#go fall down a metaphor for capitalism

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Gwen-haters:

Me: Ayo Peter B. is a horrible person

Gwen-haters:

fuck Peter B. Parker all my Hobies hate Peter B. Parker (not a typo)

[the-kr8tor]

Solo Mission

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 15k

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple mission goes awry. Your choices have consequences.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), CW food mentions, TW death, TW blood and gore, Body horror, CW injury, TW violence. Space exploration AU, Set in the future, Established relationships, space scavenger! Hobie and reader, horror elements.

A/N: Heavily inspired by the alien franchise and oats studio's zygote short film.

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

You float weightlessly in the vastness of space like an untethered satellite. Space, all encompassing, dark and foreboding land of stars and galaxies.

You dance in the windless place, swimming amidst the rocky asteroids, and gaseous gas that parts for you like seafoam on the shores of your old home. The sounds of twinkling wind chimes clink sweetly. Your eyes shine as you continue to fly, Saturn's rings wave by, Pluto's speck whizzes past you. Your fingers rake through the dust of ancient cosmos. A burnt smell of metal and steel enters your lungs, and as you look up to see the source, A blackhole appears, it sings an empty song.

And then suddenly, there's nothing but emptiness where the sun used to be. Your screams are taken from your throat as tendrils of darkness envelope your weightless being, stretching, and tugging and pulling at your body until you're nothing but a part of its ancient mass.

Gone and forgotten.

“Fuck!” You wake up in your cot, head almost hitting the top bunk that has been empty since you've claimed the cabin for your own. Heaving, hand on your chest, you feel arms snake around your middle, and his nose nudging your side. “Sorry, nightmare.”

Hobie inhales, looking up at you through half lidded eyes. “What's it about this time?” His voice is gravelly from sleep, palm softly pressing on your stomach to lay you back down.

“A blackhole this time.” You whisper as you lay down on the soft pillow. The cot barely fits the two of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way. “It swallowed me, I think.”

He hums, chin placed on your shoulder, one eye closed from sleepiness. “It was a metaphor for capitalism.”

Smiling, you wipe at the crust gathering in the corner of his eyes. “You're so good at interpreting dreams.”

“I should have made it a career instead of bein’ a scavenger.” He pulls you towards him so you don't fall over the edge of the cot. His hand is warmer than the summers back on earth.

“Well, if you did go into that industry you wouldn't have met me, captain.” You snuggle closer, “also, I think you wouldn't earn much.” Your hand finds penchants on the back of his neck, fingers kneading softly.

Chuckling, he pecks your cheek before closing his eyes, completely relaxing in your gentle touch. “You never know, we might've met because you wanted me to decipher your dreams.”

“Go back to dreaming, you sap.” you giggle, “We might have a long day today, we need you bright and sharp, cap.”

“Don't have to tell me twice, doc.” He yawns, hugging you tightly. “You feel alright though? I can stay awake if you need someone to talk to, lovie.”

“I'm good, thank you, but holding me like this is already helping me.”

“Maybe I should've become a professional hugger then.” He mumbles as he drifts off to sleep. The soft whirring of the station lulls him to dream of better things, and the big space metal he calls home floats and rotates in place, almost like it's rocking the two of you.

“Yeah, maybe.” You inhale sharply at the familiar scent of the space station. It's metallic in nature, but the gentle smell of home trumps the acrid scent of steel.

Your eyes roam the grey room that you and Hobie have made your own. Various posters and pictures of your travels across the galaxy are taped to the walls, numerous tools, both medical and mechanical, lay about the room. But the thing that hasn't stopped you from staring at it is the large circular window sitting at the far wall just across from the bed. It's an eternal darkness out here, with no way to tell what time it is, or what day it is without a watch. It can make anyone go insane without proper training. It's like living underground, except you get to see the sky and everything above and below it.

Amidst the darkness of space there lies Mars, in all its crimson glory, stares back at you. The red planet drenches your room in its hue as the station floats and rotates, it bathes you in its magnificence. The planet is a large beautiful thing, and it makes you feel small in its primordial presence. It has you thinking that home is only a stone throw away— Earth, even though it's thousands of miles away from you. Thousands of miles away from the salty sea, miles away from the chirping birds, and sweet flowers. You miss home. But with Hobie in your arms, this is the closest to home.

A knock echoes in the room, the comms cackles to life, and a tired raspy voice speaks in a mechanical tone from the old comms. “Either one of you awake?”

You sigh, taking a peek at your sleeping captain. With a double tap in your ear, you turn on the communication on your end, “Someone better be dying, Yuri.” You whisper, making sure that Hobie doesn't stir awake as you rub your knuckles over his arm affectionately.

“This night shift is killing me but that's not why I'm here.” You hear her sneeze on the other side, and then a sniffle. “Sorry, but I think we found something.”

“What kind of something?”

“A big payday kind of something.”

—

The door hisses as you enter the kitchen of the space station. The sudden bright lights make you wince in your fatigued state, one eye open while your hand roams all over the wall next to you to dim the lights. Once you feel the knob of the light switch, you turn down the harshness of the white light.

“I've gone blind.” You blink rapidly, adjusting your sight to the now darker room.

“Will a pot of fresh coffee cure your blindness?” Yuri asks behind you. In her arm is a holopad where hundreds of flashing dots appear. It's gibberish to you, but to the ship's personal navigator, it comes natural to Yuri.

“Maybe? Is it the good stuff from AE-67?”

“What are we, the emperor?” She raises a brow, and you shake your head with a pout. “When we scrap this ship we're tailing, we can drink that shit every single day, babes.”

You walk towards the coffee pot, grabbing two mugs, knowing that Hobie is bound to wake up now that your warmth next to him is gone. “You said that last time. And we almost ended up space scrap ourselves.”

“Oh this one would be different because…” she turns her holo pad to face you, revealing an old government issued ship just floating in space. “I think we might've found the motherload.”

“That looks ancient.” You pinch at the screen, zooming in on the chipping markings. “And very much confidential. This is an army ship, Yuri—”

“At three fucking A.M. Yuri?! Really?” James walks inside the kitchen, fuming and very tired from how his eyebags sag underneath his blue eyes. Ned follows behind him, hair disheveled and still in his pajamas. “Where's the captain?”

“Sleeping, but I bet he's waking up from how loud you were screaming.” You toss a balled up napkin at him, hitting him right on his chest.

“Everyone shut the fuck up,” Ned yawns, hands placed on top of his ears. “I need my coffee stat.” He takes your cup instead of getting his own. Putting three scoops of sugar and four spoonfuls of creamer, which he stirs quickly before chugging it.

“We live with a barbarian.” You roll your eyes, getting a fresh cup. You meet with Yuri's eyes, she gestures towards the dining table, and sits the holodeck on top of it, which immediately activates the projector that shows a bigger, much clearer picture of the ship. “Damn.” Hands protectively over the two cups, you watch as Ned’s eyes widen at the sight.

James whistles lowly, “wait, I know that ship. I remember my dad reporting on it fifteen years ago.”

Yuri snorts, “so back when you were in diapers?”

“No—”

“Is that what I think it is?” Hobie appears in the doorway, bleary eyes blinking at the projection. He walks towards the table, hands swiping at the hologram to turn it around, and zooming in on what's left of the markings. “Fuckin' hell.” He curses under his breath.

You close the distance, sliding his cup next to him as you sip on your own. “What is it? You recognize it?”

“It's the ‘Herodotus.’ It's been missing for years. How the fuck—?” You remember that name, and how infamous it became over the years. It's a myth spread across the galaxy, where treasures could lie.

“I came across it on our radar. A more modern radar isn't designed to detect old ships like this, but ours is old as balls, so our old girl found it.” Yuri answers him, patting the table as if it's sentient. “Then I sent our little droid to take pictures of it. It's in the zeta quadrant in the Remus constellation. Not that far from where we are.” She looks over to a bewildered you. “I knew we had something.”

“Some people say they're carrying tons of credits to be transported to some planet in sector seven.” Ned enters a few codes in the panel on the table, and a second later, the news article about said ship pops up. A picture of the ship looking shiny and new is on top of the page. “Some say it exploded, or looted while en route.”

You read through the article. “There were no survivors.” Your hand instinctively wraps around Hobie's, making him squeeze you. “There were no escape pods recorded to have left the ship.”

“That they know of,” Hobie replies. “No one found the bloody ship, until now.”

“So what's the course of action, captain?” Yuri asks.

Hobie looks over to you. And your mind runs a thousand miles per second. “What if there was a disease that wiped them out instead? It happened before on Romulus five years ago, what if—” you sigh, knowing the crew's minds are made up. “The ship looks pristine, no sign of explosion or pirates looting outside.”

“Or we could find millions inside.” James adds. “If there's no credits on board— it's an army ship, the weapons alone could be worthwhile. Or hell, even the power core and the cryo pods.”

“I can't believe I'm saying this but, James is right.” Yuri sighs and James fist pumps the air victoriously. “This could be the one we're waiting for.”

You purse your lips, and Hobie looks at you through pensive eyes. “If the captain wants to go, I'll go.”

Hobie cups your cheek briefly with a smile before returning his attention towards his small crew. “We'll take precautions in case there's a virus,” Yuri, claps her hands with a grin while Ned and James share a look. “And we take anythin' valuable.”

“Crunching the numbers, I think we're looking at ten mill, each.” Ned smiles, clasping Hobie's shoulder. “So just like any job then?”

“Just like any job.”

“Let's go get rich then.” Yuri hoots and hollers down towards the cockpit to punch in the coordinates.

The crew leaves to prepare, but you can't help but ignore the gnawing worry in your stomach. Hobie notices while drinking his coffee. He turns his attention towards you, calloused hands rubbing along your arms comfortingly.

“You alright?”

“Mm-hmm, just worried. The usual.” You take his hand from your arm to kiss the back of it. “It's nothing.”

“You know I trust your gut, right? Remember that heist we had on earth?” You nod with a faint smile. “You said you had a bad feelin’ and it turns out it was a trap. If not for you tellin’ your concerns we would be talkin’ through our cells in blackwater right now.”

“Okay, I worry that something is wrong with it.” You glance at the projection of the ship. “Just— I have an eerie feeling about it.”

“Tell you what, just say the word and we don't do it.” Hobie cups your jaw, thumbs rubbing along your skin gently. “We go about our way through the bloody cosmos like usual.”

You inhale. “We do need the money though.”

He gives you a smile, lips meeting your forehead. “I know. We'll be set for life if we do this.” You hum, eyes closed. “No more space farin’, no more diggin’ through dead ships for scraps.”

“And we can go home.”

“And we can go back to earth, and buy that place you like.” He whispers the last part.

You chuckle as he kisses the tip of your nose. “With the reading nook, and large bathtub?”

“Big enough for the two of us. All that and more, love.” He smiles, and you feel reassured. Tilting his head, he kisses you properly this time.

—

You sit just behind Yuri in the control room, you're tucked in safely with the seatbelts that's properly secured. Hobie sits at the front, navigating through the asteroid belt expertly. His hand flexes over the controls as the ship goes to a cruising speed once the decommissioned ship appears in sight.

Behind the large circular ship lays a red planet with its storms brewing just above the surface with yellow lightning that sparks and illuminates the dark space for a brief time.

“No wonder no one found this ship.” James mumbles in his seat.

“Until now.” Yuri smirks at him, eyebrow raised in a teasing manner which James scoffs at.

“Is that?” You narrow your eyes at the broken down droid floating aimlessly, it's barely a dot in the radar. The mechanical eyes are dim, wings broken in half next to it, and its tail is sparking from its broken down state.

“Damn it!” Yuri curses, eyes flicking towards Ned, who's groaning in anguish.

“No, Terry 2.0!” Ned thumps his head on the seat headrest. “He was my favourite!”

“I see something behind the ship!” James exclaims as he activates the ship's radar, your screen lights up like a Christmas tree in the shape of another ship.

“Wankers.” Hobie guides the ship carefully, rounding the corner to stare down at the rival emerald coloured ship. With a few clicks on the panel, he calls up whoever is left on the ship.

“I swear those martians are always right on our tail.” Yuri shakes her head with an angry look on her face.

The call rings and rings, yet no one answers. “Fuck it, let's dock on the other side. I bet we'll come across those arseholes.” With an annoyed grunt, Hobie moves the ship on the other side to dock.

Everything happens by the book. Hobie lines up the ship perfectly along the docking clasps while Riri makes sure that the crimson spider is nicely locked on the military ship. And once everything is in place, you make sure that Hobie has his double lined suit on and everyone else that's coming on board the decommissioned ship. It's not needed most of the time, but with your worry of unknown disease that could be on board, it's a necessity.

“Yuri, you stay ‘ere in case things shit the fan.” Hobie instructs Yuri and she slumps down just as she's about to put on her boots.

“Come on, cap! I wanted to give those dicks a piece of my mind!”

“Sorry, James stayed last time.”

James smirks under his helmet, forgetting that it's completely see through.

“Oh fuck off, James.” Yuri kicks his shin, causing the smug blond to hold his leg and jump in place. He winces, the sound echoing through the comms.

“Ow! I just smiled!”

“Alright, enough of that. We have a job to do.” Ned says before you could. You give him a thankful nod. The other two doesn't seem to get the message, their arguing echoes throughout the ship.

Your suit hugs you in its silicon material, helmet fitting snugly and smelling faintly of jasmine. You can bet that Yuri used it before on a routine space walk. Tapping on the controls right on your wrist, you make sure the oxygen and carbon dioxide levels are alright. Sighing, Hobie sidles up to you, hand grabbing onto the med kid on your belt, pulling you closer to him.

“Just say the word, love.”

“I'm starting to think you're the one who's more worried than me.”

