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waitingtobelit · 3 months ago

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Title: Mermaid Pendant Fandom: 9-1-1 Characters/Pairings: Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard Rating: Teen for language and non-explicit references to sex. Genre: Romance, fluff, feelings introspective, Tommy POV, and some slight angst. Summary: Tommy doesn’t consider himself much of a video game person, outside of the occasional (and very competitive) rounds of Mario Kart or Super Smash Brothers with some of the Harbor crew. (He sweeps at Mario Kart, actually. Lucy still owes him twenty bucks from the last time he kicked the entire shift’s ass at Rainbow Road.) Evan, however, very much is a video game person, and it’s becoming one of Tommy’s many favorite things about him. Evan is always enthusiastic about who and what he cares about, as Tommy can happily attest to from personal experience. Tommy can’t help but find himself charmed by how much Evan enjoys video games.

Tommy gets to know Evan better through his love of video games and falls even more in love with him in the process. For day 4 of bucktommy positivity week, hobbies and dates.

Notes: Stardew Valley, Mario Kart, and Dragon Age? In my 911 fic? It's more likely than you think.

I started writing this for the day 1 prompt of bucktommy positivity week but eventually the video games aspect took over and I decided to save this for day 4. This also got a lot more heavy on the feelings too in the process so uh, oops?

Buck absolutely is a Harvey romancer in Stardew and you can't change my mind!

Feedback is always welcomed! Any and all mistakes are my own. Rated T for language and non-explicit mentions of sex.

For @bucktommypositivityweek prompt four: hobbies and dates.

Mermaid Pendant

Tommy doesn’t consider himself much of a video game person, outside of the occasional (and very competitive) rounds of Mario Kart or Super Smash Brothers with some of the Harbor crew. (He sweeps at Mario Kart, actually. Lucy still owes him twenty bucks from the last time he kicked the entire shift’s ass at Rainbow Road.) Evan, however, very much is a video game person, and it’s becoming one of Tommy’s many favorite things about him. Evan is always enthusiastic about who and what he cares about, as Tommy can happily attest to from personal experience. Tommy can’t help but find himself charmed by how much Evan enjoys video games.

Evan introduces him to video games through one of the nights when Evan has Christopher over to his loft while Eddie has a session with Frank. He and Christopher explain their favorite fighting game, and the strengths and weaknesses of each character and why they both have dibs on certain characters. Tommy watches fondly as Evan gesticulates wildly with his hands as he explains why a certain combination of moves is the absolute best way to destroy your opponent, and Christopher chimes in with a compelling counterargument about why a different combination is better. The way Evan lights up, as though he were a part of the neon background of the video game itself, warms Tommy in places he long since gave up for dead.

Tommy tries out the fighting game himself and loses handily. But he hardly cares, given how much he’s laughing at the teasing both Evan and Christopher give him; the creative trash talk reminds him of his previous video game sessions with his Harbor coworkers. He finally does win a round against Evan, who pouts. So, of course, Tommy has to press a kiss to his cheek about it. Christopher, a true teenager now, rolls his eyes.

Tommy gladly joins in the next time Evan has both Eddie and Christopher over for a video game night, teaming up with Evan. Even when they lose, Tommy still considers himself a winner for how Evan leans into him, squeezing his hand and entangling their fingers together between rounds, as they joke around with Eddie and Christopher. They munch on the snacks Eddie and Christopher bring with them – lots of chocolate but also fruit ‘for balance,’ Eddie says – and also the amazing nachos Evan made. Evan, Tommy, and Eddie enjoy rum with their Coke while Christopher enjoys just Coke. Evan glows like a whole gathering of fireflies, flickering vibrantly between all of them; his blue eyes shine and that birth mark above his eye that Tommy adores so much blooms in time with the lilting sound of his laughter. If Tommy weren’t already so far gone on the man he might as well be drowning in the river Styx, he would fall even harder just from the sight of Evan so clearly in his element.

The next time they play video games, Evan introduces him to what he calls “the best comfort game of all time,” Stardew Valley. Tommy watches at first while Evan explains the story of a farmer who inherits a farm from his dying grandpa; Evan talks about the various strengths of the different farms and how there’s action, adventure, and even monsters despite the fact that this is a farming simulation. Tommy doesn’t think much of the game at first but Evan’s commentary is fascinating, and the more he learns as he watches Evan play, the more Tommy finds himself drawn in, especially as he gets to know the various characters. (His heart may or may not skip a beat when he discovers Evan’s farmer has a dog named Hot Pilot.)

“Wow, Pierre really is the worst!” Tommy can’t help but notice after Pierre wins the Stardew Valley Fair using produce Evan’s farmer sold to him.

“He is,” Evan confirms. “Sometimes I’m tempted to do a Joja run just to make Pierre miserable but that would involve making the Junimos miserable so I really can never do it because I would never be able to live with myself! I would die for each and every Junimo. And I’ll get my revenge next festival when I can really start pumping out the purple star wines.” His determined eyes and the sincerity with which he says he would die for the Junimos shoot straight through to Tommy’s heart, which already feels full to bursting at the seams for all that he loves about Evan Buckley.

Well, in fairness, Tommy’s more than willing to split his heart open for Evan.

“And obviously I’m romancing Harvey,” Evan says as his farmer walks over to Harvey at the festival. He turns to look at Tommy, his face flushed pink like the strawberry cake Evan made for dessert the other night. Tommy’s committed this look to memory; one day he’ll remember to actually commit this look to his phone. “Because he reminds me of you.”

The admission hits Tommy like the first time he tasted Evan’s lips in this very loft; he gulps down air like he’s taking a shot, desperate to replace the breath Evan’s words stole in the span of a matter of moments. His face aches with the stretch of his smile as he drinks in the awe within Evan’s eyes fixed on him.

“I love you, you absolute nerd,” Tommy says, leaning over to kiss Evan soundly. Evan flails as he tries to pause the game; he only just manages before getting his hands in Tommy’s hair and pulling Tommy on top of him. Tommy grins into that kiss and the way Evan presses his name onto his tongue. Evan’s legs wrap around his waist, drawing Tommy in closer as they sink into one of Tommy’s other favorite activities that Evan just so happens to be vibrantly enthusiastic about.

(Tommy becomes addicted to Stardew Valley not long after they come up for air. They start their own co-op farm a few moments after that, which ends in round two when Evan “accidentally” ends up perching in Tommy’s lap.)

In between the video games Evan is especially passionate about, they indulge in some video games Tommy happens to be more familiar with; Mario Kart is a favorite, especially. Chimney and Maddie host game nights, alternating between video games and board games, and Tommy finds himself enthralled by the way Evan throws himself willingly into each and every one that they play. Sometimes, they find themselves at Hen and Karen’s, now with Mara back under their roof, and Tommy enjoys watching as Evan plays with Denny, Mara, Christopher, and Jee-Yun, the cool adult of the youths.

Tommy especially likes playing Mario Kart when it’s just him and Evan, though. (And yeah, sue him; he went out and bought a Switch after playing Stardew Valley with Evan, so they can play together even when they can’t be in the same place together. That co-op has gotten him through some of the worst shifts of his career simply by existing as a space where he and Evan can find each other again and again.)

“Okay, but like, what do I win if I win this race?” Evan says one night during a Mario Kart session with an arch of an eyebrow, lips quirked in a smirk accentuated by the cocky jilt of his chin in Tommy’s direction; it’s very hot. Tommy doesn’t miss, either, the way Evan’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip with the confidence of all the creative ways Evan knows how to put that tongue to good use.

“Oh, are we placing bets now?” Tommy responds, narrowly avoiding going over the edge of Rainbow Road. He smirks as he sends a Spiked Shell Evan’s way and maybe not so subtly brushes his ankle against Evan’s, who sucks in a breath at the friction. Tommy’s smirk deepens.

