vision from where she’d pressed her hands against her eyes. The diazepam wraps around her like cotton and she feels like maybe this is just some kind of bizarre trauma dream, the work of her brain trying to process any other potential outcome for that night.

“Neither did I,” Amanda whispers, and slowly folds herself down onto the floor by the bed, knees pulled up to her chin, mirroring Lynn. “I — I thought I did, I thought–” She sobs drily and rubs her face against the sleeves of her hood again. She stills, staring at Lynn with hollow eyes and newly wet cheeks. Seemingly never able to be still, her fingers start to toy with something attached to her belt in lieu of the mattress. “He helped me.”

It rings hollow as she says it, like a mantra that’s been repeated too many times to the point of emptiness.

“You were in a trap too,” Lynn realises, too late, too slow. The pieces begin to all fit together slowly, and she begins to understand – this scarred, volatile girl scrabbling for a place to belong, for someone to fix her. Lynn stares harder despite her swimming vision, and thinks she sees faint scars at the very corner of red lips, faded silver but raised just enough to be visible. You’d be surprised what tools can save a life. 

Piece by piece, she thinks she might be able to understand, almost. 

“Catch up,” the girl scoffs, and pulls at the thing attached to her belt in an antsy motion. The almost wooden sounding clicking of – beads? – gets under Lynn’s skin, but maybe it’s supposed to. Or maybe Amanda doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She huffs raggedly, and pauses for a moment to wipe at her cheeks again. “I thought he helped me. I thought he could help you too.” She sniffs angrily. “Look at the fuckin’ state of us.” 

Lynn is quiet. She watches as this strange girl in front of her breathes wetly and stares at her knees, and then at whatever she’s fucking around with. Her hair falls into her face prettily, and her nose is red. That strange click-clacking sound continues as Amanda fiddles anxiously, and Lynn can’t hear herself think over the noise, can’t think of anything to say. 

“What is that?” she asks abruptly. 

“Huh?” Amanda glances up sharply. The sound stops for a second.

“That – whatever you’re fucking with right now,” Lynn bites.

Amanda blinks. “Hu– oh.” She looks down for a moment and worries her lip. She entwines the thing around her fingers and lifts them up slightly, just enough for Lynn to see it above the shape of knees. 

It’s – a string of wooden beads. Lynn thinks she can squint the shape of a small silver cross somewhere in the middle of the string, and furrows her brows. “I didn’t take you for the religious type.”

“I’m not,” Amanda snaps. “I think it’s all a stupid crock of shit.” She rubs her thumb tenderly over one bead as she says it. 

Lynn stares pointedly at the rosary, and saves her breath. 

“Just – don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” Amanda grits out. She breathes shakily, and takes the rosary in both hands, laying it across her lap and fingering each bead gently, methodically between trembling fingers. She takes another breath, slower and deeper, as if centering herself. It doesn’t seem to help, and she goes back to click-clacking instead. “When he was – I tried everything, at the end. Every pill, every therapy. Nothing helped, really,” the girl murmurs, quiet and unnervingly vulnerable. 

Lynn nods. She thinks she knows where this is heading – she’s seen it for herself, in the hospital, the sheer desperation of loved ones – but she stays quiet anyway, waits for the words to tumble from Amanda’s mouth, loathe to interrupt this unexpected moment of sharing. 

“I never read as much as I did when I was with him. Homeopathy, philosophy, theology. Fucking medical dictionaries,” Amanda continues. She glances up sharply, meets Lynn’s eye for half a second. “I’m not as stupid as people wanna think.”

“I know,” Lynn murmurs. “First hand,” she adds wryly, and thinks about the horrifyingly expert attempts of manipulation she’d seen her first time meeting the girl. “Go on?”

Amanda’s lips pull into half a smirk, and then she shudders, sucks in a trembling breath. “I read everything. I tried everything. At the end – what harm was it gonna do? He was already half-dead.” Her voice cracks, and a dozen expressions flicker across her face in a moment. “Well – whatever. It didn’t help. It didn’t save him, or me. At least now I know for sure it’s all bullshit.” She stares down at the rosary in her palms for a long moment, considering. “I thought I could save him, if I believed in it hard enough. I thought I could help him like he helped me. Fucking stupid.”