“It's my job to worry.” He smiles, “and it's part of the deal in lovin’ you.” He whispers the last sentence, making sure the other three are still arguing right behind you.

“You make it sound like I blackmailed you into loving me.”

“Nah, I walked right into it with open arms.” Hobie winks, sending your heart into a marathon.

You hold onto his wrist, wishing that you could feel his warmth under the suit. Smiling, you draw circles around his wrist. “Now that we're here, I actually feel good about it now.”

He chuckles, “you're a bad liar, love. I have to teach you how to lie better.”

You feign annoyance with a click of your tongue, smile betraying you. “Damn it, you saw right through me—”

“Fine!” Yuri's angry voice pops the bubble of affection around you and Hobie. She gives James the middle finger. “When you come back, your room will be filled with fucking jelly!”

“I hope an alien abducts you while you're alone here!”

“Moron, aliens aren't real!”

“Enough.” One word from Hobie and they both quiet down. (The ghost of his smile betrays him though) But their glares don't subside. “We have to move quickly or the Martians will get the loot before we can.”

“Aye, aye, cap.” Yuri says with a roll of her eyes, clearly annoyed at the situation. “Get me something good, babes.” She says to you as she moves out of the room and back into the cockpit. She opens the airlock, waving goodbye through the glass window.

Alarms blare, a high pitched sound declaring that the air lock has been opened. Red light illuminates the room as the air hisses and squeaks from the pressure change. Hobie holds onto your hand, squeezing three times when the giant door opens and reveals the state of the old ship.

“It's dark.” James says through the comms, voice a bit muffled by the system. “There goes looting the power supply.”

“Maybe the emergency system shut it off after whatever happened to them.” Ned steps inside first, opening his flashlight perched on his shoulder. “Besides, basic shit like doors and gravity would still work without it.”

The unmistakable click of a gun's safety goes off in James’ hand as he takes the rear end of the line right behind you. Your hand reluctantly lets go of Hobie, fingers stopping once you feel the familiar indents of your pistol right on your hip. Hobie's back is in front of you, no doubt holding on to his own gun just like Ned and James.

The doors close right behind you, and the crimson spider’s light is snuffed out, plunging the crew in darkness. Your hand shakes as you click your torch open. The air is stale and stagnant, with dust particles flying about. The ship is a mess inside, full of broken down metal, and scraps of papers strewn about. But still no sign of life.

The visitor's desk that should've greeted you on the way in sits empty. The booth is cracked, and the inside looks like a hurricane ran through it. Your hand unclips the holster, thumb practically glued on the gun. You have a bad feeling about all of this despite what you just told Hobie.

The comms cackle to life in your ears. “Everyone alive in there?” Yuri's voice echoes, and you hear her munching on her breakfast.

“Good on our end.” Ned answers, walking at a reasonable pace. “Are you seriously eating right now—!” He hits something with his foot, and whatever it was, it lights up the hallway, bathing it in blue light. “What the fuck!”

“Calm down.” Hobie clasps his shoulder as Ned moves to the side, giving you the perfect view of a droid on its last life.

“What happened?!” Yuri yells.

“It's just a service droid.” You sigh, answering her question. “We're good, Yuri.”

“You're a fucking scaredy cat, Ned.” James chortles behind you. Ned rolls his eyes, flipping the bird at James.

Hobie crouches down, turning the droid’s head to the side to see its cracked screen. It still smiles as sparks fly from its joints. “Ned, can you splice its memory?”

“Child's play.” He says, still clutching his chest. “It might take some time but I can do it remotely once I've connected to its head.”

“Good, thanks, mate.” Hobie stands up, letting Ned do his work. He looks at you, wordlessly asking if you're alright with just a nod.

You send a wink at him despite your anxiety crawling up your neck.

“And…I'm in. We can go.” Ned groans as he stands up, Hobie gives him a helping hand which the man takes.

“How long?” You ask, looking over Ned’s shoulder.

“Fifteen minutes, give or take.”

“I'll take the lead this time.” Hobie says, gesturing for Ned to move behind him and in front of you. You don't like how Hobie went further down the line, but you sucked it up as it's part of the job you signed up for.

The crew continues to stalk the hallways, guns raised, and with your heart rate quickening with every step. The place has become more disheveled with every move you take, tables turned over, consoles broken into pieces, shards of glass littered across the floor and broken wires sparking on the walls. And there has been no sign of the other crew, or other life forms amidst the destruction.

“Where are they?” You ask, swallowing thickly at the broken down dining area you passed. Good thing you have helmets on or the smell would've been rancid with the leftovers you saw still on the table.

James scoffs behind you. “Fuck them, Y/N, why are you so worried? It's a big ass ship, odds are we don't see them.”

“If they're going where we're going, we're bound to walk into them.” You raise a brow, looking over your shoulder. “Besides, we should've seen a sign from them by now.” Peeking at your small console on your arm with the map of the ship, you surmise your group has already reached the middle of it, which means you should've heard the other group talking or even their footsteps echoing by now. It has been silent ever since you stepped foot inside.

You pat your pistol on your hip, the hair on your nape rises with your anxiety boiling inside you. Maybe it's better if you do see them, it would mean the place is safe from any contaminants or other dangerous obstacles bound to happen when you're exploring a decommissioned ship.

The group walks in silence with each of their heavy footsteps echoing around the winding hallway. On your right sits numerous rooms where the crew would've slept in. On your left are large windows that showcase the vast space just outside of the ship. You're used to the view, but you always loved looking at the dark with its numerous stars and planets dotting the view. You always wonder if someone out there was gazing at the same view as you, and you always have an answer to it, and that's Hobie.

You meet with his eyes just as when he looks away from the window to you. He smiles beneath his helmet, winking casually, reassuring that he's right there with you. You grin at him, pursing your lips and mocking a silent kiss that makes him chuckle before shaking his head and taking his attention back towards the front.

“Heads up.” Yuri's voice cackles on the intercom. “Cryo room inbound.”

Hobie stops when he sees the big letters on his right. The large double doors are tightly sealed with the panels on its left still blinking and softly beeping amidst the darkened room. A number is painted on the doors, and a few symbols indicating the rooms importance and what lies inside.

“Do you want to check it out, Hobie?” Ned asks, lifting his head briefly from his console to look at the doors. “The pods could still be intact, we can sell them if they are.” His console beeps, and he presses a few buttons on it. “We got time anyway, decryption is at seventeen percent.”

“And there could be people inside.” You add, “it is protocol to get inside a pod if all else fails in the ship.”

“Imagine if they were,” James mutters. “they've been sleeping and waiting in there for fifteen or so years. Fucking creepy.”

“Probably,” Hobie says while lining up his torchlight at the dinging control panels. Your heart thumps with trepidation from their words. “Ned, could you?”

“Sure thing.” Ned walks towards the panel to connect his console with it. “Good thing we saw that droid, now I've got access to most of the ship.”

“Everyone say ‘thank you, dead robot.’” James chimes.

“Thank you, dead robot!” Yuri laughs in the coms, “we'll be sure to remember its memory once we get our own mansions.”

“Cryo pods are worth half a mil each in the market nowadays.” You say while you wait for Ned to open the doors. Hobie sidles up next to you, leaning against you casually. “And with how vintage this is, it could fetch us a handsome prize from the right collector.”

He turns his head towards you, bumping his helmet against yours gently. “You're brilliant.”

You show him your console that is showing how much a cryo pod is in the online blackmarket. “I was reading off of it.”

Hobie chuckles, moving away to pat your shoulder. “Should've said so, love.” You giggle at his reaction. “You're still gettin’ reception from ‘ere?”

“It's a bit choppy now, but yeah.”

“It's because of my genius with the net expander—” Ned pats himself on the back, literally. “There, it's open.” With a chiming sound and a hiss of compacted air, the cryo room opens to you.

Hobie and James go inside first with their weapons drawn, their steps calculated, and eyes watchful at the blue lined walls. You follow closely with Ned by your side, he shifts his head around the expansive room. Unlike the hallways, the room is pristine. With its walls and floors clean as if it's the first time someone has stepped foot inside. In the center sits a dozen or so cryo pods. Its cylindrical shape and glass lid sparkles from your flashlights.

Once Hobie and James cleared the room, you peek inside one of the pods, finding it empty. “Ah shit.” You look inside each pod to make sure, only seeing its white padded walls instead of what you expected. “It's all empty.” You sigh, hands placed on your hips.

“Thank fuck.” James takes a peek at one of them with a relieved sigh. “I would be freaked out if there was someone in one of these.”

Ned raises a teasing brow, “weren't you born in one?”

“Fuck off.” James flips him the bird.

Hobie smiles at the interaction while punching in a few buttons at the control panel in the center. You walk closer to him, hand placed on his waist while looking at the display.

“It says that it's in optimal condition.” You say while reading the rest of the information. “Even the cryo fuel has never been used.”

“I can read y’know.” He tilts his head at you, glancing briefly while he presses a few more buttons.

“Ha ha.” You squeeze his side, if not for the suit he would've felt it better. And yet he still yelps, as if it hurt him.

With a chuckle, he calls Yuri. “Ready the ship at dock number three, I'm sending the pods to you.”

“Fuck yeah!” Yuri's happy cheers ring in your coms. James even claps in place but when Ned doesn't show his excitement, he nudges him, and Ned scoffs at him in return before turning his attention back towards his screen, probably monitoring the decryption.

“Right, stand aside, I don't want you lot getting pulled in.” Hobie pulls you back by your belt, you stagger backwards, earning a yelp from you. When you stare daggers at him he just grins playfully. “What? I was jus' lookin' out for you is all.”

“Thank you, Hobie.” You say sarcastically, head bopping to the side while the floor around the cryo pods open with a mechanical hiss.

“You're welcome, love.” He pats your behind, chuckling as the pods descend from the floors downwards to the docking bay. You pat his flat ass in retaliation, which James makes a face at the two of you. “You got it from ‘ere, Yuri?”

“Got it, cap.” You can hear some clicking and whirring on the other side of the call. “Anddd… It's in! We're rich!”

While the others celebrate with high fives and fist pumps, a trilling sound from outside the room takes your attention. You walk towards the door, peeking over the doorway, eyes roaming around the dark with your flashlight following your line of sight.

You turn your head to the right. Nothing, just an open shutter with another dark hallway.

You turn to your left, nothing but dust flitting about.

A hand suddenly grasps your shoulder, and you jump from the shock of it. “Jus’ me, love.” Hobie rubs his gloved thumb over your shoulder blade, amused eyes turning into concern when he notices your anxious self. “You alright?”

“Y–yeah, I thought I heard something.”

He gives you a tight smile, pulling you towards him for a quick hug. “It's an old ship, it creaks and groans.”

You inhale sharply, “yeah, I know. I'm just jumpy.” Placing your hand on his cheek, the helmet stops you from fully feeling his warmth against your skin. “We can go now, right?”

“You kidding?” James appears from behind, grinning from ear to ear. “We gotta get the power source now, doc. Go big or go home, right?”

“I'd rather go home now actually, James.” You frown at him.

“Come on, there could still be valuable shit in here.” He pushes in between you and Hobie, going out of the room to spread his arms to his side. “You never know there could be that treasure we've heard about.”

“That's a load of shit.” You say, annoyed. “We got what we need, let's just go back to our ship instead of chasing some old wives tale.”

“We're not leaving until we see for ourselves that it is just some story.” James doesn't back down, “right, cap?”

You turn towards Hobie, clearly contemplating his choices. “How ‘bout we put it to a vote, like usual.”

“Come on, Hobie—” You start.

“I vote stay!” James cuts you off.

“Sorry, gorgeous, but I also vote yes. I have debts to pay, y’know.” Yuri adds to the conversation, you were hoping that she was on your side in this.

You shift towards Ned, who finds himself in the middle while he stares (or pretends to) at his screen. “What?”

“You need to vote, Ned.” You say, arms crossed atop your chest while leaning on the doorway.

“Vote yes to be a multi millionaire, Ned.” James teases you some more with a smirk playing on his lips.

“I found the ship map from the files I got from the droid.” Ned says, and James groans loudly. “And it says here that there's a hidden chamber deep inside the ship—”

“The treasure!” Both Yuri and James exclaim.

Hobie beckons Ned over, looking at the map on his console to see it for himself. You glance at it, and sure enough, there's a large chamber right in the center of the ship that wasn't in the original map placed around the ship walls.

Hobie turns towards you, and you already know what he's about to say. “Love—”

“Fine, majority wins.” you slink off outside without another word.

Hobie tries to reach for you but you're already walking away.

—

The group stays on course. With Hobie leading and with you in the back of the line, frowning and jaw clenched at the hallway ahead. At least the view outside is pretty. You glance at Hobie, finding that he's focused on what lies ahead.

With a huff, you open your screen to amuse yourself with some good old space invaders but you find that the net has stopped connecting with you being so far from the crimson spider. You could still play to spite the team, but you opt not to be such a child in the face of uncertainty. So you put the console to sleep, a flicker of Hobie's photo appearing before the screen turns to black.

You bite your lip when the group turns a corner towards the ship's cockpit. Again, the hallway is empty save for a few glass shards cracking under your boots. The air is as stale as before, and there hasn't been anyone you've come across through the short walk from the cryo room to the control room.

Hobie tries to open the door on the panel to the side, but it beeps in a high pitched tone, indicating that he can't access it.

“Ned,” he looks over his shoulder, only to find that Ned’s already by his side, console at the ready.

“I should send you all the authorization so you don't need me anymore to do this for you.”

“Aw, but we always need you, Neddy.” Yuri jokes in the coms, and you manage to let out a small chuckle.

Hobie hears you, turning to smile at you, which you slink away from, still annoyed and frustrated by him and his decision. His expression falters as the entire team hears a beeping sound from their screens to find that Ned has given you and the rest the access codes he got from the droid.

