#down in the bayou

[thelediz]

Sonic Underground 07: Underground Masquerade

I’m watching Sonic Underground in search of inspiration to finish a fic I’ve been writing forever. It’s a sad state of affairs. See the recap of the first three episodes here, if you're interested!

The plot (for want of a better word): The Sonic Underground takes a pack of thieving urchins under the wing to try and bring them to the right path. But surrounded by the life he left behind, can Manic truly let go of his past?

This episode showcases some unhelpful biases and terrible optics. Parental Guidance is advised.

This show really goes out of its way to act like Manic is constantly at risk of betraying Sonic and Sonia in the name of thievery. He’s literally never done anything to even put them at risk, but Sonia (and Aleena’s voice over) act like he’s always a risk. It’s… telling.

So an interesting thing in Sonic Underground: the alignments of the three siblings. In most media, Sonic is Chaotic Good. Sometimes even Chaotic Neutral, because ultimately he only cares about what he considers the right thing to do, and sometimes other people don’t agree. But because here he has siblings, he’s the Neutral Good between Sonia’s Lawful and Manic’s Chaotic. The reason I mention this is because he says the most True Neutral thing ever in this episode: “Any particular reason why we should care?” Which I love. He looks at this kid, and the gold in his hand, and immediately pegs him as bad news on the run from the law. And his response is to not give a single damn until he is given a reason. I just appreciate that bit of characterisation.

And then we have Sonia being a snob, and Sonic being even more practical. They have a musical show to do and their new thief friend has musical ability. Sonic wants the help. Manic wants the fun. Sonia wants to get away from the unwashed and unclean. This is actually a great episode to set up the triplets’ mindsets actually…

Buuuut just as I’m getting impressed, the show screws up the order of its scenes. There’s a scene in the van that clearly should have happened BEFORE thief kid introduces them to his friends, but it happens after. Nice continuity show, well done.

Ah hah… another nice world building bit, with the urchins all saying “yeah, I’ll stop stealing. Just give me another option.” Which is like… yes! Exactly! And… Sonia’s response is “oh, the rich will find a home for you!” which is… so naïve. And no sweet. And so dumb. God DAMN this show and its world! It’s just so good when you look for it!

Except the thing is, the show isn’t trying to make a point, which it proves by having absolutely no sympathy for Manic showing off his skills to the kids, and getting Sonia to lecture him about how she and Sonic are worried he’s slipping back to old tricks.

Which I don’t actually think is Sonic’s concern (he's on mission tunnel vision duty this episode), but whatever. He doesn’t correct her and it doesn’t matter. Moving on!

In contrast to Mindy and her father, the rich guy in this episode is using his wealth and power to smuggle secrets to the Resistance. Y’know. Just to be subtle about the gap between rich and poor in this episode. Skeevy.

Especially when Dingo convinces Manic and the urchins to steal from the rich to fund the resistance. OH NO THE MORAL DILEMMA.

Oh Manic. Oh, you silly, insecure boy. You were my favourite character once.

The SONG: Down on the Bayou… which is not only not appropriate for a ball, but is also super gross in context. Singing about how you’ll do things just like they do in the bayou while Manic is stealing from someone who trusts him… yeah… Optics are a thing, writers.

But at least now Manic appears to have given Sonia a reason for all her ‘Manic’s thievery is A Problem’ nonsense. Though uh, it seems kind of weird that Sonic and Sonia are just letting someone slap cuffs on him for stealing when they usually will get everyone out for a reason. Apparently life and death risks are fine but stealing is the one thing Sonic and Sonia will not tolerate.

And the rich guy immediately turns on them. Of course.

Though you will note that this time their medallions don’t need charging after their song. Consistency? Who needs that?

And luckily! Sleet and Dingo are scheming in a convenient alley and the thief kid can prove himself useful and good in the end!

Ooh, hey, Aleena not only showing up but making herself useful! Who knew she was capable?

Yeah… yeah. Nice world building. Kind of… awkward though. Yeah…

The counters! I'm adding one because I've realised it's going to come up:

Sonic implying less than 100% American heterosexuality: 2

Sonia's super-strength: 1

Sonia's in love with Bartleby: 1/37

Manic's Thievery Is A Problem: 1

Come back tomorrow if you want to know more!