“He didn’t help you, Amanda.” Lynn picks her words carefully, and still kicks herself. “And it’s not stupid,” she murmurs gently, sugar after a harsh pill. “I’ve seen it dozens of times at the hospital. It’s human.” 

Amanda blinks again, and seems dumb-founded by the ounce of human kindness that Lynn manages. She stares at Lynn with huge, dark eyes, emotions unreadable. “I really thought he did,” she mumbles, ignoring the proffered syrupy words entirely. “I thought that – Now I don’t know what to think.” She tangles the rosary up in itself absent-mindedly. It knots around her fingers, loops messily, and Amanda says in a small voice, “I don’t know what to do with myself.” 

“I don’t know, Amanda. I don’t know the answer to that either.”

Amanda’s glassy eyes refocus, and she stares at Lynn with furrowed brows. She glances down at the knotted beads, and begins to attempt to untangle them to no avail. “You’re a real fucking help, doc,” she grumbles. 

Lynn huffs in frustration, and squeezes the bridge of her nose. Talking to Amanda like this is giving her a headache. She almost wishes they were scrapping again. At least that was straightforward, predictable, rather than this back and forth, up and down. “You think I have the answers? If it’s any consolation, I came here for – I don’t know what, but I’m only more lost,” she grits out between her teeth.

“Well. I can still always kill you,” the girl chirps. Her voice is deceptively light. She has the rosary wrapped and stretched around her fingers so hard that her fingertips are turning white. She flashes a dangerous, empty grin and pulls at the beads harder. “That offer’s still on the table.” 

“Thanks so much,” Lynn says flatly. “I’ll let you know if it comes to that.” 

Amanda opens her mouth to say something. She flinches and pauses whatever smart-ass retort she has queued up when the string abruptly snaps between her fingers. Wooden beads scatter across tile, and the girl stares in shock as they bounce every which way. She clutches the snapped and now empty string. “Shit–”

Lynn watches one bead roll across the floor and stop at her feet. She glances up at Amanda, who looks like she might be about to cry again. “Feel better?” she asks, cautious.

Amanda stares at the bead at Lynn’s feet, and then at the string. “No,” she whispers. “Fuck, I– I need that,” she garbles, and lurches forward to try and gather the beads up. “I need those–” she repeats hoarsely, and looks crazed, scrabbling around on the floor. 

Something tugs at Lynn as she watches for a moment, anxious movements and the girl hunched over on the tiles, hands shaking, playful sarcasm gone. She moves forward before she has time to think, and places her hands over Amanda’s trembling ones. “Amanda.”

The girl glances up, startled. She blinks owlishly. She doesn’t, to her credit, pull away from the unexpected touch.

“Stop. He’s gone,” Lynn murmurs. 

Amanda stares, blinks down at the beads surrounding them, and then back at Lynn. Her frame shakes, and she looks about ready to spin out, as if one little piece of string had been all that had held her delusions together up until now. 

“He’s gone. You don’t need them,” Lynn says, low and quiet, as soothing as she can possibly manage. “You said yourself, they didn’t help. None of it helped. He’s dead, it’s over, and there’s nothing those can do about it.” 

Amanda trembles, and then full-body shudders, bowing her head. She makes a horrible sobbing sound, and then nods. “I – yeah. Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Lynn repeats, and nods, even though Amanda isn’t looking at her anymore. She squeezes cold hands tightly in hers, tight enough that she might worry about hurting her, if they were both different people. She lets the moment breathe, waits and squeezes and stays quiet and still as Amanda seems to try to get herself together, curled over on the floor. It feels familiar, like Amanda hunched and sobbing after John’s seizure, and yet somehow altogether odd.

Finally, the girl sniffs wetly, unpleasantly. She ducks her head, curls her spine to press her wet face to the arms of her hoodie again and wipe away tears harder than necessary. She lets out one tiny, agonised whimper, and then sits back on her haunches and snatches her hands from beneath Lynn’s, tucking them safely back up into her sleeves. 

“Ok?” Lynn asks lowly. 

Amanda shivers, but doesn’t make another move for the beads, or for Lynn. She straightens her back. “Fine. Fucking fine.” 

It’s not very convincing, but Lynn is about at her limit with the touchy-feely stuff that doesn’t come natural to her, and she suspects Amanda is too. She won’t push it. She sits back against the wall again and picks at a loose string on her pants. “Right.”