“Figured maybe we could make things more interesting,” Evan says, shrugging as he sends a Spiked Shell Tommy’s way this time. Tommy curses as he narrowly avoids being hit.

“Hmm,” he says, considering a moment, tilting his head. He hooks his ankle around Evan’s, drawing out a sharply inhaled breath from his boyfriend. And then he realizes exactly how he could make this particular gaming session more interesting, as he decides to put forth the idea he’s nurtured like a windowsill herb garden for at least the past two weeks. Though, truthfully, he’s harbored this particular desire the more his relationship with Evan deepens, starting about the time of him meeting Evan in the hospital for Maddie’s wedding. “Well, how about this. If I win, you move in with me.”

Evan almost drops his controller; his eyes go wide and his entire face turns pink. “Really?”

He breathes out the question more than asks it, as if he still can’t believe that Tommy is real, or that their relationship, going on a strong eight months now, is still real. Tommy’s going to buy him a bouquet of the brightest flowers he can find later on tonight to make sure Evan knows he’s going to show up for him every time.

“Really,” Tommy confirms with a nod. He’d planned on asking Evan later tonight, during the special steak dinner he planned to cook for Evan. But Evan’s spontaneous desire to ‘make things more interesting’ during Mario Kart calls to the deepest parts of Tommy that have spent so long waiting to find companionship; he wants Evan to come home to him. (For the rest of their lives, but that particular question is waiting until Tommy can ensure he makes that moment as grandly romantic as he can.)

Evan beams before turning back to the game, purposefully driving off of the edge of Rainbow Road with sheer glee. “You win!”

Tommy throws his head back and laughs before Evan throws himself wholly into his lap, tackling him into the couch and eagerly tangling their bodies together. He loves this man so goddamned much.

He doesn’t learn about Dragon Age until after Evan moves in. The moving process, while not without road bumps along the way, ends up a lot less rocky than Tommy anticipates. They do argue about duplicates (Evan is too attached to his kitchen knives, which, while frustrating, Tommy still finds adorable) and about how to rearrange Tommy’s home to make room for Evan. But even their worst fight ends when Evan apologizes by way of making Tommy’s favorite lasagna and Tommy, in turn, apologizes by way of giving Evan’s Jeep a complete work-up: oil change, fine tuning, and a thorough car wash. The make-up sex is especially invigorating after, too. (And Tommy especially loves this about Evan; he always tries to find solutions, even when he helps cause the problems.)

One night after they finally have most of Evan’s stuff unpacked and put away, Tommy finds himself unable to get back to sleep; he tosses, turns, and finds that Evan’s space in their bed is vacant, but the sheets are still warm, as though he only just left. He stretches and yawns, picking himself up to shuffle into the living room, where Evan sits on the couch (Tommy’s, as it’s the larger, more comfortable couch), staring at the television while desperately pressing buttons on his Playstation controller.

“Damn it!” He whisper-swears. Tommy’s mouth curves in time with the way his heart curves inside of his chest. He starts walking softly into the room; Evan turns at the sound, gaze widening when he spots Tommy. He looks bewildered and sleepy all at once, his hair unbound by product, all curly and sticking out at every angle. It’s a damn good look on him but Tommy still wants to take Evan in his arms and wrap him up like a burrito.

“Everything okay, Evan?” He asks, making his way into the living room. He sits down on the couch and shuffles closer as Evan turns to stare at him, reaching out to brush his hand through Evan’s tangled hair. Evan’s eyes flicker at the touch; he leans into Tommy’s hand. Tommy smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the top of Evan’s head.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep? I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Evan asks, concern etched into every crevice of his facial expression as he pulls back, eyes roaming up and down Tommy, assessing him as if they were out in the field.

“I could ask you the same question,” Tommy points out. “I woke up and you weren’t there. Everything okay?”

Evan pauses, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. He takes a moment to hit pause on the game he’s playing and sets his controller aside. He sucks in a breath and then exhales, his shoulders and chest sinking with the movement. Tommy gently circles his thumb in Evan’s hair and reaches over to grab Evan’s hand once the controller is out of the way. He entwines their fingers together and squeezes, waiting for Evan to elaborate.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He glances over to meet Tommy’s own gaze. “Probably shouldn’t have had that last coffee with dessert.”

Tommy grins. “You and me both, I think,” he says, gently knocking his shoulder into Buck’s. He forgot about that coffee, actually. But that would explain the restless night for both of them, now that he thinks about it. Still, he wonders if there’s anything else keeping Evan awake at this hour. (He hasn’t looked at his phone yet but he’s certain the hour is goddamned heinous o’clock.)

“And when I can’t sleep, I…well. I kind of think too much,” Evan admits sheepishly, his exhaustion (and current inability to combat that exhaustion) evident in the bags under his eyes. “So I wanted to try and like, distract myself from my own thoughts.”

“You want to talk about those thoughts?” Tommy asks, wondering what kind of thoughts, exactly, Evan is fighting off by playing video games this late at night (or early in the morning, technically). Anxiety is an asshole; he and Evan both have their own bouts with it constantly. Sometimes they talk about it; other times, they keep their struggles with anxiety to themselves. But Tommy always offers a shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen whenever he can, especially ever since he learned about Daniel and Evan’s past of fighting so hard just to be seen. He wants Evan to know that he sees him always.

“Not really,” Evan says. He closes his eyes and leans in against Tommy while he takes another slow, steadying breath. He stays silent for a few moments, leading Tommy to think the subject closed. But just before Tommy can offer another subject of conversation as a distraction, Evan speaks again. “But I guess…well. Just a lot of bullshit about how I’m inevitably going to screw this all up and ruin everything.”

Tommy reaches to wrap an arm around Evan’s shoulder, pulling him in even closer. He presses another kiss to the top of Evan’s head. “I wish I could send a Spiked Shell to those jerk thoughts of yours,” he says, speaking into the top of Evan’s curls. “Send them right over the edge and into the abyss.” Evan laughs; Tommy feels it reverberate against his side, life-affirming like his first sip from his first cup of coffee in the morning.

“Honestly, I wish you could too,” he admits, nuzzling in against Tommy. Tommy squeezes his arm around Evan. “But this is good too. And helping a lot. Thank you.”

Tommy presses another kiss to the top of Evan’s head, just because he can. “Of course,” he says, a promise he intends to keep forever.

Eventually his gaze wanders to the television screen, where the game is paused on what looks like a group of people running from a man riding on what just might be the world’s ugliest dragon. Or maybe a wyvern? He doesn’t really know the distinction, though Evan probably does. “So,” he asks, curious, “I don’t think I’ve seen you play this game before. What is it?”

Evan pulls back a little to glance back at the television screen before turning his gaze back to Tommy. His expression shifts into a softly bright enthusiasm when he realizes Tommy wants to know about the game he’s playing. “Oh, this? This is Dragon Age, specifically, Dragon Age II. I haven’t told you about Dragon Age yet have I?”

“No,” Tommy says, unable to keep the smile from unfolding on his face at the way Evan’s eyes spark with excitement. Tommy will never tire of Evan’s passion for sharing every detail of every fascination he has, whether it’s one of his favorite video games or a Wikipedia rabbit hole he falls down into because of a unique call during a shift. “Please, educate me.”

Evan comes to life as he explains about he only recently got into Dragon Age himself after reconnecting with one of his old roommates from his “glorified frat house days” who happens to be a devotee of the series himself. Tommy listens as Evan explains darkspawn, Blight, an incredible fake version of Christianity that combines Jesus with Joan of Arc, the best kind of cursing (“One of these days I’m going to say ‘Andraste’s Flaming Tits’ at work, I know I am, Tommy”), mages verses Templars, and explaining how each game in the series so far is incredible, but he’s especially partial to Dragon Age II because of the way Hawke continually finds a way to survive despite all of the bullshit thrown at them and the found family dynamics that reminds Evan of the 118. (Chimney is definitely the Varric of the 118, and no, Evan is not elaborating despite Tommy begging him to.)