“There, in case we get separated, we can all open doors now.” Just as Ned says it, the cockpit doors open with a groan and a hiss. But it stops halfway, only opening enough for one person to pass through one at a time. “Damn it.” He tries to fix it by banging at the panel, but the doors only wheeze as sparks fly. “Note to self: don't do that.”

“It's fine, we can get inside anyway.” Hobie squeezes himself inside, you stop him immediately with your hand on his bicep. “Yeah, love?” He pauses in place right in between the double sliding doors.

You quickly scan the room, finding no one else inside or anything that would put him in danger. “Sorry, just checking.”

He pats your hand with a smile, reassuring you. “Thanks, love, I've got this, don't worry.”

“She always worries.” James utters under his breath. You snap your head at him, eyes narrowed. “What? I didn't say nothing.”

You hum, still staring daggers at him. “Watch your tone, James or I'll give you all those vaccines you keep avoiding, all at once.”

James surrenders while Ned goes inside the control room. “Jeez, sorry.” He gestures for you to squeeze yourself in next.

With a roll of your eyes, you move to shimmy yourself in, but that same trilling sound echoes from down the hallway towards you. It sends goosebumps to your arms, hair standing on the back of your neck.

“Did you hear that?” You ask James, who's standing next to you, waiting for his turn.

“No, it was probably the pipes. Old ship—”

“Yeah, I get it, this place is old.” With a quick push, you get yourself out of the doors.

The command center is as dark as the rest of the ship. The air seems to be more stagnant here than the rest with its lights flickering on and off, bulbs buzzing, threatening to pop. You scan the floors, finding it as disordered with broken glass, and scattered papers. But what gets your attention is the oozing dark matter still dripping from a table down to the floors. You briefly scan it with your device built in with your console, but after a few seconds of it trying to identify the substance, an error code pops up on the screen.

“What is it?” Ned sidles up next to you, eyes narrowed at the slimy material. “Goo?”

“I don't know, my console can't identify it.” You feel a sense of deja vu around it.

“Weird, it's probably on the fritz. I'll check it once we're back.” He nudges your arm. But when you could only stare at it, he shakes you lightly. “Y/N? You alright?”

A bright light seems to appear from inside the ooze, as if something is moving inside it. Something alive, ready to reach towards you with its dark tendrils.

“Hey.” Ned shakes you harder this time, managing to wake you up from your haze. “Do you feel dizzy?”

You inhale, craning your neck to look at him. “I'm fine, Ned. And that's my job.”

He chuckles, “not trying to take your job, doc.” Walking away, he looks over his shoulder, waiting for you to follow. “Come on then, before the captain worries.”

You take one last look at the substance before following Ned. It looks the same as before, maybe it was the trick of the light coming from the planet slowly rotating in the large window up front. It's a gaseous ball with its numerous storms laying waste to the entire planet. Its red lightning flaring, lighting up the cockpit with brief crimson. Hundreds of hurricanes' swirling clouds can be seen from where you are. It's magnificent, a terrifying force of nature. If this ship plummets down, there's no surviving it.

Tamping down your dark thoughts, you make your way towards Hobie, who's connecting his console with the main control panel. He glances at you, nodding briefly before returning his attention towards the blinking panels. His helmet reflects the storm in front, a dance of lightning and clouds circling around the glass of his helmet.

“Good thing the emergency power is keeping this place afloat.” James sighs, arms perched atop his rifle. “I really don't want to go down with this ship.”

“Stop it, James.” Hobie mutters, brows furrowed at his screen. He's still trying to keep your worries away even though he's busy. “It's not giving me any of the captain's logs.”

“You might need a higher clearance.” Ned connects himself to the controls, trying to override the clearance. “Wait— the decryption is done.” He unplugs to check the files, finding hundreds of audio files from a crew member named ‘Harry’.

The team shares a look, and you inhale deeply. As Ned pressed play on the last known recording, the crackling sound of the garbled audio echoes around the dark and silent room.

“Log 277, I've run out of food up here.” His voice is weak, as if he has been running a hundred miles before recording. “Serves me right for not stopping by the mess hall before shit hit the fan.” Something metallic can be heard in the audio, as if a gust of wind is blowing a tin roof away. “I can't— I can't do this anymore.” His sobs fade away for a second before he composes himself. “I've only got three days worth of water left— and I keep seeing that fucking face whenever I close my goddamn eyes!” He sharply inhales. “I–If you're hearing this recording that means I've successfully sent my logs to all the droids in the ship. I could at least warn you. And if you're still on the ship, run.” The recording cackles until it ends.

“What the fuck?” You whisper yell, palm gripping at your chest to ease your quick heartbeat.

Hobie reaches for you, hand placed on your nape, and his eyes swimming with fear. “We should get out of ‘ere.” You grip his hand, lips wobbling as you look at the side of his face.

“But—” James starts, eyes wide but clearly wanting to push through.

“We need to go, James.” You shake your head at him, steely eyes staring at him.

“Yuri—” Hobie calls for her.

“I heard, cap, I'm already docking the ship to the nearest exit.” She replies, tone serious.

“Let's go—” Ned gestures to leave, but a strained cough from somewhere freezes the group in place.

You flick your eyes at everyone, finding each of their faces morph into a terrified expression.

“P–please…” The mysterious voice pleads. “Behind…the controls.”

As terrified as you are right now, you can't help but try to save them, whoever they are.

Sliding away from Hobie's side despite his protests, you go around the panels to find the stranger. You gasp at his slumped state, his helmet is shattered to bits, lungs desperately trying to intake air, and his eyes— they're nothing but bloody sockets in his head.

Hobie follows you, immediately freezing when he sees what you're looking at with your wide eyes. “Fuck.”

Ned and James watch on with similar horror etched on their faces while Yuri’s gasps can be heard while she sees the stranger from your camera connected to the ship.

You slowly kneel down, trembling hands trying to open your med pack from your belt. Hobie's hand tries to keep you in place, protecting you from the man. The velcro from your pack rips as you open it, and the man raises a bruised hand to stop you.

“Not worth trying.” He wheezes. “I'm a dead man.”

Hobie narrows his eyes at the familiar patch on the man's suit, he sports a similar logo as the martians who got on the ship before you. “Are you with the—?”

“Commander Andy Landers at your service.” He salutes weakly, chuckling which was quickly replaced by a pained cough. “Who are you fuckers?” He points at his nonexistent eyes. “I'm not wearing my glasses right now.”

“Hobie Brown…” he kneels beside you, hand never leaving your shoulder. “You’re with my team. What happened ‘ere?”

Andy licks his cracked lips, hands flexing into fists as a wave of pain washes over him. “You need to get out of here.”

You try to patch up his eyes with a cloth of bandage but he stops you by suddenly grabbing your wrists in a bruising grip. “L–let go.”

“Don't look at it, or else it will know where you are.” He squeezes you tighter, his eye sockets dripping with fresh blood like a tear. Hobie comes to your side, trying to pry Andy away from you. “You can't kill it, but you can take your eyes away before it gets you!”

You desperately pull your hands away, Hobie manages to yank you off, and you immediately crawl away from Andy and towards Hobie. Hobie embraces your side, fingers gripping onto your suit, shielding you from the strange and eerie man.

The former commander gasps, as if his breath is being sucked right out of his lungs. His head is held up high, chest heaving and gasping for air. Bloodied tears flow down on his cheeks, leaving trails of crimson on his battered flesh. As fast as it came, he falls back into place, sockets seeming to stare right at you.

“It’s coming for you, doc.”

Your vision turns hazy with a kaleidoscope of light, but before you could blink it away, you're yanked up to your feet with Hobie dragging you out of there.

“We need to help him.” Just as you said the words, alarms blare out in the cockpit. Red lights suddenly illuminate the room, and a blue fog creeps from below the vents to the floor. The ship has activated its waste protocol, which means it has detected a foreign and dangerous object within the room.

“There's no helping him!” Hobie runs, while Ned manages to squeeze himself through the doors before it suddenly shuts closed. Hobie and James hit the steel doors harshly from their speed. And you run into Hobie's back right after. “Fuck!” He punches the doors, it doesn't even dent it. “Ned!”

“Already on it!” Ned's frantic muffled voice can be heard on the other side.

“That's it! I'm coming in!” Yuri screams into the coms as you hear her running footsteps in the background.

“No, Yuri, stay on the bloody ship!”

While Hobie and James try to pry open the door with their bare hands, a sound akin to crawling coming from the vents gets your attention. It seems to get closer amidst the blaring alarms.

“Take me, oh magnificent one!” Andy shouts from his place, and now you see fingers gripping the metal vents from below the floors, then another, then another as if three pairs of hands are trying to open it.

“Hobie.” You stagger back, hands grasping at Hobie's suit.

“‘m tryin', love!”

With the rattling of metal, the vent hatch disappears from beyond, sucked inside. The fingers reach out until a bloodied arm appears, then another, and another until you see dozens of fingers attached to three mangled and melded arms. A grotesque being of unfathomable nature.

“Hobie!” You shake him, and he finally looks back to see the creature rear its ugly head from under the vents— Heads, there's dozens of heads stuck together on its thick bloodied neck that oozes dark tendrils. Faces all morphed together into agonized expressions. Their voices are warbled, screaming in different tones and jumbled up words of suffering. “Ned, we need this opened now!”

You stand and watch as the being crawls out of the dark as sirens ring in your ears and ruby lights flicker in and out of place with the kaleidoscope haze in your vision. Its skin bends into a mass of flesh, a rat king of sorts, limbs tangled together, strewn together by a black substance ebbing out of its pores.

“Water!” The creature gargles out the words from deep within its throat. “Help!”

“Oh god.” You walk backwards into the wall, seeing the creature wobble towards the commander behind the control panels. Panting in place, you see James aim at it. “Don't!” You yell at him, arm outstretched. “You'll get its attention. Andy's giving us time.”

“I'm here!” Yuri's muffled voice from behind the door gives you hope. “Ned, tell me what to do!”

Their conversation falls from your ears as the mangled mess of flesh and muscle gets to the commander. It rises up to its full height, revealing you more of its hands and feet on its belly, all melted into place to create a wall of bloody and beaten flesh. A rainbow light flashes in your vision as it devours the man. Blood gushes out on the floor while it tears into him. He doesn't scream or plead for mercy, he stays in place, accepting his fate.

“Y/N!” Hobie's voice takes your attention away from the gore filled sight. “You go first!” He pushes you towards the crack in the door that Ned and Yuri managed to open. You can see their faces freeze in fear as they see the creature feed.

“What about you?!” You grab his arms, pulling him towards you.

“I'll be right behind you, love, I promise, yeah?” He pushes you further out while Ned and Yuri help pull you outside.

You hit the floor in a grunt, back aching that you push down to help Hobie get out. Standing up, you take out your pistol, aiming behind him while you cover Hobie as he scrambles out.

“Hurry!” Yuri yells, “James, you're next!”

Hobie manages to get out just as the creature's delighted hums of pleasure stop. You pull him closer to you for an embrace, he hugs back, face hidden on the crook of your neck.

“Fuck!” James' rifle buzzes and then goes off, and you immediately move away to help him. He shoots at the alien, bullets getting absorbed by its wall of flesh whenever he hits his mark.

“Forget it and just get out!” Yuri sticks her hand out to pull him out. She manages to grab hold of his belt, pulling him out into the barely opened door.

A spray of bullets rain inside while you join Yuri in pulling James out. “James! You need to go!”

Ned panics on the panel as it beeps an error sound, warning of the doors closing. “Fuck! Hobie—!”

Hobie stops from pulling James to help Ned. “Shit, it needs a fingerprint!” He presses his own thumb on the scanner to no avail. He realizes what happens next. “Pull him out now—!”

The unmistakable click of the empty rifle rings like a death knell. James' body is only a quarter from getting through as the creature grabs him with its multiple hands, pulling him away from your grasp, lifting him up while it opens its bloodied maw. He's face to face with rows upon rows of mismatched teeth, a dozen tongues lolling out and flicking the same dark substance on his helmet.

“Yuri!” James screams while you try to push yourself back into the room to grab his legs but Hobie yanks you away from the doors. Giving time for Yuri to replace you.

“Yuri, no! Get away!” Hobie yells as he holds you in place with his arms around you.

“James!” Yuri continues to push herself inside, prompting Ned to dive for her and pull her away but Yuri fights. “I've got his foot—!” As she says it, James' screams are cut abruptly. His blood dripping down on the floors, raining down on Yuri. “No!” Ned manages to pull her back enough but her arm is still taking hold of his limp leg. “I've got him—!”

Bang!

The doors suddenly shut on Yuri's arm, and her screams of sorrow are replaced with agonizing pain. The sound of muscle and bone being ripped apart from its sockets would haunt your dreams.

“Yuri! Oh god!” You crawl towards her while her shoulder sprays blood on your suit, “I've got you— oh fuck!” Your eyes fill with tears as your hand shakes around the bandage you're desperately trying to wrap around her wound. “Hobie!” With your cry, Hobie jumps to help, eyes wide with shock. “We need to stop the bleeding!”

He takes more bandages from your kit, pushing the cloth inside as she wails in pain. Ned cradles her in place, hand placed over her eyes as he shields her away from the sight.

The cockpit doors bang with every cry she lets out. You glance at it briefly, heart buzzing to the beat of the brute's knocking.

Once you've gotten your entire supply of bandages around her, Hobie inhales deeply. “We need to get back on board.” You and Ned nod while Yuri's sobs quiets down dangerously. “Help me get her up.” He sniffs as he stands up, “love, can you manage to cover us?”