The girl jerks her head in a nod. She sweeps her sleeves over her cheeks once more, and then she shakes her head. “Bonding time’s over,” she grunts, and stands up, brushing off her pants. She wobbles a little, but stays rigid and upright, and gruffly kicks a few beads Lynn’s way. “Time to go home.”

Lynn watches the girl for a moment, and nods. “Sure, whatever. Good talk,” she says flatly, and gets to her feet, stomping away some pins and needles. Amanda doesn’t look at her or respond, just shoves her hands defensively into her pockets and sweeps through the plastic sheeting as fast as she can without actually fleeing. Lynn follows, a few paces behind, wary but somewhat relieved as they leave the tomb of the meat plant. 

They step back out into blinding sun and heat rising off concrete in funny waves, and it occurs to Lynn that: one, she has never seen Amanda in the sunlight before, and two, Amanda is leaving the plant. She is going somewhere. “Where are you going to go?” Lynn reluctantly asks, shielding her eyes from the sun in the warehouse yard. It’s not that she cares, really – more that if Amanda is going to be hanging around the city, Lynn would like to be aware of it, maybe have an inkling of whether to expect to have another altercation.

Amanda jumps, as if she’d forgotten that Lynn was there at all. There’s that lack of care, again, that Lynn finds mildly concerning. The girl shrugs nonchalantly, and produces a pair of black sunglasses from her pocket. They look fucking ridiculous, and don’t make her look any less conspicuous, but Lynn supposes they do at least make her a little more anonymous. In this light, her face is bright and pale, like an overexposed photo. The scars at the corners of her mouth are barely visible. Dressed like this, she could be almost anyone, could fade into a crowd like a ghost. The thought makes Lynn shudder. 

“See where I end up, I guess,” Amanda chirps, laying on the false bravado once more. “Wouldn’t wanna tell you, anyway. You might hand me in.” She grins, and looks insane, with her hood and sunglasses and generally dishevelled appearance. 

“If I was going to call the police, don’t you think I would have done it by now?” Lynn sighs. 

Amanda shrugs again. “I don’t know. You’re an enigma.” She smirks a little, almost lecherous, and then furrows her brow. “Anyway. This has been fun. Let’s not do it again sometime, ok?” And with one more unsettling grin, she heads off in a random direction, as if she knows where she’s going or where she’ll end up. Lynn is left standing outside a derelict crime scene, scratching her scarred belly through her coat and trying to remember the taxi rank phone number.

AO3

[themarginalthinker]

I came across you saying Charlie has a Minnesota accent. Had to look it up and I'm crying.

What accents do the other nossies have.

Also pls do fenster hanging with Jen doodle. Have you ever considered a size chart aswell?

lmaoooo yep, Charlie is born-and-bred Minnesotan, eh? Though not quite that strong, and she plays it up for the joke sometimes.

The others all have a mismatch of accents from all over.

-Alfred has perhaps the most ambiguous, having learned over two hundred years both how to cover his accent, and then it just slips away with so much time spent away from its land of origin, England. He tends more towards what I've heard referred to as 'Queen's English' when he's relaxed and with people he trusts and can speak freely with.

-Blue has a very flat accent, coming from the lower midwest, Indiana and Illinois, western Ohio. Sometimes he'll use vernacular that's a bit more 'countrified', like 'yall' or a double 'ain't' in a sentence, but has learned from Alfred how to mask it.

-Tweak is....all over the place. Whatever he's picked up from all the people he's met over the years - if you spend enough time around him, he'll eventually start parroting phrases and words from you. He knows a bit of Spanish, French, and Italian, though it's mostly conversational and slang. If you dig, though, and listen closely enough when he's speaking without trying to make himself sound a certain way, he tends to default to something vaguely Northeastern, possibly in the New England area.

-Zephyr tends to have a something a little closer to Canadian, but on the other side of the country than Charlie. Think Pacific Northwest, Cascadia for Zeph, though it's fairly muted. Her voice is also pretty raspy, and she has a pretty flat-affect, even when she's more emotional. Overall, pretty run-of-the-mill voice out of all the cast. She likes to blend in.

-Jen has perhaps one of the strongest accents in the cast of the Warren, hailing from the boondocks of Deep Appalachia itself. He always sounds like he's talking around a cigarette - which, to be fair, most of the time he is lol. When he gets angry, the accent really comes out, and he'll weave a word tapestry of some of the most obscure, unintelligible cussing you've ever heard this side of the Atlantic.