As Tommy holds Evan close, listening to him explain the history of the Dalish elves and how he really can’t wait for the next game so he can, ‘scramble that egg Solas,’ he thinks, yeah, I’m keeping him. I’m keeping him forever.

Tommy becomes enveloped into Dragon Age himself when Evan suggests he play Dragon Age: Origins. He becomes embarrassingly emotionally invested choosing the Cousland origin (“I’m going to stab that asshole Howe in the dick holy shit!”) and would absolutely give his life for his Mabari hound (named Evan, of course). Evan cheers him on and cackles with delight at Tommy’s running commentary, especially when Tommy shouts, unironically, “Andraste’s Flaming Tits!” after dying to the Brood Mother the fifth time in a row.

And Tommy can’t help but laugh with him, clinging tightly to this bright life he’s managed to build with Evan at his side.

A month later, Tommy doesn’t know if he considers himself a video game person. But he does know with one hundred percent certainty that he is absolutely an Evan Buckley person. And, hopefully, depending on Evan’s answer when he finds Tommy at the end of this corn maze, mermaid pendant in hand (and a small velvet black box in his back pocket), a Evan Kinard person.

#bucktommy #buck x tommy #bucktommy positivity week #911 fic #my fic #otp: mouth static

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being-of-rain · 11 months ago

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My thoughts on Wild Blue Yonder! A little late because the time between the 60th anniversary episodes almost exactly lined up with a visit from my girlfriend. We had a great time, and watched this episode together, but I didn't want to take enough time away from her to write this!

When I saw some EU fans joking about how the episode was going to be an adaptation of Scherzo, I wasn't prepared for how many similarities it had. And it was soooo good. I love some really fucking great Doctor Who. I loved the horror aspect, I loved the duologue aspect, I always love a mystery opening act where the Tardis team has to search for clues and theorise about where they've landed. Oh and a shape-shifter who takes on someone's whole identity and thoughts is a concept that always tickles my fancy.

One of the few nitpicks I have is that I'm not quite sure how the countdown/shifting corridors and the robot connect: if they're part of the same self-destruct system, why is the robot seemingly much older than the ship? If they're not part of the same system, why is there a countdown to the moment the robot presses the button? Why not just have the ship destroy itself, and why would the ship need to 'reconfigure itself to become a bomb' if it had a self-destruct? But (much like Heaven Sent, which the solitary shifting setting is reminiscent of,) the small logic hiccups don't really take anything away from how good the episode is.

A slightly larger nitpick is that the ending isn't the strongest, with the TARDIS coming back right when and where the Doctor was thinking that it should, and then the Doctor realising he picked the wrong Donna because of a miniscule detail (that the audience couldn't pick up on, so it feels a bit of a cheat and a cheap emotional shot). So some of RTD's most common flaws there, but again the negatives really don't stack up to much compared to the quality of the rest of it. Also, I didn't notice the Tardis screen at the end that showed a scan of Donna's arm until my rewatch, and, in classic me fashion, it put me in mind of a random Dr Who EU story. In this case, Project: Nirvana where the Doctor reveals that the Tardis automatically scanned someone coming onboard and flagged an eldritch-monster-shaped issue with her. It does make me wonder if the Doctor thought to scan Donna himself, or if the Tardis did it (and he took the credit, perhaps trying not to think about how he might never have noticed).

But that's enough with nitpicks, what are some other fantastic bits? The throwaway phrase "goosebumps like Braille" is rad as hell, and would've made a great episode title I think. I've had ideas before about the Doctor's compulsion to think and solve problems in front of him being a direct threat, so it was cool to see that idea here. The Doctor worrying about 'invoking a superstition at the edge of the universe' at the end was a vague but incredibly compelling hook for future plots, and infinitely more interesting than the Meep's final line from the previous episode. I love all the tiny subtle ways the not-things were off and unsettling, as well as all the ways that were so over-the-top that I was laughing through my shocked horror.

The Timeless Child and Flux references were fantastic peeling back of the Doctor's emotional walls, and it was nice tying in with what is technically the show's previous season, even though it came out 2 years ago now. Also... it's a little hard to mention those references without dunking on Chibnall in comparison, who didn't tap into the Doctor's emotional state anywhere near as intensely in several years as this episode did in one scene (You could tie this into the Doctor regenerates into what they need/opposite theories, with Thirteen being a relatively repressed Doctor and Ten Point Three being a relatively expressive Doctor). It was particularly nice to have the show actually establish what the consequences of the Flux actually were, because god knows Thirteen's episodes weren't interested in doing that. On my rewatch of series 13 a few months ago, I was amazed at how basically every element of the Flux is confused and contradictory, and at the end my brother and I were convinced that the Ood in the Division ship (or God Ood as we started calling him) must have reversed the very almost total destruction of the universe, because the show simply refused to acknowledge any of that destruction itself. I guess they split the difference and said half the universe. But unpicking the bizarre illogic of the Flux is a whole other post.

Keeping in mind that the next episode hasn't come out yet, Wild Blue Yonder feels wildly out of place in the middle of an anniversary trilogy. A trilogy where the bookends are RTD modern-day blockbusters filled with fan-favourite character returns and niche villains from the show's long history, and the middle is a limited-cast sci-fi psychological/eldritch horror. But that absurdity detracts from the episode in absolutely no way whatsoever.

And speaking of absurdity; the mounting hype and talk of big things happening in the next episode, on top of bringing back a long-forgotten old villain and a long-awaited new Doctor, is just making it more and more ridiculous that the episode is called The Giggle. I can't wait for it though, I'm really enjoying these specials.

#my thoughts #dw spoilers #donna #ten #suuuch a good episode #hard not to dunk on Chibnall when I say I'm enjoying TV Dr Who much more than I have in ages

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drivestraight · 4 months ago

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Omg hi so I read your newest fic which was so good, I’m a very casual Landoscar enjoyer but I like how your portray them, specially after Hungary!

I also read anatomy of a joke for the first time and omg it was so good, one of those fics that you read and you know what’s going on is a train wreck but you are oddly enjoying it even though you shouldn’t

This max had so many layers I was desperately craving to peal back, especially every time the fact that he had a gf was brought up, I would kill to know if Kelly really gave the thumbs up for all that mess. He is also very funny in here like damn I respect you for somehow always win despite everyone else losing their minds around you.

Lando…everytime he appeared I felt like I was that friend that he never listened to when they told him his man ain’t shit, probably what oscar was at some level lol. I like the vagueness around what are his true feelings regarding oscar and max, at some points I was convinced he was actually in love with max and at other I doubted everything.