[bazzys]

 Folk Art Painting Louisiana Swamps, tall cypress trees and wildflowers

[sohannabarberaesque]

PIXLEE TROLLSOM, preparing for a dive with a youngish water troll in the bayou: Do you ever get the notion that diving sessions such as this can get to feeling rather crazy? HER WATER TROLL COMPANION: With water trolls like us, Pixlee, diving can't help but get to feeling rather fascinating ... especially when you're a troll just wearing yourself to be all the closer to Nature in the Troll manner! PIXLEE TROLLSOM: I do admit to sometimes wearing just myself in scenarios such as these, even if the feeling between the legs gets to be a little crazy; water's bound to do that for some reason or another among Trolls like us. HER WATER TROLL COMPANION: But then again, have you ever sensed the wonder and delight of lovemaking underwater? PIXLEE TROLLSOM, trying not to get too fresh about it: Ever mindful of just how natural sexuality is and ought to be, I have enjoyed underwater lovemaking ... which can't help but feel rather delightful in its own manner! HIS WATER TROLL COMPANION: Well ... let's get diving then! [You can imagine the rest, especially in the context of Trolldom being all the closest to Nature as excuses diving underwater naked and unashamed]

[monomorphilogical]

In the bayou

''It's too damn early for this,'' I told him. The coffee he had given me resembled the same sludge that permanently stuck to the soles of my boots, and I swirled it around in my cup like it'd come alive if I let it sit for too long. The air was heady, thick with warmth already as though the sun hadn't come up a handful of minutes ago.

I looked over at him when I heard the crinkling of newspaper. One page stuck up in an odd angle, and there was a jagged tear where the page folded into a new one. In silent question, I stared blankly as he wrestled with the paper for a bit before flattening it out against his knee in surrender.

He huffed and discarded the creased thing before looking over at me. ''Drink your coffee.'' His fingernails were permanently lined with grit, like the mud had become a part of him. It's only been a few days in the bayou, but the mud's starting to become a part of me too. It's creased into the worn leather of my boots and jacket, I suppose it won't take long until it creases into my skin.

''That's an insult to coffee,'' I muttered, swirling the sludge around again. ''and you never answered my question.'' Time feels different here, but I'm sure no less than a few minutes must've passed. I turned away from him, staring out towards the old truck, once-white-but-aged-yellow, and the rust eating at its sides. I wondered if the truck would feel the same as me, were it to have emotions.

He thudded his boots onto the wooden floorboards a few times until some dried mud flaked off. ''What question?'' The entire porch shook miserably with the action, and I tightened my fingers around the cup. Perhaps it had been longer than a few minutes.

The bayou tends to swallow everything up.

''Lately, I've got this giddy, hollow feeling inside. This urge to do something stupid, or to wreck some thing, but the nearest thing is myself.'' It was closer to the truth than I had gotten in a long time. ''So, what does that mean?''

I took a sip of coffee, coughed, spat it back out again, and it slid back into the cup exactly like mud would. It tasted disgusting, and a sick part of me wanted to down it in one go until I threw up or choked. He gave me a look, all eyebrows and downturned angles.

''Kid, you're damned near covered in it all. All those guts, an' none of the glory, all of them stabs you've taken at yourself.'' He leaned back, rummaged in his pocket, and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes. “Don’t think I ain’t listening to you.” My throat closed up, skin itching, whether it were his words or the cigarettes, I couldn't tell.

When he'd caught me smoking out back yesterday, he'd smacked the back of my head like I was a child. Later, when I laid in bed, I had dug my nails into the skin of my neck, like I'd be able to hold his hand if I dug in hard enough.

I pulled out a lighter and held the flame towards him. He gave me that look again as he put the cigarette between his teeth, but he leaned forward all the same. The hairs around his lips had turned grey-yellow, a combination of poorly-made cowboy coffee and nicotine. I wondered if he tasted like it, too.

''Don't think,'' He said, and I looked up from his mouth, then down again as he took a few quick drags in succession, smoke tangy in the summer-air around us. ''Don't think for a second I don't know what you're doin' here, but I wonder what the hell I'd see if all that metaphorical blood was visible.''

''I'd be covered in it,'' I couldn't bear to look at him as I said it, and I stared at the mud below the porch instead. ''I don't think you would be able to recognise me, if it were.''

He made a gruff noise, achingly familiar as though I'd been here for years already. ''I'd recognise you anywhere,'' he told me, and then recoiled, like he thought he’s been too gentle for the gruff-old-man stereotype he'd fit himself in for so long.