You swallow down your fear. “Y-yeah, I think so.” He hands you the gun while he puts his arm under Yuri. She yelps, sobbing while she continues to bleed out. “She needs a lot of blood, Hobie.” You say while you put the gun strap over your shoulder.

“We'll get her some, don't worry.” The banging gets louder, “we might need to run. Yuri, which dock—”

“James…” She says in between sobs.

“I know, I know.” Ned calms her down with his hand wiping away at her blood soaked helmet. “We'll get him once you're alright, okay? For now, which dock, Yuri?”

“T–thirteen, near medical.” She gasps out before her head lays on Hobie's chest.

The three of you look at your right, opposite of the way you came from. “Alright, no time to lose.” He fixes his hold on Yuri, earning a staggered exhale from her. “Hold on for us, Yuri.”

Ned guides you all throughout the hallway while you can hear the banging echoing from behind. You take the rear, gun at the ready even though you aren't.

“Just a few more minutes, Yuri!” Ned yells from up front, numerous boots clanging against the metal floors.

You keep running despite your lungs heaving out. Checking your weapon's ammo, you glance at the floor to find the rest of commander Andy's team laying on the ground with numerous parts of their bodies missing.

“Fuck! This is fucked!” Ned screams but he keeps running.

The team turns a corner, that's when the lights flicker into the same shade as the bloody floors. The identical alarms ring from the cockpit, filling the entire hallway with blue fog. Your vision fills with a rainbow of light briefly.

It's here.

“Keep running!” You yell as you hear its heavy footfalls behind you. Hobie spares you a worried glance, “I'm fine, Hobie, keep going!”

You can see dock thirteen in the distance.

There's a new set of footsteps running in the halls.

“Who the fuck is that?!” Ned shouts, pointing ahead of him where a couple of strangers are running towards the dock. “Oi, no!”

They get there before you, sporting a similar suit like yours. But they don't wait for you as they open the dock hatch.

“Wait!” You point the gun at them as a warning. “Please!”

They look like they're arguing, but once they see the creature stalking right behind you, they don't stop to wait. With a frantic hand they shut the hatch close without your team making it inside your ship.

“Motherfucker!” Hobie yells, body hitting the glass hatch from his running momentum. Ned tries to open the doors with the panel to the side, but it beeps, error code reflecting on his helmet. “Open the fucking door!”

You look behind you, seeing the mass of flesh running towards you sloppily, body hitting the sides of the hallway as it gasps a gravelly voice.

“Yuri!” It says in James' voice, and you immediately aim, rifle powering up for a second before you shoot at its legs.

It staggers back as you hit its enormous knee caps in a shatter of bone and blood. You keep shooting, its skin tearing off from the bullets.

“I'm sorry!” The people on the other side say as they get into the ship, leaving you all behind. You can hear Hobie's console warning you of your shared ship undocking.

“Fuckers!” Ned punches the glass as it cracks under his fist.

“We need to go!” Hobie shouts above the rain of gunfire. He yells your name, and you immediately feel someone's hand grip the belt of your suit to pull you away.

Twisting around, you follow your team out of the hallway as you hear the deep rumble of the organism’s footsteps. Without looking back, you hear the shatter of glass and your ship's alarm systems kicking in. It got in, but the airlock already went back in place with a hiss, reminding you that the two strangers have left you all to die in this dying piece of scrap metal with an unknown creature.

—

Ned locks the med bay doors behind him while you and Hobie pause for a second to gawp at the mess of skin and muscle on the operating table.

“What the fuck is that?” Hobie waits for you to answer.

The body is barely recognizable as a human being. Its skeletal structure is all over the place with its seven legs curled to its side in a fetal position, with ten arms embracing its legs. The bones are in deep crimson, as if the shade was painted on. The muscles look like it's melting away from its bones, dripping flesh into the metal table.

“I don't fucking know.” You say while Ned closes the shutters to the windows. “Put Yuri down over there, I'll find where they keep the blood.” Pointing at an empty metal table, you set off to find some blood, or at least a transfusion kit. You remember Ned is an O negative, meaning he can give to Yuri.

Shuffling quickly around the room while Hobie sets Yuri down, you fling numerous cabinets open in hopes to find something, anything to help her instead of just bandages.

Hobie calls for you, his tone soft and sullen. “Love,” he cries out for you again. “Love.”

With one last cabinet to open, you finally find bags upon bags of blood stored inside. “I found it!” You smile, grabbing an armful of blood bags. Turning around, your smile falters when you see Ned sobbing while holding Yuri's hand. Hobie shakes his head, eyes filled with tears. A tear falls down your cheeks, you refuse to let it be. “I found the blood, Hobie, help me with—” you step forward, Hobie quickly embraces you, “she needs them!” muffling your cries as he holds you against his chest while bags of blood fall on your feet.

He cradles you in place as your legs give out from under you. “‘m sorry, love.” Leaning on the cabinets, he lets you hide yourself in his neck, letting your cries reverberate through him as he puts his head atop your shoulder, arms around your body and cradling you back and forth.

—

You've said your goodbyes to Yuri and James, but the shock still hasn't worn off from your bodies. The team, or what's left of you, sit on the cold floors, helmets off for now, backs leaning against the cabinets as the three of you stare off into space wordlessly.

“I'm gonna miss their arguing.” Ned cuts off the heavy silence. “I'm already missing Yuri's coffee, and James' parfait.”

“Or you could just be hungry, mate.” Hobie jokes, hand reaching on top of Ned’s head. Wiggling him gently while Ned smiles softly.

“I'll miss James' hugs, and the way Yuri haggles the prices on the black market.” You smile faintly, avoiding looking at her body covered by a fire blanket. “I remember when she managed to get the price of fuel down to only three hundred credits when it was supposed to be six hundred.”

“Remember when we had to pull her away from a bar fight?” Hobie turns to you, head placed on your shoulder with lips briefly kissing you. He wishes that the suit wasn't there. “While we were tryin’ to not get her arrested, James jumped in to join the fight. We ended up stayin’ a night in jail.” He chuckles, and you soon follow after with your gentle laughter.

Ned joins in, laughing that quickly turns into sniffles. “Yeah, I'll m–miss them.”

You slither your hand behind Hobie to pat Ned’s shoulder. “They were the best.”

“The pods.” Hobie suddenly says, perking up from your shoulder.

“Mate, this is no time to worry about the shit we stole.”

“Not that pod. The escape pods, every ship has ‘em. If we get the power goin' we can get out of ‘ere.”

Ned checks his console for the ship's map. “Says here that there are escape pods left in the ship.” He pinches his fingers, zooming in on the map. “And there's also some sort of executive panic room in case of an uprising inside the ship.” He hisses, “but we both need admin clearance and the power back on to open them.”

“Then let's find someone to open it for us. And open the lights back on.” Hobie thumps his head against the cabinet. “Fuckin' easy, eh?”

You chuckle, nuzzling your face on his bicep, “we need a miracle to pull it off.”

He bumps his head atop yours. “That's quitter talk, lovie.” A gentle smile appears on your lips, eyes glinting under the flashlights. “But I know that look, you've got a plan, don't you?”

“A half of a plan.” You pat his cheek affectionately before standing up. “We're surrounded by medical supplies, and that includes anesthesia. Lots of them.” Walking towards a glass cabinet filled with green vials, you open the door quietly, plucking a single vial from its place. “We may not be able to kill it with what we have, but we can paralyze it to give us enough time to chop off one of its hands.”

Ned's eyes widen in realization. “To get admin access.” He stands up, joining your side. “I saw its gigantic hand too, there’s dozens of fingers on there, one is bound to be from someone who has the credentials.”

“That plan is bonkers enough that it might work.” Hobie joins in with a groan, stretching his neck from side to side. “We’ll load up the rifle with your concoction, and one of you chops it off.” He glances at you with a look of admiration. “Good on you, love.” His hand cups your elbow, squeezing once before letting go.

“We just need to turn on the power then we'll head off to— wait, the escape pods or the panic room?” Ned asks the two of you, fingers flying to his console, pulling up the ship's map, flicking away an image of the center of the ship where he previously wanted to go before everything happened. You'll never know what lies there. “According to the map, they're near each other.”

“The panic room could give us enough time to wait it out for a ship to come along and rescue us, and maybe wait until the beast starves and dies. From what I've heard of rooms like this…” Hobie points at the dotted line on the screen where the room lays. “They have enough supplies to last the blood sucking executives two years inside the room.”

“And the pods could grant us a quick escape, but ships as old as this one are wonky at best. There's a chance that the built in autopilot won't even work.” You add.

“But a chance that it could.” Ned sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We've got enough time to figure it out later, for now we need to get ready, make sure that we don't fuck up our one chance.” He closes his eyes, breath stuck in his throat. “For them.”

You glance at Yuri's body, Hobie follows your gaze, immediately reaching for your hand, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “For them.”

—

Everything has been set in place, you've mixed at least three magazines worth of ammo with paralyzing agents that could bring down two elephants with one bullet. Or kill an adult human with just a graze from it. Good thing Hobie didn't pinch pennies to buy an old shitty gun but instead he got one that could be loaded with different cartridges. The bright green substance sloshes from side to side as you carefully load it in the remaining rifle and your pistol.

Hobie has armed himself with an ax he took from the fire emergency kit on the wall. He weighs it in his hands, eyes darting towards you and Ned.

“Change of plans, I'll do the cuttin’”

“I thought that was my job?” You ask, chest tightening with worry.

“I don't want either of you gettin' that close to it.” He places it on his belt, securing it with velcro. His suit is now matted with dried blood, you try not to think about it.

You close the distance towards him while Ned wordlessly shakes his head from the corner of your eyes. “At least take this with you, I know that there's no arguing with you, captain.” Handing him your pistol, you don't wait for him to take it, knowing that he will refuse it. Instead you place it on his holster after taking his own pistol to replace the bullets with the paralyzing serum. “This one is for Ned, I'll take the rifle.”

“Love—”

“You can't do everything all at once, Hobie.” You grab his helmet from the counter, placing on his head gently as you turn it until it's secured in place. Tapping the glass, you smile at him sweetly. “Let us help you, okay? We're a team, remember?” You glance at Ned.

“Hey, don't look at me, I'm all in favour of not getting close to it.” He shrugs, chuckling softly.

Hobie grasps your chin carefully with his gloved hand, corner of his lips curling into a tender smile. His eyes hide all his fears, an image of you laying in your pool of blood with Ned's body right next to yours.. “I remember, I just don't want to lose any more of my team.” He should've listened to you and left before everything turned to shit.

“You won't.” You say, palm placed over his heart, wishing the suit wasn't there to feel his heartbeat. “We're not planning on leaving you all alone, Hobie.”

“Hear, hear.” Ned clasps his hands together impatiently. “Can we load up my pistol before you two start snogging right in front of me? We don't have HR remember?”

Hobie chuckles, punching Ned's shoulder lightly. “After this you can send your complains to HR all you want.” He says as he points towards the trash can in the corner.

Your giggles softly echo above their banter while you load Ned's gun. You could only hope everything goes to plan. You don't want to lose either of them. They're what remains of your family and Yuri and James' memory. You want them back but you have to save the ones you still can no matter how much your heart aches for the ones who were lost.

—

The three of you walk silently through the halls, passing by dismembered bodies, coagulated blood sticking to the floors, and the beast's waste laying amongst the dead. You didn't know them, but you no one deserves such a fate.

The hallways are still drenched in darkness, this time it's filled with bodies with limbs all over. You try not to move your flashlight towards the dead in respect for them. Your heart thrums in your ears as Ned leads the way this time towards the power supply room. Hobie walks behind you, ax at the ready, eyes trained to watch out for any sudden movements.

You inhale sharply, trying to even out your staggered breathing which Hobie immediately notices. With a warm hand, he rubs his palm on your back, silently easing you.

Without a word, you reach for his hand atop your shoulder, patting it a few times and placing it over your helmet in a ‘kiss’. Hobie squeezes back before returning his hand to the heavy ax.

You finally make it to the front of the supply room. Its large double steel doors loom over you, the warning signs plastered right next to it take your attention. Highlighting all of your nerves even more.

Ned opens the door, using the same access codes he nicked from the droid just a few hours ago. To think that in a little over three hours your team was still complete, the crimson spider still had its crew and you still had your entire family with you. You should've fought harder to get back on the ship after taking the cryo pods. If you held your ground, told them about your gut instinct telling you to leave. Hell even threw a tantrum just for them to agree with you, the entire team would've been on the ship on your way back home to buy the life you've always wanted. Not stalking the halls of a dead space ship with a killer alien out for your blood.

At least Hobie and Ned are with you. You think you wouldn't have survived this long without them.

With a mechanical hiss, the doors open ever so slowly. The first thing you see under your flashlight is the water inside that sloshes with every creak and groan of the ship.

“What the fuck?” Hobie beats you to it, shining his torch all over the flooded room. The water laps gently at the small staircase further leading down to the room, as far as you can see, the entire place is filled with dark near stagnant water. It rises to the half of the iron coils connected together, good thing the power's off or else it could electrocute you.

Ned raises his light towards the ceiling, seeing a huge hole from it with water leaking down. “Fuck, that's coming from the quarters.”

“That's toilet water.” You grimace, glad that you have your helmet on so you can't smell the nasty water.

Hobie roams his light towards the middle, finding the large console with a lever that was similar to an older ship's power supply that you and Hobie were flying in before you two upgraded to the crimson spider. The bright blue fuel inside the cannisters shimmers in the light, still full as if someone just refueled the ship. The power core looks to be unscathed, James would've been thrilled.

“There.” Hobie sighs, “we need to trudge the water.” He curses under his breath, “I remember this type of supply has the initial surge of power before levelin’ out. We need a rope to tie it around the lever and pull once we're out of the water. Or we'll turn into fish and chips.”