Prayers for oscar, i was yelling at my screen for him to dip out of that mess and save himself, I wonder what happened after the last scene with max

Anyways I like your writing and I will be reading the rest of your fics! Also I kept wondering about why the title was “anatomy of a joke” and after thinking about it I think I got it lol

thank you so much! i obviously don't write landoscar that much dsjf;lkdfjsa and it's more of a new thing i'm doing on a whim so i'm happy you like how i write them!

and YEAH haha with anatomy of a joke i knew that there was no way i could introduce people to it fairly... you just have to jump right in... and it takes you places... i remember finally reaching austria and it was like. hehe. This is where it goes off the rails. it was supposed to be so much lighter but then it just progressed the way it did, and i liked how it was turning out, so then i just went with it! happy it turned out well :)

and yeah like. one thing i was trying Not to do was overexplain anything or belabor the point. keep things a little unsaid and let people intuit what they wanted/read between the lines and interpret it the way they wanted, but also leaving enough space/intrigue that you felt compelled enough to like, think about it. what it means, etc.

the girlfriend mentions were important... is it really purely casual on max's side? no feelings just friendship handjobs etc etc. but there is the weird possessiveness and needing to take up every space he shares with oscar/remind him that lando is his, etc. but yeah god he really was just. reading the room but also ignoring all of the signs and being like. So you want a threesome tonight. at every change he got 😭😭 love this guy

and exactly with lando... does he like max? eh. idk. it means something to him, though. waves hand vaguely weird intimacy issues. we gotta keep it semiotic. all the signs are there but if it's in a language you can't decipher, you're just left staring at it wondering what it all means, re: what oscar was going through the whole time, while also trying to tell himself he didn't care/give off the air that he didn't care, when he's had a flame for lando for like 6 years. fun little topsy turvy moment to me to write, that flashback.

and after that last scene with max he went back to his hotel room and Wallowed. I think. maybe. <3

it's called anatomy of a joke because... well... oscar's the joke...

if i do end up writing lando pov, the "joke" will become clearer. idk if i will, even though it's pretty planned out rn, but on the off chance that i do end up writing it, i'll keep lando's side of things a secret... get back to me in like a month on this...

anywayyyyy thank you thank you! i always love to get little messages like these - ik i don't reply to ao3 comments really, because it gets rly overwhelming at times, but i always read everything people comment/send me on tumblr about my fics, and i really appreciate it all! keeps me feeling encouraged to write more. tytyty

#asks #fic asks #anatomy of a joke

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artandpunishment · 1 year ago

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"Book One: A Nice Little Family" Thoughts (Brothers Karamazov)

I think having that title for this particular book is quite fitting as the entirety of it pertains to setting up the main family of the story. In regards to the actual story telling, this is strikingly different from the other two works I have read by Dostoevsky, White Nights and Crime and Punishment. Those are similar to one another, whereas Brothers Karamazov stands out; not just because of its popularity, but what makes it popular—that is something that I not only will focus on, but have to focus on when reading. Family as a motif being relayed and explained through Dostoevesky’s compelling narrative in the Brothers K is immediately, in my mind, going to leave an impression upon me. Although it has taken almost a month for me to sit down and finish the first book, I have another feeling that it will be easier to read from this point onwards.

Now, as for the actual story of Book One, there are some things that struck me as things that could contribute to the overall tale. But before I get into that, I want to say that the first couple of chapters are quite funny. This might have something to do with something mentioned in the translator’s note (Peaver and Volokhonsky translation, Bicentennial edition). Which is that their aim was to capture Dostoevsky’s original bleak comedy of the Brothers K. And immediately that goal came true. I had to take a moment to contain myself as I was in a library, when I was ready about Fyodor’s outrageous life and personality.

That was really the only moment in the whole book that I laughed, though, because I ended up moving on to focus on the establishment of the brothers and their lives. The two that struck me the most are Dmitri and Alyosha. The former for his difficult life and aloof disposition, the latter for his contrast between his older brothers. Alyosha’s innocence or his youthful approach to life is something I can relate to. I can also really find myself understanding Dmitri as a person and the difficult relationship he has with Fyodor. With that in mind, I can see how Ivan would fit in nicely between them. He is definitely a character that my sister (the middle between me and our younger brother) would like.

Not only are the characters and writing style interesting, yet echo Dostoevsky’s style that I am more familiar with, the combination of the two is a wonderful one, and I’ve enjoyed reading despite my slow pace. By having the story be told by—as far as I know—a local clergyman, that is a refreshing format than just third person narration. It adds ahe book where stage directions or other things were added to be a subtle nod to theatre in that book. But with Brothers K, it honestly feels not only cinematic, but actually Homeric. Me saying that could be a bias because that is a literary style that I am intimately familiar with as I have studied it in great detail. But the way that theatrical element that makes Dostoevsky’s work here much more cinematic than theatrical, which is something that I can attribute to Crime and Punishment. There were several instances in t the elder might be somehow influential and conciliatory.”

“Fyodor Pavlovich was apparently the first to suggest, apparently as a joke, that they all get together in the elder Zosima’s cell, and, without resorting to his direct mediation, still come to some decent agreement, since the dignity and personality of the elder might be somehow influential and conciliatory.”

To me, that echoes the gathering of followers and friends at Plato’s cell when he delivered his final few dialogues. I might be stretching, but even if it was intended, such a reference is rather cool and works well in the story and the Greek reference previously mentioned. There are some other things I highlighted regarding character details, fundamental things, that I feel might come up later. If they do, I will most certainly reference them. But for now, I am going to continue reading with Book Two, An Inappropriate Gathering!

#booklr #read through #brothers karamazov #russian lit #classic lit

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sleepy-seal · 8 months ago

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Welcome back to another episode of: TMAGP & Treats!!!

This week's treat is......... Hot Chocolate Fudge!!!

This is an amazing success after the failures of episodes 7 & 8. Mostly. We don't talk about the marshmallows

And without further ado, here is my thoughts!

- lets get this show on the road

- haha fudge!!! so fun!!!! (frantically looks up how to set up a double boiler)

- interesting title

- uhhhhhhhh

- sam maybe don't say that)????

- damnnn guess theyWHAAAT

- HANG ON WAIT A SECOND

- MAGNUS INSTITUTE????

- that is SO rude dnd is fun

- HEY THAT SOUNDS LIKE MOTW

- oh dammnnnnn it was a trap

- gamblers high,,,,,

- DUDE HE LITERALLY TURNS INTO A SUPERVILLAIN

- this is reminding me of that one arc in taz amnesty

- TEDDYYYYYY YOU'RE BACK

- woahhh is alice jealous??? damnn

- get behind me girl they're gonna think you actually wanna kill celia

- SAM NO

- okay since the fudge is set to cool for 4 hours that Should give me enough time to write my final thoughts and also write some miscellaneous things

FINAL THOUGHTS:

okay so, i can't be the only person who assumed that this episode reminded me of taz amnesty a Lot. maybe i've just been listening to the mcelroys too much lately but the 2d6 thing reminded me a Lot of the motw ttrpg. the dice reminded me a lot about the success of your rolls compared to how it translates in motw. like 2-6 is a hard fail, 7-9 is a mixed success, and 10+ is a full success. it could be a coincidence though. what's also a coincidence is the dice. i've mentioned it already, but the phenomenon of something altering fate that makes good/bad luck occur is so similar to one mini-arc of amnesty where a giant cottonwood tree was literally altering the course of fate with its cottonwood seeds to make bad things happen (accidents, that sort of thing. the mention of how the one guy died in this episode - being hit by a truck and being the only one to die because someone fell asleep at the wheel - reminded me a lot of similar "accidents" during that particular mini-arc).

also, i find alice's reaction to sam's (potential) crush on celia in this episode to be very telling. i don't actually think she's going to Kill celia, just to get that out of the way. but i think she does miss being with sam. maybe that's why she was acting like sam had a massive crush on celia when she was first introduced. i could be wrong though! maybe she's still trying to process her feelings but due to her nature of passing basically everything off as a joke it's being shoved to the side for her to deal with Later. the very classic "this is probably something i have to process but i'll push this aside for future me to deal with". that's not to say that alice and sam aren't good friends! i'm very glad that we have healthy examples of people who have broken up but still remain friends. you don't get that a lot.

also TEDDY!!!!!!! i'm so glad he's returned. i was worried for a moment that he was just not going to come back but i'm very glad to see he's still around. i started to sweat a bit when he mentioned that he already got fired from his last job but i was very relieved when he got a new job interview. stay out of the OIAR teddy.