''Then I think, I put my insides on my outside.'' and it's rotting in the southern sun, I didn't say. ''I'm hollow on the inside, because it's all dried up on my skin like some nightmarish shell.''

There it was, that giddy feeling again, filling the empty space inside of me so rapidly I couldn't sidestep it. I followed it forwards, dropping from my rickety chair to my knees in front of him, plucking the cigarette from his mud-stained fingers to put between my lips.

Under the overwhelming tobacco taste was something headier, better than his cowboy coffee.

I got a grunt for my efforts, but he let me have it, sighing something long suffering. From where I sat, down on my knees, the world seemed small enough to hold in my hands, like we were the only ones in the whole bayou.

He stared at me like I'd been doing to him all morning. Then, ''You oughta know, a person ain’t meant to be hollow, somethin’ will always fill that empty.'' He wrapped his hand around my wrist and took a long drag of the cigarette from where I held it between my fingers. “Just ‘cause you ain’t used to the mud, don’t mean you can’t learn to walk on it.”

''You think I can’t walk through mud?''

''Don't you play dumb, you know better.''

I tilted my chin up in defiance. ''Alright then. So what are you saying? The urge to self-destruct is just because I don’t know any better?” As soon as I said it, I wanted to shove the words back into my mouth. I’d gotten too close to the truth, I hated it. I hated it so much that for the first time since the blinding sun filtered through the trees, I felt sweat run down my back.

He knew, and I hated that he did. “There’s hunger in them eyes of yours, and you’re so damned blind with it that you start bitin’ at yourself until you’re covered in your own guts.” He said.

All at once, the giddiness dissipated into nothing, the hollowness suffocated me, and I made to stand back up and away from the moment of vulnerability, but that gritty hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Ain’t that the whole reason you’re here in the first place?” I refused to meet his eyes. “You keep runnin’, cause good things scare the livin’ hell outta you. Don’t you realize the mud ain’t made for runnin’?”

Maybe the truck wouldn’t feel like I do, but it’s me who feels like the truck. Rusted red, stuck in the mud, forgotten by the bayou but kept alive by one gruff and stubborn old man. “Then what?” I said, “What the hell do I do now?”

Another huff, silence, and then fingers underneath my chin. I met his eyes, once-green-now-mostly-grey, and I dropped the forgotten cigarette in my forgotten coffee cup. When his hand moved from my chin to the back of my neck, I ignored the biting instinct to pull myself out of his hands, but even so, his fingers tightened as if I’d disappear if he didn’t. Slowly, I allowed myself to lean on him, and if it weren’t for his thumb wiping away at my cheek, I wouldn’t have known when I’d started crying.

“You gotta accept the mud, kid.”

[arcyeus]

gambits so cool. sigh. i wish men were real

[interdimensionalhellscapeportal]

Me & everyone else living in Louisiana @ ep 8 of the Bad Batch:

[the0retically]

Statement of Timothy Rand

I’m definitely not done with it (and still gotta go through and edit what I do have) but if people want to see the start of it here’s the beginning part of the tma/bitb crossover I was thinking about. The premise is Rand is giving a statement about the events that happened in Galloway, but he did lose his sanity so things are a little Funky for him. It’s written in transcript style so there’s lines for him and then stage directions for background noise and some movement, anywho ramble over lol if y’all want to read it’s below the cut!

Statement of Timothy Rand regarding his experience with The Hive in Galloway, Louisiana.

[Click of a tape recorder, can hear the whirring of the tape throughout the following. Otherwise it is a quiet room. There is a sigh from the person in the room.]

Rand: So just, talk into this thing? Ok, guess that’ll work…Fuck, man, how do I even start? Uh, I guess it started with my sister, Rachel. She was always the best of us. Shining star. You know she could’ve been something. Done something good? Man, I don’t know. She was kind though. A pain in my ass, but she had a kind heart. God knows if I was the one that went missing instead of her then maybe this all wouldn’t have happened. I mean, would anyone even notice a burnt out loser like me going missing? Probably not. If they did, they would’ve said “it was only a matter of time” or some bullshit like that. But no, Rachel went missing and I was the one that never left. At least that's what John kept saying. Maybe if Rachel was around she could’ve done something more to fix everything before it led to…well all that. But, can’t change what happened. Even though it was my fault that she never made it home, I should’ve been there for her, I should’ve—fuck.