“I fucking hate this, god.” Ned groans but is already coming down the slippery stairs. “Watch your step.”

Hobie lets you go first, ax in hand and takes one last look around before following you. The doors close behind him as the heavy water parts before you. It's cold over your suit, a kind of biting cold that shivers through your spine. Not even the thermal lining in your suit keeps it out.

Hobie sees your uncomfortable posture as you go further into the water until it reaches up to your waist. “Just a few minutes, love, this is nothin' compared to winters back home.”

“Y–yeah,” you shiver. “but this time there's no hot cocoa waiting at the end.”

“We get out of here and I'll drown you in hot cocoa.” Ned tinkers with his console. “Damn it, my screen’s wet.”

“Not a good way to say that you'll drown me while we're wading through waist deep water, Ned—”

The sound of an audio recording suddenly cackles to life, and Harry's voice echoes around the quiet room. “Log 15, I've figured out what attracts it.” He huffs in the recording, and there's some shuffling in the background. But you feel a sudden tugging at your leg, looking down and shining your light on it, you find that one of the metal coils has snagged into your suit. With every pull, it rips into the suit even more. Hobie helps you with his hand pulling at your leg to the opposite side, but with your impatience and nerves, you pull too hard, causing the sharp metal to scratch your skin, leaving a rip on your leg as you bleed into the water.

“Fuck.” You clench your teeth, holding onto Hobie for support from the sudden rush of cold water entering your suit and the ache from the wound.

“We just need to get you out of the water—”

“Blood.” Harry from the recording continues, “fresh ones. I don't know why but it seems to like it. Maybe because it's warm, but I'm no scientist. So if you're bleeding, put a cork in it immediately, if not, run for your life.”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, meeting your eyes with Hobie's wide ones. “Hobie—!”

The sudden trilling sound filters through the hallway outside, and its guttural shriek sends shivers down your spine. “Fuck! Go!” He gestures for you and Ned to run in the water, there's no going back where you came from since you're already a quarter away from the lever. You just need to push through.

The water makes waves as you move as fast as you can. Ned gets to the lever first, leaving you and Hobie to wade through it.

Ned points at another exit just to the side of the room with another staircase leading up to it. “Go! I'll tie the rope!”

“Ned, we ain't leavin’ you!” Hobie gets to his side, hands shaking at his oldest friend's shoulder.

“Go! The thing is following Y/N, not me!”

“But—!” You start.

“Just fucking go, captain!” His sad eyes flick over to you. “I can manage myself.”

The doors where you came from bursts open, metal shutters flying down into the freezing water with a splash. “Water!” It roars in its many voices.

“Fuck!” Ned pushes you and Hobie towards the other exit, body shimmying behind the console, hiding himself from view while the creature trudges the waters.

Hobie grabs you by the armpits, half carrying you towards the door while the water splashes all around you.

Body drenched, you two make it towards the door, opening it manually with a strong push. You step out onto the dry floor with Hobie right next to you. Once you turn around to face the being, you take your rifle from your back to aim directly at it. Hobie's hands grip the ax tight as he sees it ignore Ned and heading right towards your form with its large gangly form of stolen limbs.

“Now, love!” He yells as you don't waste time by shooting at it. The rifle didn't take a second to power up completely, once the gun beeps, your ammo hits its chest.

The sound of gunfire reverberates around you, muzzle flash painting the whole room in flashing light.

It staggers forwards, groaning and warbling but it still continues to grasp at you desperately. Hobie readies his ax, raising it above his head while you reload another round of the paralyzing serum. Ned sees a long arm snaking towards your foot, and as you see it headed for you, you snap your eyes towards Ned, who's smiling kindly at you. Mouthing words that you can't quite decipher while his hand is placed around the lever before pulling it down.

“No!” The sudden bright sparks burns your eyes, staggering you backwards as it blinds you for a moment. The beast wails, but you can't hear Ned anymore. Then you see it, the same rainbow of light flitting across your vision. It floats into a circle until it speeds up, as fast as it came, it flickers into a steady circle of light. Blinking it away with tears trapped in your eyes, you find Hobie clutching his eyes right next to you, one hand trying to find you. Meeting him halfway, you squeeze his hand and he falls limp. “I'm okay, Hobie. Are you—?”

“Ned!” He cries out, legs tucked underneath him as he slouches on the floor in a fetal position. “Fuck!” Banging on the floor, he inches his hands towards the fallen ax above him.

“Hobie.” You cry for him, hands tugging at his suit as he stands up. You refuse to look at Ned's floating body in the water. “I'll do it, please sit back down.” You're still trying to blink away the light.

He clenches his jaw, eyes brimming with fire. “no, I'll do it.” Walking towards the long arm that was reaching out to you, it has stopped right at the top of the stairs where it's dry. Looking at Ned as he raises the weapon, he chops it off with a furious yell.

Blood gushes out of it like a fountain of gore, splashing Hobie in streaks of rubies. The hand cuts without much resistance. He drags the large hand that is the size of your torso, the skin is burnt and almost charred as welts pop on its skin, he drops it to the side as he falls on his knees, catching him before he gets hurt. You gather him on your lap for a moment, fingers digging to your side but not for a second longer as the creature seizes up, slowly waking up.

Hobie moves away, eyes turned towards the hand. “We need to move.” You stand up first, reaching out for a helping hand. He looks up at you with tears clinging onto his lashes. “Love?” He asks as he takes your hand.

“Y–yeah?” You sniff away the tears.

“We should've left.”

“We can leave now, Hobie.” Lifting him up, you place your helmet upon his own. Closing your eyes for a second before pulling away. “C’mon, let's go home.”

—

You two make your way out wordlessly. The rifle in your hands weighs heavier, the wound on your leg has stopped bleeding, but the ache persists. Hobie walks next to you with the bloody ax swinging on his hip. The large hand he's carrying makes him smaller under the now whirring lights of the ship.

Ned did it, he opened the power back on the entire ship. You can now open the previous restricted doors. Add that with the hand, there's probably at least one finger in there that has the admin clearance to open either the escape pods or the panic room.

“Love.” Hobie's boots squeak as he stops. You follow his line of sight with your tired eyes. “Where to?”

You have found yourself at a crossroads, a fork in the road with two converging hallways leading to different outcomes. Which one will it be? Your choice determines your fate and Hobie's.

The creature roars behind you. Calling you by your name.

The Escape Pods.

The Panic Room.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

A/N: please consider reblogging if you liked this! ❤️❤️❤️

[ineffable-suffering]

„It‘s always too late“ (ft. Crowley‘s watch)

I‘m currently on vacation in Greece and, naturally, re-reading Good Omens (the book) for the nth time. And you know what keeps bugging me and has been nagging at my brain ever since S2 dropped?

Crowley‘s line, right after he threatens Jim at the bookshop („If anything happens to Aziraphale because of this–“) which he follows up by saying: „It doesn’t matter. It‘s always too late.“

I cannot tell you just how much this silly line has been festering at some back end corner of my brain. Because what do you mean, „it‘s always too late?“ Too late for what? Has it ever been to late before? To change an outcome? Seemingly not, since they stopped the literal end of the World barely a few years ago. That‘s the most „too late“ definition there is, and they still turned it around so that it wasn‘t. Too late, that is.

So why say this? With such defeat, as well?

I don‘t remember if it‘s series canon, however, in the book, we get this little foot note about Crowley‘s watch:

„This watch gave the time in twenty world capitals and in a capital city in Another Place, where it was always one time, and that was Too Late.“

Knowing Neil, this specific wording resurfacing in S2 cannot be a coincidence. „It was custom made for Crowley“ – by who? I‘d wager that human watch makers certainly couldn’t make a watch that shows a time such as „Too Late“ in „Another Place“.

We know and see Crowley‘s watch in S1.

I think the prop department left out the „Too Late“ bit of it, which is understandable. But it‘s book canon anyway and what matters more to me here, is that Crowley definitely wears a different watch in S2.

It‘s very nicely and accurately framed in many shots as well, including the promotion pictures. Yet another thing I‘d wager to not be a coincidence. But that‘s merely speculation, of course. A lot of props and a lot of Crowley‘s appearance changed since S1 and changes even throughout S2.

Whether or not this has any deeper meaning or is simply a red herring, is for Neil and the prop department only to know.

All I‘m saying is: The mysterious custom-made, possibly non-human-made watch that said it was always „Too Late“ is gone or at least changed with some focus shifted onto it, and yet: It‘s still always too late, according to Crowley.

Is it a metaphore? For Crowley‘s Fall and it always having been „Too Late“ for him in „Another Place“ (e.g. Heaven)?

Or is it a hint? To the Second Coming? To Armageddon not having been the only end of the World? To the unofficial picture where the whole world seems to have been destroyed and the last thing standing is the bookshop? To that version of world, where it seems to be too late after all?

Or is it just a watch? And just a line? And I should just put my book down and go for another swim in the ocean in case this is just a sun-induced conspiracy theory?

Let me know your thoughts, I‘m sure this has been wondered about before!

[teotheratking]

ABOUT JEAN: The monthly discourse

Damn and I thought we were past monthly Jean discourse, y'all are quite off schedule this time.

I do think it's funny how Jean-Heron Vicquemare continues to be The Public Enigma with what could be equivalent of 5 minutes of screen time. All of his appearances can be put into 3 groups: worrying/searching for Harry, watching over Harry, spending 45 minutes on insulting him. So it only makes sense how his discourse as well is surrounded by conversation, what is his relationship with Harry? Him being Harry's Satellite officer is like another added layer to how his whole existence seems in a constant orbit around the center of the Earth - Harrier Du Bois.

When discussing both of these characters I think it is crucial to strip them down layer by layer. When we're doing this Harry and Jean, I think we see far too quickly, how similar they are even with many differences: both are addicts, depressed, having facial scarrings and, of course, both are cops.

When looking at them from purely 'superior and subordinate perspective, they remind me of Robert Eggers script from The Lighthouse (2019) particularly this bit:

The Lighthouse explores the themes of capitalism and perpetual cycles of new and old generations: Young and Old.

We can see similar themes explored in DE as well. The game isn't afraid of constantly putting the players head into the mud, saying: "Yeah, it is that shit." RCM is a constantly moving system that lures people in with the promise of help for community and spits out a hollow husk of their former selves. Though I would say it doesnt do that either as most of them die before ever reaching retirement age.

Harry is surrounded by old dog imagery.

Particularly dogs that are about to be put down or are already dead. I particularly love this segment of the game with Joyce - it is clear that in this segment the black dog licking his wound is Harry, who's getting put down by the system he works in. But what I think makes the scene even better is what follows it:

Every officer's fate in RCM is the same.

It's the years of violence, brutality, system that eats those, who help and enables those, who hurt. It's speed, alcohol, never ending poverty, and as years go by another officer is closer and closer to finally pull the trigger on the old dog that you have become.

One final act in the Disco Inferno.

And there's inescapable horror in all of this: seeing what you will become, what you're bound to become. Looking in the mirror and staring at your partner's reflection - ever present reminder: "This will be you in 10 years to come."

When Jean says "trying," what he actually means is "functional." Having context of RCM system and inherent ableism of it, I think it's safe to say, that "to try" means "to succeed."

Jean isn't any more functional than Harry as he is simply younger. Harry through entirety of the game is experiencing raining bonefire of decades of drug abuse and effects of poverty and long lasting emotional physical abuse. Meanwhile, Jean is yet to experience the crashing sun. He has 10 years to do so.

In perpetual vortex that is this sinking ship, partnership and comradery, become essentials for survival. Harry and Jean form particularly tight bond, tight enough that both can't evade speculations about their sexuality or type of relationship they have, thus "hetero-sexual life partners" are born.

I see a lot of people insisting, that those two relationship, that they had is what we can see right now in the game: partnership that feels more like a race of self destruction, while putting sticks in each other's metaphorical bicycles. To see which one falls first. But I feel this is complete controdictory to what we hear from the game:

"Trouble in paradise" - I wouldn't use those words if my two coworkers, who try to sabotage each other on the daily would finally get into all consuming fight. Though what do I know about male-centric workplace humour.

No matter, which way you choose to look at it, at the events of Disco Elysium, Jean's and Harry's relationship is at their absolute worst. Rock bottom. Maybe even beyond it, though that depends how one evaluates forgetting 44 years of your life except lost ex goes into equation. What we see is culmination of their every moment together - good and bad, which erupts into terrible earthquake.

Finally, what we see of Jean and Harry's relationship is supposed to be merely introduction, or at least was (Kurwitz pls, let me read the scripts). By small bits and pieces Luiga has decided to reveal to the public is that Jean is supposed to be one of main partners of the second game featuring The Return.

This doesn't deny Jean's role as The Jury or The Executioner in the Final Tribunal. He represents RCM's bigotry, ableism and hypocrisy of it all - a broken system of a destructive cycle - ouroboros eating it's own tail. However at the end of the day he's as much a person as any other in Elysium - full of complexity and nuance, the verdict of we simply do not have enough information of.

Finally at the end of this... I don't know what to even call this, I have no idea how one would arrive to concrete conclusion, that is either: "Jean good' or "Jean bad." All game's characters are some kind of moraly grey - this isn't a MARVEL movie or a fairy tale that people want it to be. It is a commentary of cultures that we all have grown up in. For me DE really resonates from Baltic States history and culture context, because this is all I've ever known.