also i find it very convenient how the moment sam admitted that he is saddened by the dead ends for the magnus institute, another case pops up with a reading on artifact storage with a pair of dice that apparently change your fate and bring you good luck/bad luck depending on how you rolled. And it's read by chester no less. i can't tell if chester is trying to bring sam further into this, or is cryptically trying to tell sam to stay away but sam just Isn't Listening.

going back to the pair of dice, i think it's interesting how the person writing the report for spooky dice stressed that he did not feel compelled to roll the dice in any way, nor did it feel like he was being possessed. he just Willingly did so. and so did everyone who rolled those dice. even the one man who tried to give them away couldn't resist rolling the dice one last time before getting snake eyes. this almost reminds me of gambling addictions, where while you technically Can stop at any time and it doesn't hurt you to (aside from i guess the consequences you already have), you feel the want to keep rolling. you wanna see what happens. you want that rush that you get when you roll high. that's a bit superficial though so i won't say that's the "true meaning" of the statement. i also must point out that this isn't exactly how any prior fears have acted. you could say "this falls under x, y, z, and b fears", but that kinda defeats the point. guy has spooky dice; things go wrong. also i find it laughable that the guy just goes full cartoon villain and dresses for the part of "guy who gives you dice and you roll them and Something Happens To You". sad that he died right at the end.

i like this episode a lot actually! i have to say this is probably my favorite one, genuinely. love the idea of spooky dice that make your life a literal ttrpg. i can't wait for episode ten where "alice and sam go to a place and do a thing". that's gonna be a special episode since that day's pi day! see you soon!

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #TMAGP & Treats

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therealgothambychelsealauren · 3 months ago

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Chapter I: While in the Shadows

*opening sequence - making coffee, getting ready for school*

In 2021, the National Institute of Health published a study that demonstrated how parents were statistically more likely to misperceive a black child as feeling angry than a white child. The NIH used buzzwords like "adultification" and "racialized anger bias" to explain the disproportionate phenomenon between race of children and mis-labeling of emotions. Basically, to scientifically say what us Black folk already know - the "angry Black woman" stereotype wasn't endorsed by white people by accident.

I had many things to be angry about in my teen years; the star of the boys' soccer team didn't wanna date me, my sister needed medication we couldn't afford, my clothes were found on sale at Goodwill and Old Navy, I was a child and a co-parent at the same time, my mother had demons in her head that needed more than holy water to exorcise.

In the study I mentioned earlier, they conclude that a large reason for the "racially-biased misconception of anger in children" is because it correlates with how Black children are also misperceived as being older (and presumed more mature) than they actually are. And like these researchers and other Black folks can tell you, there are cultural and systemic contributions from our society that allow this correlation to exist. The article's suggested solution to this psycho-social problem is to acknowledge the cultural phenomenon and the impact it has on our children.

For myself, I just read comic books.

I was the oldest of 3 kids. We needed a dad - a safe dad, who didn't make us feel like we had to sleep with one eye open if he stayed the night, who was gonna keep our stomachs from growling and the bullies from laughing.

But despite my mother's beauty and desperation, Superman would only hover before vanishing from our doorstep.

My brother and sister were into Spiderman mostly; they liked his vibrant bright colors and his cool backstory. He made the spiders creeping around our section-8 housing less scary (they could potentially give you superpowers, after all). And of course, the iconic quote - "with great power comes great responsibility" - is a line that just caresses the nostalgia part of our brains.

But I was of the minority opinion. At the public library, the sibs read adventures about Peter Parker and the Avengers rescuing New York City, whereas I gravitated towards the darker grittier side of comicbooks - the side that mirrored my reality rather than fantasized a different one.

"You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain" - that was the favorite movie quote (from Batman: The Dark Knight) I introduced myself with on the first day of 9th grade history class, and I remember the judgemental glances and snickers exchanged amongst my classmates.

Batman Year One.

The Long Halloween.

The Killing Joke.

My library list of titles and due dates was a monochromatic receipt in theme and morals compared to what my siblings borrowed. My mother noticed, and she especially noticed when I dressed up as Batgirl for Halloween three years in a row. She didn't mind Batman, but pictures of the Joker scared her. My brother had to convince her to let us borrow The Dark Knight on DVD from Family Video. I think when my sister moved on from My Little Pony to Gossip Girl and my brother became obsessed with computer engineering instead of Legos, my mother hoped I'd turn away from the dark compelling images of bloody clowns and tormented Caped Crusaders into something less dark and disturbing.

But I needed the Batman.

Watching Batman punch The Riddler square in the jaw felt like releasing my own fistfights through my knuckles tightly clenching the colorful pages. When Batman snarled, I gritted my teeth. When the Joker laughed, I screamed.

Batman mirrored the reality my soul writhed and burned within. Every morally gray act was a validation of my anger in such a corrupt system. I wasn't a villain, I was a product of my environment. I wasn't a hero, I was a survivor.

In college, I drafted a short film inspired by this coping mechanism of my childhood. My freshman year of college was the first year of the Covid pandemic, the momentous year of the Black Lives Matter movement, and the year I realized my mother's white parenting and upbringing did not protect me from the biases and cruelties systemically distributed to Black folks - to my father's folks. My final year of undergrad began soon after the overturn of Roe v. Wade. Personal and worldwide challenges were faced and scarred in the years between.

After graduating college and experiencing the worst summer of my adulthood, I packed my bags for an opportunity to serve as a peer mentor for students in underresourced schools in the real Gotham City - New York City. It was an experience that taught me a lot and, unfortunately, burnt me a lot - both in physical exhaustion and in an emotional metaphorical sense. Following the year of servitude, I was accepted into law school.

Which brings me to today, the start of my first 1L semester. It's exciting, but also harrowing as I learn how much of my life has been a pawn in the unsaid chess match between law and empathy, between control and anarchy. I have stayed in Gotham, never feeling so at home anywhere else.

And as I learn more and more about the legal system, I feel the dark cowl of the Batman hovering closer and closer over my mind like a noose dangling over my neck, dooming me to risk dying a hero or play the game long enough to become one of them. Can I be clever and resourceful like the Batman? Will this rope tied by generations of oppression choke me out, or will my hands snap it at just the right moment to use it like a grappling hook and pull myself up above the cycle?

#Spotify

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withthebreezesblown · 8 years ago

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Too Dark to Read, Part One

Or read it on AO3.

Despite all Eamon’s warnings, despite the righteous anger Alistair has already endured from the man and the verbal thrashing (well, let’s be honest, thrashings) he will surely endure when the Chancellor returns, the Satinalia feast that he was told was suicide turns out to be the least unpleasant thing he thinks that he has had to endure since the weight of that damned crown settled on his head.

All along the row of mismatched tables dragged from nearby houses out into the cold under the leafless vhenadahl, people are smiling at him. And not those blasted, Blighted, flaming, fucking simpering leers that would have been directed at him by the mass of arls, arlessas, and banns if this feast had been held in the customary way, with the customary company.

Sure, there are a few open glares, and there are plenty of appraising eyes still tinged with suspicion, but there are also happy mothers feeding the children in their laps and whispering in their ears as they point toward him at the end of the table, glancing at him with eyes full of an appreciation that hits him far harder than all of the not inconsiderable venom directed at him combined.

When the food dwindles, five elves bring instruments and begin playing music that isn’t quite like anything he thinks he’s ever heard before. The redheaded elf who had sat on his right hand side during the meal, conversing as freely with him as with the elves on her other side, the one who still treats him much the same as she treated him when he was just a Warden rumored to be a King’s bastard during the Blight (well, the same as she treated him once she had determined the Grey Wardens weren’t exactly the kind of shem she was used to), sidles up to him with a decidedly wayward grin. “So, do you think you’ve given the proper gentlefolk of Ferelden enough fodder for one lifetime, or would you like to dig your hole a little deeper?” she asks, holding a hand out to him.