[Sound of rustling, pulling out a cigarette, and a lighter flicks open to light it. Lighter and pack can be heard being stuffed back into his pocket and there’s the sound of a cigarette burning followed by some coughing before it eases. He takes a couple drags from the cigarette which can be heard throughout the following. The tape whirs on.]

Rand: My sister went missing and then things were never the same. John was at work all hours, Ma tried her best, she really did, but I certainly didn’t make it easy for her. Then Kian and Rolan left town. After graduation, they couldn’t stay or whatever. Fuck if I know. Kian had a plan to become a big time rockstar, travel the world, perform in big ole Hollywood. He was always larger than life like that. Talking about his big plans and dreams. Never really expected him to ever come back.

[Rand pauses, takes another drag from the cigarette. There is some static noise in the background that slowly grows, nothing distracting, but it’s definitely there. The tapes whirs on. The following is said quieter.]

Rand: Rolan fucked off to Chicago and became a hotshot lawyer…he didn’t come home for ten years. I never saw him until they both came back to town. Surprised they even agreed to it.

[Rand scoffs, clears his throat, and continues. The static is more present. The tape whirs on.]

[plantwriting]

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Rand heard Kian’s playing and ignored it.

Like nobody can blame Rand for that, of course he ignored it, he’d just run away from Rolan for far less, he was panicking and scared and who the fuck wouldn’t have ignored that? Who wouldn’t have?

But just. How fucking much would it hurt Kian if he ever found out? If he found out that Rand heard him, and knew it was him, and chose to ignore it? That Rand KNEW he was going to see Becky, that he was supposed to come back hours ago, that something must have gone horribly wrong, and he didn’t even try to help him when given the chance to?

Does Rand blame himself? Even if he knows that in the end, he probably couldn’t have done anything to save Kian, does he blame himself? Does he think about how things might have gone differently if he’d gone to get him, if he’d been there, would he have looked behind that tree? Would he have found Kian, realized what was going on, would they have been able to bring him back before he even had to fully die? Would the confrontation with the queen gone differently if Kian hadn’t been completely unraveled that first time?

Does he think about how even when they did finally go and get him, he still did nothing for Kian? Rolan was the one who started singing along to the song, Rolan was the one who brought Kian back, while Rand stood by and watched.

Does Rand blame himself? For not being able to convince Kian not to go see Becky, for not going with him to protect him, for not going to look for him when the clock ticked past the time they were supposed to meet back up, for ignoring Kian when he heard him playing, for not bringing him back, for leaving him at the community house, for not being able to kill the queen fast enough to stop Kian from dying again, for not protecting him?

Does Rand blame himself?

Somewhere deep down, even if he’ll never admit it, does Kian blame him as well?

[twomystdunstans]

Kian and Rand are in a fucking episode of Lost (2004) and Rolan is running around his house like this

[aaflovedatbounz]

🎼🎶🎵🎶 VERSUS

He Loves ❤️ Me !!!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Have I put y'all on to that Willie Jones sound yet? My Black Cowboy playlist is popping this afternoon!

[rabbitmotifs]

my favorite part of bcs besides lalo constantly being surprised that jimmy bagged kim as a wife is the scene wjere jimmy continues his awful louisiana cajun accent when talking to kim bc she wanted him to do the voice again after their successful scam and hes making her laugh so much

[devilofsf-cisco]

Goin’ Down the Bayou | Astro

@dr-astrid-zhang​

Cisco stood at the front door checking his phone for the arrival time on the Lyft he’d ordered for Astrid and himself. They were going to cash in on the dinner cruise that Chris gifted them which, after nearly a month of being to themselves, seemed like a great idea for getting out. It was music, on a boat, with food, in New Orleans. They didn’t have to think about their grief or their anger or their sorrows. They didn’t have to wonder about their next steps or check in with anyone or do use sort of therapeutic tools. They didn’t have to attempt to distract themselves by trying to plan their wedding. Tonight, they were dressing up a little and just living.

“Astrid, love, the driver’ll be here in two minutes!” he called out, free hand resting in his pocket. “One more minute and then I’m comin’ back upstairs to get you!”

[boilingheart]

i say loser affectionately btw

(results from pt 1)

[caesurah-tblr]

One of my goals is to one day get brave enough to participate in a zine! I’d love to write something for a piece of media I love.

[yellowocaballero]

I see you are being a BNF on main again. Good to know the people are keeping you humble.

I am going to bury you in a shallow grave.