-Fenster ... I haven't decided whether I want him to be from Wales or Southern Ireland, so his accent would likely be from a region there, but that gives you a rough idea of where to start. The more I consider him, the more I lean towards Welsh. As for how he talks, he's a pretty easy-going person, who, much like Alfred, can mask his accent when he wants, but will do so much less frequently.

-Bobbin is a little tricker to pin down, despite her actual accent being fairly easy to pin-point of them all. She sounds like she's from the heart of the midwest at the turn of the 20th century, being Embraced (I believe? Correct me if I'm wrong, Berd) in the middle of the 20s. Chicago, St. Louis, all those big, swinging cities. The only issue with actually hearing it in her voice, however...is that the Embrace did some nasty things to her vocal chords, and she sounds, for lack of a nicer way to put it, like someone tearing sheet metal, like nails on a chalkboard.

So, that's about everyone in the main group with a notable accent!

As for drawing Jen and Fen, oh I definitely will have to, as well as the others. (I may or may not play favorites with my four main cast lol...) The problem is that I'm currently on vacation with my family and have left my tablet at home :T So, next week! I have also considered doing a character line-up as well! Perhaps when we get a little further into the story and they have been established as characters. Thank you!!! <3

[ievaxol]

no one can unring this bell

on good days, the creaking hardly bothers him.

'tis simply part of the daily routine to draw from the well of his aether and breathe life into his limbs again upon waking, to close his eyes through the initial panic of being pinned to the bed by dead weight and then the secondary, slower burning one of that dead weight being attached to him.

it took a couple of years, but he got the hang of it eventually. for all the theatrics of his youth, g'raha has discovered a pragmatic streak that runs deep within him.

he'll trade an arm for a settlement, half a leg for a child with eyes the color of lakeland -- he'll barter, give and take and move the pieces he has with lips pressed together and eyes cast to a future that may well lay hundreds of years ahead.

his own body is merely another resource at his disposal. he sits down with stacks upon stacks of books on anatomy to find a way to have the aether penetrate all the way out to this fingertips, not for himself but because the dexterity is needed in order to fight.

lyna smothers him in salves and ointments and he lets her, if only so she can feel needed. there is no need to tell of an itch that goes deeper than skin, not when she frowns in determination and sets his heart to bursting with affection.

on bad days, it does bother him.

those days he lets the sleeves drop a little lower and he stays in the tower if he can, both relieved and sickened at the familiar hum of aether that cocoons him.

relief at knowing he'll be able to move the way he wants. that he'll be able to fool himself into thinking there is nothing wrong with him so long as he doesn't look upon himself and see the tattered remains of his dress branded into the mockery of flesh provided by the tower.

nausea at the calculations that perpetually run in the back of his mind, reminding him of the fact that his body is no longer his. how many ilms of skin does it cost to save a life? what limbs would he trade for the crystalline mean? does he have the right to grieve himself?

it would probably do him well to remember that the tower isn't sentient as such, yet he can never shake the feeling that it hungers for more. some days it feels as though he has placed himself in the maw of a starving beast that is simply waiting for him to grow a little more before its jaws snap shut.

and time is notoriously not on his side.

on the worst days, the creaking is all he hears.

when he's called out on extended business, or another summoning attempt falls flat, or someone dies, or, well --

it's so loud those days. the scrape of rock against rock, slow and relentless. it is inescapable, too, as his chest heaves with every breath he takes and the crystal moves with it, groaning and cracking like a live thing.

the warmth is siphoned first out of his skin and then out of the very air, leaving his teeth chattering and lyna's face engraved with a silent worry that he's scared will grow permanent, and he wants to weep at how the one supposed to protect her ends up hurting her the most.

every swallow is a struggle, every step a fight. the seams of his transformation cracks and bleeds pain until he's half delirious with it, overcome by the need to claw his way out, out, out of his own body and the prison it makes.

it's basic survival instinct after all, to run away from what's killing you. and here he is. walking toward it, sprinting some days, as if he truly can't wait.

he has a thousand things to do and a hundred places to be, and yet all he is capable of is humming under his breath to try and drown out the never ending sound of his own corpse being puppeteered.

a small prize to pay on the grand scale of things but gods.

gods does he long for silence.