The slight smile that has been on his face for a while now fades as he gives her a look of earnest regret. “Unfortunately that will require you to make a choice of rather dire importance. Either we can jab at the hornet’s nest, unwise and satisfying as it will surely be, or you can keep your toes in tact and functional. It wouldn’t be right not to give you fair warning.”

He can’t help the laugh of relief when she rolls her eyes and pulls him toward the growing crowd of dancers. The irony does not escape him that here, among only servants, guards, and elves, is the first time he’s felt human in months.

The verbal thrashings he expects don’t come. He isn’t even aware that Eamon has returned to the Palace until a servant informs him that the Chancellor has already taken his dinner in his rooms and will not be joining the King.

For days the only conversations between them are the ones that can’t be avoided, and the cold, clipped nature of them makes Eamon’s point as clearly his silence. He isn’t sure he truly realized the extent to which, most days, Eamon is the only person who speaks to him without the entire exchange being framed as master to servant, king to subject. He is the only one who reacts to Alistair’s quips and sarcasm, and while his displeasure doesn’t exactly give the satisfaction that appreciation does, there’s a gratification in it, far more so than in the stoic silence of the servants, who seem to view his humor as some sort of test in which any reaction at all is failure, or in the forced chuckles of the nobles before they quickly change the subject without comment.

Eamon even forgoes their nightly chess match, started because he thought his King ought to get some practice strategizing. That first time, he’d even offered a wager to tempt Alistair–the King’s presence at the following day’s session of court: if Eamon won, he would attend as usual. If Alistair won, Eamon would judge in his place. Alistair had allowed the man to explain all the rules in detail, had questioned how every piece should move, had deliberated during each turn before taking it with a blithe uncertainty. And when, to Eamon’s stunned disbelief, he’d won, he’d raised his brows high. “No! Did I really? Beginner’s luck, I suppose. Well, do enjoy your day in court.”

The look of disbelief on Eamon’s face cleared with comprehension, and when he swallowed the last of his whiskey and set the glass back down, the expression left behind was either vaguely amused irritation or irritated amusement. In it there had been a touch of pride. “You little shit; you didn’t mention they’d taught you chess in the Chantry.”

Without the chess, without anyone who ever speaks to Alistair and not just the King, he feels like he’s disappearing. He feels more invisible than he felt in the dark and silent cell they locked him in for screaming in the Chantry’s halls. If he could find someone to enchant his clothes to walk around without him, he wonders if anyone would even notice he wasn’t inside.

After two weeks of this, a note comes from Teagan, requesting his presence in Redcliffe. He’s riding out of Denerim less than an hour after its receipt, well before the note he’s left for Eamon is delivered.

There’s a kitchen boy with hair tolerably like mine. I’ve left my usual outfit laid out. Give the boy a wash, and tell him not to speak. If he just smiles like a bit of an idiot and nods, I’m sure no one will notice he isn’t me.

“Alistair!”

When his sort-of uncle claps his arms around him in an embrace full of sincere enthusiasm, there’s a moment where he wants to cry. Being back here, in this stable, reminds him how as a child he’d thought there could surely be no fate lonelier than being a bastard, disdained by the gentle-born, avoided or mocked by everyone else. He couldn’t have guessed then how much more isolating it would be if the only people who dared to look at him at all saw nothing but the title and trappings and power of a King.

Beside them, a horse twitches its tail and drops a pile of excrement, and Maker is he grateful for it. Instead of dropping his head on Teagan’s shoulder and crying, he snorts as he steps away. “Ah, the fresh, sweet smell of my childhood home!”

Though Teagan is one of the only people he can rely on to be entertained by his always irreverent–and these days, more often than not, rather bitter–humor, the man’s smile is marred by a wince, and it’s only after that Alistair thinks perhaps it was a sensitive topic to joke about, given what the man had told him shortly after his coronation: “I should not have let my brother send you–either to the stables or the Chantry. He kept Maric’s secret well. I thought you were his. I thought it not my place.”

The arl shakes it off quickly, gesturing welcomingly toward the castle. “You arrived before I’d even expected Eamon to have let you make your evasion.”

“Ah. Well…” Rubbing at the back of his neck, an unpenitent yet vaguely guilty grin is all the explanation he offers, and it says enough.

Teagan’s smile is bemused. “He’ll blame me, you know. Not to say he won’t still blame you. But he’ll blame me too.”

Inside, he directs their steps toward the upper floor where the bed chambers are. “I have a bit of a dilemma, you see, that I was rather hoping you might be able to help me out with.”

When they pause outside the largest chamber, the one that had been Eamon’s, Alistair can’t help a cheeky smirk. “You know, fond of you though I am, I’m not sure I’m the person to help you out with a bedroom dilemma…”

Teagan just chuckles quietly before dropping his hand to the doorknob. “It sounds like they’re sleeping, but you’d likely still do well to brace yourself.”

The door has hardly moved a fraction of an inch before the first squeaky, high pitched bark rings out, and before it dies, there is a cacophony of yips, barks, growls, and scrabbling feet and claws against the stone floor. As soon as the door is out of the way, it’s like being rushed by a knee-high tempest. The writhing, wriggling brown bodies are so crushed together in their enthusiastic attempt to shove each other out of the way and get to the two men in the door that it takes a moment for Alistair to determine just how many mabari puppies make up the mob. Seven. Or possibly eight; there may be one underneath that one. Then again, that one there may have just swallowed the one beside it whole, so it could be seven.

Teagan sighs. “The servants have threatened to quit if I don’t either get rid of them or move them out to the stables.” The mother steps lazily over the little hoard to rub herself against Teagan’s side, and he squats down, scratching her ears and pulling her face close to his.

Alistair can’t help an amused acknowledgement of the fact that any Orlesian would be horrified that not only does this man, one of the most powerful in the country, let his dog sleep in his bed, he keeps her puppies in his room. It’s so very Fereldan, he can’t help finding it strangely touching. If he must be King, there are certainly worse peoples to be King of.

“But they’re Neve’s puppies. I can’t put Neve’s puppies in the stable.” He glances up at Alistair, then, and there it is again, that hint of guilt, before he continues. “So I am left either finding suitable homes for them or finding new servants. And I’ve been politely informed that if they all quit because of the dogs, I’m going to be blacklisted, and I’ll end up having to deal with all the chewed up rugs and broken porcelain myself. So I’ve had to come up with a list of those I would trust with my Neve’s pups. You are at the top, so I thought I’d give you first pick.”

Alistair can’t keep the surprise from his face. It’s not that he’s never been trusted–well, if he hadn’t been trusted entirely too damn much to do things he isn’t even capable of, then he’d never have ended up King to begin with, but she was raised in the Circle, and who could blame her for being half mad and, at least on the subject of himself, wholly foolish? Even now, even as King, no one but her has ever given trust to him so freely, and it catches him off guard. All he can manage is, “You want me to take one of these monsters?” but he’s sure Teagan must hear the thing he can’t keep out of his voice. It’s something like wonder.

If he hadn’t been squatting to get a better look at the puppies, all of them excited to the point of quivering like sausages in a frying pan, he would not have caught the words Teagan murmurs so quietly against the grown mabari’s ear, but he is, and he does. “He is a good and kind and lonely man. You tell them that.”

If he wasn’t positive before, he is certain then. He isn’t the one doing Teagan a favor. This is Teagan looking out for him, as he has so often tried to do since Alistair found himself being thrust down onto a throne he’d never wanted.