[shorthaltsjester]

fuuuuck your point about fjorjester fans who constantly compare them to Travis+Laura is something I’ve been trying to articulate why it bothers me for ages. Like yes, they are a very sweet couple and I love the behind-the-scenes shenanigans and discussions around the gradual development, but that’s pretty much confetti to Fjord and Jester themselves

sorry for the delay in responding to this, anon! i frequently forget that this inbox exists and this apps inconsistency w/ actually giving me notifications means it’s an uphill battle but ANYWAY. yeah no it’s truly like, it’s a similar phenomenon to some of the defences of cr3 where the parasocial aspects of cr fandom leads people to make claims about how it’s just a group of friends around a table — or in this case, just a married couple falling in love again. both of which completely dismiss the actual skills, talent, and effort which denote the successes of cr’s storytelling. because obviously the real people inform the characters in a unique way in actual play — i always think of brennan’s metaphor that characters in ttrpgs are like a kind of stained glass over the real person, a completely different and separate entity but an entity nonetheless made compelling and beautiful by the thing behind it — but to say that the success of fjord and jester comes down to the pre-existing relationship that exists between travis and laura, even when used as some kind of compliment or reason to enjoy the relationship rather than the dismissal it is often used as by fjorester dislikers, that (in addition to just, not being plausible) completely undersells how much character work both of them do to create characters who fall for each other in ways that Mean Something for the development of their characters — for example, the fact that jester spends the early campaign hard crushing on fjord but then doesn’t actually realize she capital L loves him until they’re in a relationship and she realizes that rather than the romance novel, huge sweeping romantic gestures (though fjord also gives her those) she’s learned growing up, love is being completely comfortable with the person she’s with is an excellent expression of jester’s ongoing character development with lessening her naivety while maintaining her love and whimsy. similarly, the fact that it’s two sets of Is It Too Late?s that prompt fjord into beginning to realize his feelings and then act on them; where as travis has mentioned at panels & in no longer available talks machina’s (whose number i could find for citations sake it so needed) fjord realized he might be losing something he hadn’t realized was really there during the jellyfish convo & that he was prompted to finally confess to jester and ask to kiss her because her life was at risk and that after vandran, fjord wasn’t about to let another person leave him without ensuring he told them what they mean to him, that’s all extremely important for fjords development as someone who cares for and takes notice of those around him in his role as the groups leader/diplomat/protector as well as his development towards being able to actually go and seek vandran out instead of just accepting that it might simply be the case that he’ll never get to tell him what he meant to him. none of the power of those character choices comes from the fact that laura and travis are actually married. and it’s consistently infuriating to see what is genuinely one of my favourite narrative love stories be reduced to a relationship that, aside from providing context for a crush that is also narratively grounded from the start of the campaign and (as both travis and laura have mentioned) provided travis with a lower barrier to entry re: romance in dnd, really has very little to do with the story that unfolds

anyway sorry for the word vomit op. it is early in the morning & im procrastinating grading at any and all cost. but yeah tldr: real fucking stupid to look at a story as good as fjord & jesters, as characters who develop in such a way that begets an extremely compelling relationship, and think that saying it’s bc of the real marriage of their creators is in any way a compliment.

[gold-rhine]

i don't play HSR but i like reading your thoughts about the game (plus my friends play the game, i can't help but to somewhat know the plot beat by osmosis). i remember that in your complaints about sunday's arc you also bring up scara's arc. would you like to expand that comparison in greater depth? 👀👀👀

uuuuugh tbh i dont know how its even gonna make sense to someone who didnt play the game. heres the post with my rants about it in more detail, but in short penacony is like if sumeru was written like natlan. i.e. strong initial metaphor about capitalism exploiting ppl's dreams with religious conflict in the mix, but it just goes nowhere. sunday is the final boss who is trying to become a god, so thats where the main parallel with scara starts. except that sunday is doing it ~~for the greater good~~ bc he wants to make a matrix simulation where all people will be happy bc like real world is too harsh. which is fine by itself, not every villain needs to be a little shit like scara, but the problem is that they are sooo focused on woobyfying sunday that we are not allowed to meaningfully confront him at all. sunday is bad timeline of ayato ifd he was a repressed catholic, so we have hsr ayaka here too, and her entire character is just being nice and woobyfying her brother. like we have to break the pacing to spend like 40 minutes listening to how sunday thinks poor ppl are weak and dont deserve agency for their own good, and then at final battle our friends are like wow ayato you are SUCH a good leader and you have SUCH good intentions, you are just lil misguided. and ayaka is like oooh brother its SOOO hard for u, bc if you make the matrix you will be the only one NOT in the matrix and you will be so lonely! you are such a self sacrificial saint! not to mention he literally has like jesus animations. its so fucking egregious, like we GET IT, hes such a nice mormon guy. and then after we defeat him, ayaka jumps to catch him when hes falling down from his own giant robot god, and hugs him. like. compare and contrast to scara falling face first on the floor and nahida leaving him there bc ITS NOT ABOUT HIM

like obv i think entire penacony should be rewritten from scratch, but for sunday specifically not only main characters should be able to confront him on his MANY hypocrisies, but also like. ayaka was right there! she should feel betrayed, horrified, she should be the one to confront her brother, that could be such a juicy and challenging conflict. instead shes woobyfying him the entire time unconditionally bc god forbid players dont like him

and then sunday has an interlude that is also very similar to scara. but like. he is captured not by penacony, but by ipc which is slavery amazon, and they let him go. i had sunday fans in my notes be like well thats same as scara, he also wasnt punished, but like thts a cop mentality, its not about being punished, its about being responsible, scara is captured by nahida, a ruler of a country he harmed, and hes working to repay that FOR that very country. sunday is captured by villains who want to exploit penacony and let go for their secret evil goals AGAINST wishes of penacony. penacony is trying to capture him! and he shows up and welt just immediately agrees to help him and hides him from penacony trying to capture him with literally zero confrontation or questioning.

its like. if like abyss order captured scara and then let him go, and traveler was hiding him from nahida. ipc amazon are not the ones who he harmed and not the ones who should have any say in this! and then if paimon was like scara wants to travel with us, do you agree traveler? and you go no, fuck him??? and paimon goes no, fuck you, he's going with us! like????

another thing similar with scara, is that in sunday interlude we meet like alternate version of him. instead of that version being him like with lost memory, thats like an AU of him. the religious conflict of penacony is harmony vs order, and sunday tried to become the god of order, basically puppeteer controlling everyone else in the matrix, and harmony is about like unity and ppl working together. order was like a secret cult inside of broader harmony religion. like american christian death cults inside of larger christianity. anyway, we meet his AU where he's on harmony path instead of order. and like. thats just a way better guy asdfghjkl. he has sense of humor, he urges sunday to open up and connect with others and esp his sister, hes practical and down to earth, even if still with some manipulation. its basically ayato. and sunday like HATES him, but its never examined why. like he hates jokes bc hes stick in ther ass, sure, but nothing else is explored. he just says he hates harmony. like this a perfect opportunity to explore the failings of harmony, to have sunday explain why he chose to follow order, but they just dont do it. he never says anything of meaning, they just meander around and, the most STUPID part, in the end the harmony AU for some reason takes form of sunday order boss and you have to fight him. like??? the sunday boss is specifically order!!! why would harmony AU guy take the order boss form??? it makes no sense! if anything sunday should be representing order boss fight and harmony guy should be fighting against it (and we should keep him bc hes legit better lol)

i think parallels with scara are obvious. we meet alternate version of scara, but its him with memory wiped, to show him at his blank slate, to show his anxiety, his alienation, how he earns to belong. and then we are shown that even in that blank slate he is still stubborn and strong willed enough to face the consequences of his actions and his past. like at this point the past is erased, he could forget all that and live a new life. but he chooses to remember and to accept who he is. and he fights the boss battle of himself bc its about his old belief of being incomplete, of being worthless without gnosis vs him now accepting himself, accepting his own worth and meaning, that he doesnt have to fulfill a predestined role of holding a gnosis.

tldr; scara is allowed to be treated like a villain, while sunday is forcibly shoved at players with no option to meaningfully confront him, scara takes responsibility and works to help these he harmed (including inazuma btw, he is helping to restore inazuma sword schools he ruined) while sunday just runs from all accountability, sunday interlude quest about confronting alternsate version of self makes no fucking sense vs scara being one of the best written character developments in the game

[thetallowman]

Note time.

We start with some diagrams and symbology stuff, but we also (finally) get the "Forest Ribbon Trail" description, which also touches on the realms Maricica talked about. It talks in terms of graveyards, labelling the Abyss as the destination of physical things, the Ruins as the end point of the immaterial, and the Warrens and Courts as the resting grounds of malices and dreams. The Paths, apparently, surround all the rest, closest to and in most contact with "Oblivion." They are apparently not the dream realm (implying that that is a separate thing?), and not quite any of the aforementioned areas, but rather "where things lost to [them] go." (To fall back on the Drains as an example, if the Abyss is like a sewer, where reality puts the bits it doesn't want, then it sounds like the Paths would be the metaphorical ocean that the system eventually empties out into.)

They're still distinct places, with their own rules and creatures, though they can apparently appear differently to different people. The Forest Ribbon Trail is apparently a "beginner" zone, for as much as that's worth in the Otherverse.

There's a ritual to entering the Trail. Prey animal, bound in ribbon, with different effects for different animals. The implication is that the animal doesn't come back, one way or another, though it's unclear if that's deliberate. (Is it a sacrifice, like with things of value and the Abyss? Or is it more of a guide - something you can kick off the metaphorical cliff into nothingness without consigning yourself? It mentions that you can Lost - capital L - and that the animal can save you from that, so maybe it's more like a backup parachute?)

The actual ritual involves a circle and a poem (open to modification) around the animal, and bindings and an incantation (also open to modification) around yourself. (It's interesting that the formulas seem so flexible. Combine that with the role-filling animals, and a Wolf in the role of antagonist, and I'm getting some strong fairytale vibes. Maybe detail is eroded and scarce that far down, so close to nonexistence, and the forces that dwell there are happy to fall into whatever framework you bring with you?)

[shamanfox]

this is a fucked up poem

this is a poem.

or maybe it’s just a

word vomit

spilled on the floor

like last night’s regret.

it doesn’t follow rules,

doesn’t pay rent,

doesn’t even wipe

the crumbs off its face.

capitalization?

out the window.

punctuation???

who needs it—who—needs—it—who.needs/it?!

this poem is

the text you send at 3 a.m.

then regret at 3:01.

it’s a soggy french fry

at the bottom of the bag,

a WiFi signal

that only works in one corner of the house.

this poem once tried to be deep

but tripped over its own metaphor

and fell into a pile of similes

like a toddler into a ball pit

except the balls are

existential crises.

it’s the leftover pizza

you swear is still good

even though it tastes

like regret and fridge.

this poem starts a sentence

and then forgets where it’s going.

this poem is your brain

when you walk into a room

and forget why.

this poem peaked in high school.

this poem didn’t proofread.

this poem is 90% caffeine

and 10% “I’ll do it later.”

it’s a half-baked idea,

a limp handshake,

a sock that falls down inside your shoe

mid-walk.

it’s that moment when you wave back

but they weren’t waving at you.

it’s life, baby.

messy, stupid, absurd—

and somehow still

kind of beautiful.

[kamari333]

I just passed Chapter 51 of Burlesque and I gotta say....Im such a sucker for Red being bottom and taken care of so well and nice and WHY DO I WANT MORE OF HIM BEING LIKE THAT?!? YoU? MADE?ME?ADORE?HIM?BEING?BOTTOM?! And I will never go back , im ded, i was meant to praise and kneel at this masterpiece

You my friend are a fan of taste (if i do say so myself~)  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I love me a good story where an Underfell Sans tops and doms and all that fun~ But listen. Listen.

Consider that Red's lived his whole life being the guy who needs to get shit done or everything falls apart. He's the metaphorical Top and Dom in his everyday life. He had to be. Meticulously controlling the world around him as best he could was what kept him and his lil brother alive when they were in a universe that was ruled by survival of the fittest.

And now he's out and topside and capitalism is its own kind of hell, but he doesn't have to fight and scrape like he used to. It's different. He can let go a little. Maybe. If he squints.

If he feels safe.

And his pets make him feel so safe.

Consider Red finally gets to feel safe and loved with people he can respect as partners. He doesn't have to be the tough guy 24/7 now, even if he still feels like it sometimes. He's learning to chill out and trust that the world isn't going to fall apart if he stops holding it.

Consider Red's never wanted to be the tough guy in the first place but he is so desperate about being seen as someone who is reliable and worthy that he's made himself That Guy. Consider that putting the That Guy mask down on demand is part of his love language.

Consider that bottoming for them, giving them control, uplifting them with everything he has, is how Red says "I Love You."

Anyway, I'm Totally Normal about Red/Dance/Lust (burlesque ship my beloved) and I'm so glad you get to be Totally Normal about them with me <3

[deadinthefoam]

Hero Worship, Terrible Artists And Thursday

Trigger warning; this blog/essay contains mentions of sexual violence, racism, ableism and homophobia. Please keep yourself safe.

-

Recently, I've had a bit of a detachment phase going on.

Realising that your heroes aren't perfect is a very natural, and important, part of maturing; no matter how well put together somebody's image might be, no person is incapable of making a mistake, or doing something “problematic”. Notes app apologies seem to have become a staple of online culture, when a celebrity's old tweets resurface about some miscellaneous topic, and the swift hammer of chronically online twitter — oops, X — users falls down to determine whether this person is “good”.

Of course, when the topic is serious, concerning racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, sexual assault etc., I find that saying we should “cancel” these people shows the trivialisation of serious issues in online spaces. Though, I suppose the concept of an angry mob is something that’s been in our society for a long, long time, so it harkens back to our primal instincts of justice. That being said, you can't “cancel” anybody; rich people find their way back to the top and move on 99.9% of the time, and all we can do is watch. This is the hellscape of capitalism (late stage, if we’re going to be specific). And it is frustrating beyond all words, so we have giant campaigns to seek some kind of catharsis, hoping we can get this person beaten with virtual sticks. The internet is often a lawless place, so we create our own type of karma.