He ends up sitting on the floor with puppies crawling all over him, and for a while they are just soft, warm, and indistinguishable, until they begin to make their personalities known. There’s one that keeps biting the puppies beside her whenever they get between her and Alistair’s petting fingers, and occasionally biting his fingers if he seems to occupied with the puppy his other hand is petting. There’s one that, despite the nips from his sister, rather insistently keeps stepping on her head with his oversized paws in an attempt to get his turn with Alistair, though he tends to topple over as soon as his head is stroked. And there’s one that’s gone to sleep, despite the furious commotion all around it, with it’s head on his thigh, positioned just so that the patch of drool trickling slowly from its mouth is going to leave a spot that looks like he’s peed himself when he stands.

Eventually Teagan beckons him, and he rises, moving the sleeping puppy gently so as not to wake him, uncertain what he’s expected to do and a little reluctant to leave off being licked and cuddled against, which he was enjoying more than he should admit. “I’m… not sure how this works? Do you… do you think one of them imprinted?”

He just smiles and waves Alistair through the door. “Come on and we’ll see.” The moment he takes a step, the nippy one latches onto his pants and plants her feet. One day, this will be an effective method of stopping a grown man. For now, Alistair just chuckles as he carefully tugs, dragging the puppy across the floor rather than freeing himself.

“Well, then, it would appear–” Before Teagan can finish his sentence, one of the puppies launches itself toward the one attached to his pants, goes tumbling past both her and Alistair, and then scrambles to correct the overshoot, finally closing his jaw on Alistair’s other pant leg with a stubborn whimper.

Teagan’s expression is genuinely pleased. “It looks like you’ll be taking two puppies back to Denerim with you.”

He’s surprised by just how relieved he is as he bends to scoop them both up, one in each arm (Maker, he won’t be able to do this for long; they are already heavy). He supposes there is a part of him that will always be the boy who, before Duncan, was never chosen for anything. He can’t help grinning at Teagan. “Well, on the bright side, I’ve weeded out the defective ones for you. There’s obviously something wrong with them if they’ve imprinted on me.”

Teagan just shakes his head seriously. “Oh, no. That one there, she’s the brains of the litter, clever even for a mabari. Bossy, too. You’ll have your hands full with that one.”

They’re halfway down the hall when there’s a shriek from Teagan’s bedroom and frantic scratching at the door accompanied by increasingly distraught yips.

Teagan’s expression is amused. “Perhaps not two.”

He heads back down the hall and hardly has the door cracked when one of the puppies comes bounding out of it, making a beeline for Alistair and jumping up to put his front paws on his knee as he whimpers accusingly. He's certain it's the one that was sleeping on him.

It’s a struggle to get all three in his arms at once, but he’s determined if only on principle. After all, he’s already hurt the sleepy one’s feelings by nearly leaving him behind. The least he can do is carry them all downstairs despite the fact that they are entirely capable of doing it themselves.

Read Part Two here.

Full disclaimer, for purposes of fairness: @celeritassagittae came up with pretty much the entire plot of this. She also had to title it for me because I am Bad At Titling Things. If it wasn’t set in my universe, I really wouldn’t have had enough claim to write it at all, and I am incredibly grateful for her generosity.

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday Thursday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (side pairings Morcia, WillxJJ, others in flirtation)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: Now posted on tumblr and Ao3, Click Here

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: This is pretty tame, Emily is just a little intense and eager because Spencer is... well, Spencer, and when she realizes all he can do? Oh she is chomping at the bit. Some trance-like things and witchy stuff and Hotch being territorial without being able to admit it.)

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: this takes place in chapter 02, what you will all see on Saturday evening, and this version is insanely unpolished (I’m about to go through and fix it up and give it a good make-over) but basically this is the first time Spencer is meeting Emily Prentiss and it makes... an impression. Also, Emily has been at the BAU for about 0.2 seconds and Hotch is already done with her. The sibling energy I love to see. It’s also hella long, as an apology for missing last week and being a day late. All you’ve missed is Spencer about ran into Emily turning a corner and she saved him from spilling his case files and coffee all over the floor. Now they are talking)

–

“I apologize, I thought you were an intern or still in the academy.”

“It’s alright, everyone does,” Spencer says without taking offense. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was or lasted very long if he did; however, if he had a nickel for every time someone had been surprised by his age, he’d be as rich as Father Rossi. His full hands actually aids him as he mentions, “I don’t usually shake hands with people, so don’t think me rude. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He offers her a smile in exchange, and it is mirrored on her face just as her surprise kicks up another notch.

“Doctor, my my I am in for a trip on this team, aren’t I?” she laughs, and it’s a melodic thing that stretches over an expanse of time and history. Ballrooms in Russia and palors of France, Elizabethan and the roaring 20’s and everything in between all rolled into one. He’s not sure how he sees it, an impossible thing, but he can read it like a book and that must have something to do with what she is. “Emily Prentiss, it is a remarkable pleasure to meet you Dr. Reid. Now, I have to ask--” her tone is so charming and playful and probing he barely notices the nuance, “And I’m sure it’s taboo around here, but I have to know -- your regeneration process. Tell me what it is or what you do. You look so young.”

“I am young,” he states simply, finally stunned by a question he’s not usually asked.

“Yes, yes, we all can’t be a thousand years old like your fearless Vampire leader,” she waves off and Spencer’s eyes widen because… he hadn’t known Hotch was that old. Sure he’d said he’d been alive for the better part of a millennia, but he always said it like a hyperbole. A turn of phrase that’s off by a couple centuries. But --

A thousand years old.

That would put him…

God, that would put him alive, as a human, just before the start of The Crusades.

“Oh, did he keep that to himself? Oops, my bad. Pretend you don’t know. Anyway -- so are you a Shifter? Or use a particular spell? Oh, or is it a curse? I’m fascinated by curses, I don’t use them often myself but the rigidity of terms using a power so chaotic is just such a fun juxtaposition that I--”

“No, no, I’m… normal, human,” Spencer interrupts her, still the smallest bit shell-shocked, but now connects a few dots himself as she speaks. Realizes very suddenly that Ms. Prentiss appears ageless because she is ageless. She’s also a Witch. One of the broadest terms for subspecies categories, which really doesn’t do it justice. A Witch could be a number of things. Someone who uses magic and science and the very Earth itself paired with the spiritual planes to do impossible things. Witches are beings so powerful they should be uncategorizable. Something Spencer is fascinated by as well. He’s never met anyone like Emily. “I look young because I am young. I’m 27, I’ve only been with the BAU for the past three years. I’m a little excited to not be the newbie on the team any more,” he tries to joke, but Emily’s gaze has gone distant and sharp all at once.

“You’re only 27? And you’re a doctor?” She asks in clarification, Spencer nodding along each time. “You’ve been a doctor, since becoming an FBI agent?”

“Um, well -- I’m not a medical doctor. I do have three doctorates, though; in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering,” he finds himself shrinking a bit under her intensely interested gaze. “What?”

“Chemistry?” she asks, vaguely more distant.

“That was my first doctorate,” he murmurs back, not sure what has her looking so contemplative.

“You’ve achieved all of this: three doctorates, FBI agent, BAU -- in 27 years?” she questions, a grave yet wondrous sound.

“Technically I did all of that in 15 years. I graduated high school when I was 12,” he manages to do more than mumble, and Emily’s wide-eyed stare has him spewing forth information like it requires an explanation. “I have an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words a minute, and my IQ is 187 so by human standards yes -- I’m a genius, and borderline on the advanced brain developments scale. But I’m still human. Nothing paranormal or extraordinary.”

The pause that follows is palpable.

“Oh,” she says in an exhale, “Oh, you young soul. You have no idea, do you? What you are capable of...” She tilts her head as she steps closer and Spencer is very suddenly aware that he’s not sure she’s blinked since they started speaking about his qualifications. What he can do, how he got to where he is. No one usually shows this much interest, he makes them uncomfortable for reasons he doesn’t always understand.