What helps us in our quests, naturally, is the fact that all information can now so easily be dropped into our laps. A quick google search is all you need to find out somebody’s achievements, and their greatest “flops”. Exposé articles and think pieces are ready for us to consume, mull over in silent discomfort, before at the end, there’s the unexplainable dread that we now have to come to a conclusion about all of this, by ourselves; there is no definitive authority on this subject, no great philosophical statement, because, as we are constantly reminded by the snot nosed critics, “art is subjective”. Suddenly, after being metaphorically waved off by the high brows, who declare us too unimaginative to understand the genius of Woody Allen, we now have to decide the morality of a piece of work, or person. We are inexplicably burdened by our love for art.

My mother once told me that “all knowledge is good knowledge”. I don’t really consider my knowing of Johnny Depp’s sexual abuse of his ex-wife to be particularly “good”. My knowledge becomes a dead weight. Clair Dederer, in her book ‘Monsters: What Do We Do With Great Art By Bad People?’ [2023], (which I took quite a few cues and good takeaways from), put it best: “Biography used to be something you sought out, yearned for, actively pursued. Now it falls on your head all day long.”

Because of this, I see that the backlash from fans against a public figure can be more vitriolic than most — these are the people who actively seek out those biographies, and delve deeply into them. Of course, you have the adamant defenders, but there's something oddly heartbreaking about the fury of an ex-fan, who found such value in somebody's work, perhaps deriving a piece of their soul from it, only for the creator to do something they find to be unforgivable.

The most recent of this phenomenon, and possibly the most impactful to me personally, I've found, is the case of Neil Gaiman fans, and how his countless sexual assaults have left much of his audience feeling deeply betrayed. I have seen countless fans, or perhaps ex-fans now, speaking about how his work inspired them, made them feel safe despite the world not wanting them — only to be told that, just like so many other rich, white men, Gaiman took advantage of his power, and inflicted unforgivable trauma on many young women. Discussions of death of the author are rife; separation of art from the artist begins (if it can begin).

Full clarity here — I was never a big fan of Gaiman, not to say that makes me better than anyone who was. I do label myself as a nerd, so perhaps not being very familiar with his works makes me a poser, but I was aware of his significance in comic book culture. He was one of those acclaimed figures that people would talk about online as though he were a modern day God, praising his writing, his activism, and all around “good vibes”. I read “Coraline” once, was vaguely impressed by it, and then moved on. That didn’t make the news of his crimes any less jarring to me; many people who I met through online spaces who were fans of his are absolutely heartbroken, and the backlash felt so personal, so devastated, that in a strange, twisted way, I am intrigued by it.

How can we be so emotionally invested in people we don’t know?

Trust is very rarely a two way street when it comes to the artist you like (though it can be possible). We truly don't know anyone through our screens, no matter how hard we could try to. The outpouring of grief over somebody you don't really know is both something irrational yet rational. You are mourning a person you've only seen a speck of; because artists do put a part of their soul into their work, and if you look for it, you can see it. People grasp that with both hands, find meaning in it, and use it to find strength in themselves. That is something vulnerable, intimate — if you choose to kill the author, after they commit some heinous crime, do you kill a piece of yourself?

What I'm trying to get at here, is that relationships between artists and their audiences are fraught; parasocial, if we're going to use that word (whole nother box of worms). Going back to my first statement, I have been going through a process of carefully detaching myself from the artists I enjoy, so I save myself at least a part of the humiliation and heartbreak in case something awful comes out about them. It's a self preservation tactic based on suspicion, that isn't new. And I am not immune to it. Nobody is.

With great effort, I’ve pulled myself away from Shirley Manson, from Chappell Roan, from Jarvis Cocker, from Anthony Green, from Paramore, from My Chemical Romance (efforts still ongoing here — MCR is a terribly easy band to get attached to). Now I attempt to see things objectively, so I don't have to feverishly hope and pray that none of the artists I love have sexually assaulted a child. I'm aware I sound horrifically cynical.

That being said, the band Thursday from New Jersey will always be perfect to me.

No, no — that's wrong. Hold on.

I know Thursday cannot be perfect, because I will always stand by the philosophy that nothing is perfect. Yet, I have the most trouble detaching myself from this band. It's a bit of a twisted cycle, I will go through phases of completely cutting away any personal strings I have to the artists, and yet inevitably I return.

Probably part of the draw is the golden retriever-like charisma of lead singer Geoff Rickly, who's very vocal on his Instagram stories, and is very open to talking with fans. I'm one of those fans, occasionally asking questions in direct messages, or sharing artwork, though I'm sure I'm incessantly irritating. I find Geoff oddly comforting, as a person I maybe could have been — musically gifted, friendly, and able to make good connections with people. Instead, I sit alone in my small room at university, having dropped most of my musical interests in favour of a law degree that I'm not entirely sure I want to do. And I know I'm young, in comparison, I still have (in my opinion far too much) time left; but the existential dread isn't easy to cope with. I have to make decisions that I feel I am wildly unequipped for, in a world that clearly does not want me. Geoff exudes a kind of warmth and openness, which makes me feel as though maybe I can be as content as him, eventually.

The rest of the band are active on social media, each bringing their own unique personalities. Tucker Rule, the drummer, is the most frequent poster, sharing almost every concert he does (which is a fucking lot, considering his position in LS Dunes as well), as well as a few sweet posts about his family. Stu Richardson, bassist and producer, is relatively quiet, but his few words count just as much as anybody else's, and his handprints are all over their new single's (White Bikes) slick production. I definitely found a sense of safety in the band, after I listened to a podcast between Geoff, Steve Pedulla and Norman Brannon, the two guitarists, and found that queer people in hardcore was, well, something that existed.

And the fandom provides warmth as well; a strange mix of older hardcore guys, and younger, mainly gay and/or trans fans, who create a space which is marginally more accepting than probably every other fandom I've ever been in. Then, just as I was furious about none of my favourite musicians speaking about Palestine, Sudan and the Congo, Geoff Rickly calls on stage almost every night for an end to the genocides in each of those countries, and rags on US imperialism.

It's glorious. It's all I've ever wanted in a band.

It's fucking scary.

Because now, what do I do if these people ever disappoint me? How should I proceed? Should I burn my baseball cap that I got from their website and paid extortionate shipping fees for? Should I toss my Thursday albums in the garbage? The CDs that Geoff so kindly signed, after following their concert in London during summer, I utterly blew my chance to meet him and had a panic induced meltdown in front of their tour bus?

(I still feel embarrassed about that.)

All that pain, all that grief, and hatred, and love — where does it go?

Fuck if I know.

Instead, I'd like to perhaps posit something new. Detaching from your heroes is good; but a full disconnect is usually impossible. Perhaps we should find new things to explore, new ways to fall in love, get heartbroken by, and move on from. This is just the human experience, to love and to lose, and to move onwards; not everybody in the world is going to disappoint you, despite what the cynics may argue. We are not naturally selfish and cruel. Not to bring politics into things, but those traits are normalised under capitalism.

At a point, you realise that the artist who has done something terrible is not one of a kind. They are one of many; sexual assault, in the case of Neil Gaiman, is something that occurs so often among rich, high status, powerful men, that it is normalised. Neil Gaiman seemingly did everything right, he was an ally to the queer community, he was a “feminist” by all accounts, and yet here we are. But I find that putting any more effort into someone like that, who wears the face of a good person, to be tiring and not something anyone should go through.

It will take time, but I feel as though a mild detachment is necessary, for yourself, and the artist, because you can have trust both ways, through a sense of mutual understanding. You don't realise you have something until it's gone, how fandoms mourn their favourite creators when those creators step away from fandom and social media entirely (and for good reason!) and leave us behind; like Alan Moore, Gerard Way or Ryan Ross. Their (public) biographies stop — we are no longer privy to their lives. And who are we to tell these people what they can do? Fame is a terrible thing, most of the time, yet it’s a tragedy that we keep having to learn, every time a young artist passes away.

Funny how it takes somebody dying for us to pull together.

So, I’m going to keep being annoying about Thursday, milk that youthful naivety, until I grow up a little more. I’m going to keep making my silly portraits of band members, because I know the day will come where I will have to put my paintbrush down, and permanently trade it in for a keyboard and court documents. With age, I expect that some things will not affect me as deeply as they do now, and I will understand my idols as I become closer to their age. I will learn to distance myself, with time — but I can still care. It is never a crime to care. Love is a burden I will gladly shoulder for a little while more.

I don’t want to wade into faux deep talk, and get in over my head, so I’ll wrap things up now.

Maybe I've been completely pretentious this entire ramble. Maybe all these words mean fuckall in the grand scheme of things, someone’s surely thinking “we have bigger things to worry about”, and I don’t disagree. So, I'll leave you with this: be kind to yourself, fall in love with new art. When the artists you love disappoint you deeply, scream “fuck you”, with righteous rage and sadness — cry and feel. Write that think piece. Burn a book if you want to.

But do not ever give up on yourself for trusting somebody. You still have love to give to those who better deserve it, and your love is worth so much more than you can ever imagine. Love is neither rational, nor logical, but it is real.

[jacqcrisis]

I’ve had this idea stuck in my craw that I've been bothering collaborating with @clinic-crew of a BG3 modern AU, but by modern AU, I mean it’s the same fucking fantasy everything as baldur’s gate, but now the world is somewhat equivalent to the late 1980’s/early 1990’s. Cars are everywhere. Computers are happening. Capitalism and consumerism are tightening their grasp on the willing yet helpless public. Fantasy pacman is a thing.

The story centers around Caedis, the world’s worst police officer who also happens to be Bhaal’s flesh made manifest into a tiefling who looks like the devil and probably is him as well. Caedis is unnecessarily cruel, malevolent, sadistic, gleefully abusing every ounce of his power at every conceivable moment as he knows he’ll get away with it because half of the police force is his fellow Bhaalists and also he and the high-ranking politician Gortash are in both metaphorical and literal bed together. They have a plan to essentially seize control of the city’s government through an infiltration of the police force, the introduction of the Steel Watch, targeted assassinations of Gortash’s political opponents, and a bunch of other gears that are already in motion.

Life for Caedis is great. He lives in a miasma of Bhaal approval, can do whatever the fuck he wants, and the second this plan all comes together, he’s going to murder Gortash and raze the city in the name of dear old daddy. Things could not be going better.

And then he fucks a vampire against his police car when he’s supposed to be aiding in burning down the Szarr Palace to take out another one of Gortash’s political opponents and a series of dominoes fall down from there. This ends in a coup where Orin, jealous of daddy’s approval and mad at her brother-uncle once again ignoring responsibilities to go be The Worst, ambushes him en route to Gortash’s estate, shoots him in the head with an enchanted gun, and leaves him for dead in a ditch.

Eighteen hours later, Caedis wakes up covered in dirt as the last vestiges of a dream consisting of a gold laden ghoul with a book and quill asking him ‘what is the worth of single mortal life’ fades from his mind's eye. He’s alive. The fog of Bhaal’s influence is gone for the first time since he was a child and there’s only one thing that’s crystal clear in his fucked up brain now:

He’s got to go fucking murder Orin.

What happens next in a tale as old as time: Murder Man Mcstabface has to go obtain a crew and a fuckload of magical weapons to stand a chance against Orin as he slowly regains his semblance of humanity under the extreme guilt and despair at his horrible actions now allowed to manifest in his brain post-bulletfication while also fighting the Urges that keep cropping up. He makes friends with people… somehow. He becomes a person. He regrets and wants to stop this evil plan he secretly put into motion.

He falls in love with the vampire he inexplicably saved from being burned alive in the Szarr Palace by fucking him against his car with whom he has an extremely fucked up relationship with and who he desperately wants to kill.

It’s a lot. There’s a lot more. But that’s the long and the short of it. If I knew how to write it, I would cause it’s stuck in my brain and I need this horrible, angry, emotionally stunted durge man to not be in my brain anymore.

[yasperapologist]

Turn Back Time: Chapter 11 (The Afterparty timeloop fic)

Yasper tries to commit this to memory: the gentle rise and fall of Aniq’s shoulders, the feel of his button-down shirt against Yasper’s cheek, the way he smells as familiar as he did when they were seventeen. He’s a hopeless sponge, soaking up as much as physically possible before Aniq remembers who Yasper is and pushes him away. He will never be full.

Part II of Yasper's property damage era. I do not think he has the coordination to properly Fruit Ninja a box of cereal, but I would like to see him try.

Canonically, Yasper texts with proper capitalization (probably just the iPhone autocaps). But it just feels right to make him text in all lowercase.

I re-watched parts of the show to see what bizarre Xavier-branded merch existed in the guest house. The cereal, specifically, is "Xavier's X's & O's" ("sweet cinnamon taste"):

We've also got a subtle X-branded hat (to the left) and some body spray(?) (to the right). Not pictured: "X-KIX" sneakers and and Triple seX.

Things are not fixed between Yasper and Aniq by any stretch of the imagination... but I couldn't bear to keep them apart for long.

What was going on in Yasper's mind, when he was trying to cover up a murder? How actively was he trying to frame Brett/Chelsea? Did he actually think he was helping Aniq? These are the Afterparty questions that (metaphorically) keep me up at night. I really like the idea that Yasper was deluding himself into thinking someone else could have killed Xavier, and that it was possible for Aniq to find clues that pointed to someone who wasn't Yasper. I don't know that there's a lot in canon to support this, but we've seen Yasper engage in a lot of magical thinking. He's deeply invested in the idea of himself as Aniq's best friend/hype man/No. 1 fan. Even though some of that was arguably part of the narrative he was crafting for the cops and/or a way to mitigate his own guilt, I think he truly believed it. I don't think he could have coped with the idea that he was just letting Aniq go down a wild goose chase.

[crimeronan]

hi I saw you posting about the silt verses. it sounds interesting so I googled it but I'd like to hear what You have to say about it!!

(I'd also like to ask if it has any emphasis on bug-related horror bc that's a huge no from me, but if it doesn't I think I'll take a listen)

oh lord i have So Much to say about it. asking me what i have to say about the silt verses is like asking me what i have to say about call down the hawk or the owl house, like. it's a piece of media that is so immaculately conceived and well-executed that i can meta about Literally Every Single Line. if you've followed me for a while you probably know that i have high standards for horror media bc it's my most-consumed comfort genre; the silt verses is my fave piece of horror media Of All Time.

as for bugs, they don't play a huge role in the overarching story, but i do FOR SURE remember some imagery about parasites, insects, and people being transformed into bug-like creatures. so i'd look up episode warnings prior to consuming it, i can't remember off the top of my head which episodes specifically involve that.

the silt verses is, on the surface, a typical horror story about another world where gods are created through belief & fed through sacrifice. different gods have attracted cult followings, some gods are outlawed, some are not. it's stuff you've probably seen before if you're an avid supernatural horror fan.

however the writers then take the time to do absolutely Vicious and Scathing social commentary about pretty much every leftist topic you can think of. cult abuse, late-stage capitalism, corporate "we're all a family" speak, war, fascism, the creation of Unpersons with unhoused and mentally ill populations, prison violence, police violence, copaganda, generational trauma, environmental catastrophe, rural vs city mindsets and the political manipulation behind them..... Every Single Plot Point and piece of imagery serves a social commentary purpose. every single god and political movement is a transparent metaphor or allegory for our own world.

but what really keeps me coming back to it are the character arcs. from a horror writer's perspective, i can see exactly how carefully those arcs were sketched and plotted out. each of the narrators is dynamic and goes through a huge amount of character development -- positive for some, Horrifically Negative for others. characters are frequently caught between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between two things they've always wanted...... and they also frequently choose Wrong.

and then they have to live with the consequences of those choices.

the protags are all messy and flawed and complicated, the antags are all messy and grounded and Very Real, and the relationships between people grow in organic ways that make me go MMM... before falling apart in equally organic ways. if you've ever enjoyed the same kind of desperate codependent and messy relationships that i most often write, HOO BOY you will have a good time with this podcast.

and if you like stories about people who are Genuinely Trying Their Best In The Face Of Impossible Circumstances, you'll ALSO get a lot of mileage out of this. it's a show where people make a lot of terrible decisions but also, people care So So So So So Fucking Much. really hits that sweet spot between nihilistic "everyone sucks" media and saccharine "everyone is always good at heart, all the time" media.

it also features some of the most stunning voice acting i've ever heard, not just in podcasts but in any media, ever. méabh de brún, b. narr, jimmie yamaguchi, and lucille valentine in particular all fucking KILL IT. like DAMN

and i can wholeheartedly recommend it without adding this, but if it's important to you: like 98% of the characters are queer. lots of trans cast members, lots of gay relationships, ace rep, los jibbities who get to be just as Fucking Terrible and embarrassing and hopeless as the characters in my fave White Man (TM) tv shows. u know how it is. i want queer people who are shitty bitches, always. and the silt verses DELIVERS

it's just. really good. i realize that this doesn't even get into the intricacies of who the characters are and what they want and what happens, bc like i said, i can talk about this show for a novel's length of meta. but these are the broad strokes of what has me in love with the narrative. it's So Good.

[cringefailvox]

Hello! Fanfic questions! Numbers 15, 26, and 27 for the meteor shower series :D

meteor shower

15. talk about the characters' struggles and how you decided on those.

HOO BOY.

rosie: rosie struggles a lot with Wants To Fix People syndrome that is not helped by her self-awareness about it. she's a meddler, an enabler and a nosy bitch, and these traits lend themselves pretty easily to self-recrimination when she fails to steer a situation in the direction she wanted it to go. she gives herself grace, but she definitely feels responsible for vox and alastor since she introduced them, and since their falling out puts her directly in the middle, she's thrust into the role of mediator, however incidentally. she misses her boys and she wants that closeness back! but she has to come to terms with the fact that while she can try her best, at a certain point, the impetus falls on them to actually listen when she speaks, and it's not her fault that she can't fix everything. girl they need to be making this up to YOU.

vox: anxious attachment issues + rejection sensitive dysphoria + superiority complex + greedy bastard who gets off on exploiting vulnerable people, doesn't understand why his vigilante punitive justice besties hate capitalism when it's so fun + in crippling unrequited love with the radio demon = messy bitch activities. please pick a struggle

alastor: my guy is in the g-ddamn trenches in this series, rip. lots of stuff is wrong with him but in particular, the second installment highlights his struggles with amatonormativity and abandonment issues when he's briefly convinced rosie & vox don't need him anymore now that they're dating (they're not; he's delusional). he struggles a lot with his aroaceness, mostly because he doesn't think he's broken but he does feel bitter and resentful about the prioritization of romance over friendship, and DITITS is just one long relationship anarchy angst fest bc he's so meirl.

26. share your favorite detail(s).

from time has changed the metaphor: i've mentioned this before, but the parallels of rosie calming vox down from a panic attack after the radiostatic divorce / vox calming alastor down from a panic attack after the fight with adam in the exact same way <3

from dragging its tail in the sea: the running joke about the changing painting in alastor's room at cannibal town, because it still makes me giggle every time i re-read it

27. share a piece of lore you made up for the story.

all the little bits about alastor's deal!! i'm a roo truther in my heart and i loved peppering in all the hints and motifs about the eyes, alastor being bound to silence, the idea that she only approached him with a deal when he was at his very lowest + after decades of inflicting low-key psychological torture on him -- oh yeah, delicious. i don't have any concrete ideas about this but i did very much enjoy crafting the Implications

[hahashifts]

Capitalism is Eating My Soul

A poem written from a Spotify playlist I made to cope with working. Song titles from the playlist were used to write the poem. Enjoy!

I hate it here

"You'll be okay"

Leave me alone,

It's all too much,

I have ✨anxiety✨

This is the death of peace of mind

As we're losing our democracy

Everything is black,

ust keep going until it doesn't hurt.

It's all just a metaphor

Denial is a river,

The Flobots were right,

I'm just a klown bitch feeding the machine.

Freedom is a verb,

And if I were a rich man,

Would I join the march of the jobless corps?

We need to arrest the president...

Miss wanna die,

Not strong enough to fix this mess,

It's just another lonely day,

A cog in the sad machine.

God rest ye merry billionaires

Who gossip & are greedy,

We just want you to feel something...

Can I find a man in finance,

Or someone born as a million dollar baby?

I'm just a black sheep who wants to let the world burn

💪Training season💪

Welcome to the hell zone!

Immigrants get the job done,

But we're left to guess.

The less I know the better,

I'm just a loser, baby.

Are you bored yet?

Night shift,

Bad idea!

I hope your miserable until your dead.

I can't get high enough,

It's all just burning down.

Big dog shit?

More like madness.

Bitter coffee, unsweetened lemonade

It's time to run and go

And leave this peasants throne.

Lose control?

It's just a work song,

Endure the surface pressure,

Sign the NDA,

"You're gonna go far kid!"

Welcome to my life:

Something in the way,

Forced to stay and decay,

Talk too much,

All that and more,

I can't handle change,

Take me out.

This is how villains are made.

Emails I can't send,

Please, please, please give me some espresso,

Maybe a new invention,

I just want to forget,

We're just "highly emotional people"

Enjoying our red wine supernova,

I can do it with a broken heart.

Panic attacks in paradise,

Turn me into a bolter,

So American,

These problems give me a bellyache.

Never felt so alone,

Oh you need me now?

The less I know the better,

I'm just doin' time, bored, in Colorado

Yes mom,

My tears are becoming a sea,

Biden is gone & all I have are these guns for hands,

I'm just a girl,

Who's about to lose control.

Runaway from people I don't like,

You're just a little bitch boy, Cigarette ahegao,

Burn it to the ground,

There's no going back,

It's a bad idea right?

I don't care, is it over now?

RIP to my youth,

Labour always and forever,

This is why we can't have nice things...

The man?

Rescue me?

Boys a liar, evil,

Death is all a buzz kill like me can hope for.

Question?

Loser.

This isn't 1985.

Bad things coming for you,

Billie bossa nova,

I can't handle change,

But I'm doing it all for us,

Uh oh, the madness,

Makes me want to throw up when I see your face.

I'm overwhelmed,

I've had enough,

I'm gonna show you crazy,

I'm not sorry!

That bitch ain't shit,

This is how I learn to say no.

When I RIP & fall on my deathbed

You'll know I was wasn't California dreamin'

I'm not okay (I promise).

Anarchist? Always.

Toxic? Never fuckin know.

You don't own me,

But I feel like I'm drowning,

This shit is just my ordinary life.

Unpaid interns?

Never fuckin know,

Cardiac arrest.

Want money, money, money,

But I'm not Bezos,

Simply lonely as the muse.

[unaskedformagnustheories]

Recap Notes: MAGP 8 "Running on Empty"

Spoiler Warning: this is a purely selfish exercise in remembering what the hell happened last season (from someone caught up thru MAGP31, 2/27/2025 & all of The Magnus Archives). No promises I'll keep up with it. Summary: [on first looking up Forton Service Station] Mother-effers that's the most panopticon-looking structure I've ever seen.

Casement: CAT2RC3338-03022016-12022024

So I've a hunch this ep's doing the heavy lifting in teasing the metaplot via metaphor. Either that or I need to take a step back and hydrate. Walk my plants. Water my dog, that sort of thing. But for now? Hold on, it's gonna be a bumpy one. I think the best way to approach this episode is to follow along with the case. I really do apologise for the clunkiness, but if you've read any of my other posts you know we're flying by the seat of our pants, and none of this should be taken too seriously. So! The visual similarities are undeniable. The tower at Lancaster (Forton) Services might not be circled by prison cells, but it is the spitting image of a panopticonic guard tower with its 360 degree views. Reminiscent, of course, of the tower. The Panopticon and the Institute merged. The place where the tether was cut. As stand-ins go, it's about as subtle as the school of architecture Forton station's an example of (i.e. not at all).

It also means it's not too far of a stretch to take this essay on liminal spaces and extrapolate to learn what happened after MAG 200's "Last Words" played out.

“Liminal’ spaces, derived from the Latin ‘limen,’ meaning ‘threshold,’ are transitional spaces normally inhabited for short periods. They have been shown to have marked effects upon the psychology of those exposed to them, and long-term exposure has been found to elicit anxiety responses (Augé, M. 1995), (Bachelard, G. 1994) and feelings of the uncanny (Trigg, D. 2012).” Now. Threshold's a fun word here, because it harkens back to MAG 146. One of those great, classic TMA titles with multiple meanings, but the one I want to focus on is 146's clear allusion to the scar in reality at Hill Top as a threshold by virtue of the post statement. With what went down at the dethroning of the Watcher's special little boy, I think we have every reason to believe the site of The Magnus Institute, London is now a similar scar bleeding into Sam and Alice's world. It'd go a ways towards explaining Needles' cryptic "the land is definitely marked, now" along with Leonardo Kenning's recommendation that the building site of the Millennium Dome is unsuitable for The TMP Institute's purposes because of a "psychical poison" in the soil. JMart broke reality so good a new threshold was born. According to Joseph Peterson, the result of this type of brutal liminal space is an "architectural hunger" which I think tracks well onto the noticeably almost-manic underpinning of ravenousness the fears have this season. The way people falling from one world to the other are emaciated and starving. The land itself is hungering for something, because the wound isn't sealed. It's in transition, and resents it. At this point, you'd have every right to say: 'but hold on, that phenomenon is not exclusive to TMP's London" to which I'd say: Yes. [moving unto the Weird, capitalization intentional] The Restaurant. Either the restaurant at the top of Forton services (where Peterson finds himself after ascending an out-of-service elevator) is an isolated spook to enhance the flavour of the ep, or we're still in metaphor land. Considering the panoramic floor is chock full of diners with "oddly repeating elements to them" and this is the season of doppelgängers, I'd bet it's the latter. And while cannibalism's a nice jump scare for the end of a casement, what really made my blood run cold was the observation that outside the restaurant, past this space of brutal liminalism: "There was nothing. Nothing above, nothing below, nothing at all. Nothing, save the tower and the restaurant."

What if the tower is a guard tower? The restaurant, the feeding grounds for all that Jon and Martin sent through is Sam and Alice and Gwen and Colin and Lena's world (concentrated, around the epicentre, but not exclusive to it). An unstable prison made in a last, desperate attempt to keep the fears it was pulling from one world contained. There's nothing but the tower (TMA verse) the restaurant (TMP verse) and the void. Would leave us a cheery prediction for the end of the show:

“And so when faced with the prospect of being eaten alive, or leaping out one of those windows into pure oblivion… it was no choice at all." "I jumped.” But it's just a thought.

... ... GERRY! Fork, in all that, I nearly forget this is the episode we get Gerry. Don't care a lick for anyone who says it was fan service, it's worth it to see him "SO DEEPLY, PLAINLY HAPPY". Thank you, transcripts for that gem. I will cherish it. Nothing much else to say about the post casement. I would love Camden Epiphany to come back and be relevant, but I also held out hope "Grant us the sight that we may not know, grant us the scent that we may not catch, grant us the sound that we may not call" would lead to some great pay off down the line. Crafted an entire 'this is how we combat the Dread Powers' theory around it that (predictably) turned out to be wrong, so keep that in mind with everything above. I like throwing angst-filled mud at the wall to see what sticks.