Emily doesn’t look uncomfortable, she looks… hungry.

“You are so very, very extraordinary. Exceptional, really. Look at all of what you’ve accomplished with just 15 years of life.” That astonished sound again, like she can’t believe her luck--

And then she’s in his space, gaze boring into his, and Spencer can see galaxies in the depth of her eyes. His breath stolen from him and feet rooted to the floor. So he doesn’t step away as she leans just the smallest bit closer, words resonating with echoes across ages.

“Imagine what you could do with a thousand.”

“Prentiss,” the deep voice of Hotch’s monotone (edged in something vaguely aggressive, and more than a little aggravated) breaks through their moment. The trance fading like a fog from Spencer’s eyes. “No recruiting. It’s in your contract.”

“You have such a gift, it’s a shame to waste it,” Emily whispers in a rush as Hotch approaches them from down the hall. More earnest than intimidating, now.

“Prentiss!”

“Think about it,” she winks, and then turns to give Hotch a smile that’s all teeth so sharp she resembles a shark. “Oh, what a sour face. What’s wrong? Were you planning on asking him first? You snooze, you lose.”

“Conference room,” he instructs, pointing the way Spencer had just come. “Team meeting in 20 minutes. Try not to summon anything between here and there.” She sticks her tongue out at him childishly as she leaves, and sends a quirk of a smile Spencer’s direction that shifts her whole expression into something comically entertained. He’s never seen Hotch interact with someone like this, like they were… familiar, even exasperatingly so. The closest in comparison is probably Father Rossi. But this is less like old friends and more like sibling rivalry.

The space Emily had just vacated is suddenly filled with Hotch, an overwhelmingly welcomed presence and it eases the tension out of Spencer’s spine and shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Are you okay?” he asks, low and quiet. They’re the only ones in the hallway, but secrecy is a hard habit to break.

Spencer nods, still gaining his bearings once more. “I think so. That didn’t feel like hypnotism. I don’t know what that was.”

“Prentiss doesn’t manipulate minds or the wills of other people,” Hotch tells him, which is soothing if not for the foreboding question of what just occurred. “She doesn’t need to. She can do a lot of things: change her face, her voice, make illusions and talk circles around anyone -- even you.” Spencer looks up to him at that, aware that his level of intelligence is the only thing that keeps him safe from JJ or Hotch’s influence. His mind can’t be bent, or tricked.

“Then what was she doing? I felt compelled but… not against my will. What was that?” he asks, also quiet but much more high in pitch as his confusion turns his voice to a winded sound.

Hotch’s thin, stern frown does nothing to alleviate the apprehension caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“Possibility,” he states, grim and not liking that Spencer had fallen prey to such a short moment with Emily Prentiss and her promise of what her craft could do for him. Hotch is well aware that Spencer’s gift of soaking up every speck on information he’s given like a sponge isn’t something to let wither and die like so many before him. There’s so much he could do with an infinite life, such as his and Emily’s, but the curse of living forever alone is not something to be taken lightly. And not to be decided by someone who still has so much more life to live unaided by other forces.

However, Emily was right about one thing. Hotch can’t deny that he’s thought about it. More than considered it as a definite possibility.

An offer, all his own.

–

Tagged list so far: @physics-magic, @thaddeusly, @ssa-noa, @ssa-sarahsunshine, @tobias-hankel, @reidology, @mintphoenix

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #it's a very long one as an apology for missing last week and being a day late #and also because it's COOL and I have no self control #Emily and Spencer would be a terrifying duo honestly #Also Emily and Hotch have the best sibling relationship ever #if anyone wants in on that taglist hit me up via ask or comment or rb #the story is posted! Updates on Saturday evenings #Extraordinary #HotchReid #Katyswriting #Katyswip #wip wednesday

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theggning · 4 years ago

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Codsworth Is So Underrated, You Guys

ALTERNATE TITLE: Codsworth and the Totally Understated Mindbending Evolution of Artificial Consciousness

I find Codsworth is often the most underrated of the 16 companions in Fallout 4. Your faithful robot butler is among the very first you can recruit and an excellent early-game ally, but he has a few disadvantages in gameplay that mean he’s often sent back to Sanctuary before long. Codsworth is a mid-to-close range fighter only, cannot wear armor or be equipped with weapons. He cannot be healed by stimpak, which makes him a liability if you’re playing on Survival mode. He has no companion quest of his own, so unless you particularly enjoy him there’s not a compelling reason to keep him for a long time. He also becomes recruitable exactly 2 minutes after adorable puppy Best Boy Dogmeat, so he is often (understandably) replaced just as soon as he’s made available.

But there is this great, completely understated facet to Codsworth, so understated that the game does not draw attention to it in any way. And yet, it is a wonderful reflection of many of the themes of Fallout 4 and, I believe, a pretty strong indication of its thesis statement.

Now what in the hell am I talking about?

Like many sci-fi/fantasy universes, the Fallout series is home to many highly-advanced robots. Robots were commonplace before the Great War, and many have survived the bombs intact and in working order. Others have been built or modified by wastelanders to serve various tasks (Percy, Ada.) The most important thing to understand about robots, though, is though they may have vivid personalities programmed in, they are widely accepted to be objects. They are thought of the same way as an appliance, a machine built for a specific purpose and programmed to follow a strict set of protocols.

Many jokes revolve around the relatively rigid intelligence of robots. Pre-War, many were deployed in inappropriate jobs or designed haphazardly (Mister Handies acting as nurses in a hospital, “paramedic” Protectrons with massive deadly tasers for hands, military robots constantly going haywire and erupting in friendly fire.) Others continue to man businesses and play out daily tasks as they were programmed to do over 200 years ago. Most robots are incapable of understanding anything beyond their initial programming, and most pre-War robots are completely unaware that the Great War ever happened.

When the Sole Survivor reunites with Codsworth at the ruins of their home, it seems like he, too, doesn’t understand what’s going on. He talks about tending the (dead) garden, references the (ghoulified) neighbors, and generally acts like the chipper robot butler Sole left behind on their way to Vault 111.

But there is something slightly… off in Codsworth’s dialogue here. Though he acts like the war never happened, he also specifically mentions details that suggest it did:

Player Default: Codsworth! You're still... fully operational?

Codsworth: {Defiant} Well of course, mum. You can thank the fine engineers at General Atomics for that! At least, you could have. Had they not been... vaporized.

A bit over 210 actually, mum. Give or take a little for the Earth's rotation and some minor dings to the ole' chronometer. That means you're two centuries late for dinner! Ha ha ha. Perhaps I can whip you up a snack? You must be famished.

You've no idea the desperation for human contact one develops over 200 years. {Upset, recalling bad memories of encountering raiders and scavengers. / Disgust} And when you do encounter them? Oh the cruelty! You're either... target practice or... spare parts!

Even stranger, Codsworth mentions details that are plainly made-up (or some kind of delusion):

Codsworth: It's been ages since we've had a proper family activity. Checkers. Or perhaps charades. Shaun does so love that game. Is the lad... with you...?

Player Default: Codsworth... listen to me carefully... have you seen him? Have you seen Shaun?

Codsworth: Why, sir had him last, remember? Perhaps he's gone to the Parker residence to arrange a play-date?

(Shaun is an infant. He is too young to play charades or to go to the neighbors for a play-date.)

So at once, Codsworth does and does not acknowledge the war. He does and does not seem to understand what’s happened, and he does and does not seem to follow Sole’s urgency regarding their spouse’s death and Shaun’s kidnapping.

And then, after a speech check, Codsworth finally snaps and breaks down sobbing in despair. Not only does he understand that the war happened, he has developed the ability to get depressed about it. Longing for human contact and with nothing else to do, he’s even developed coping mechanisms to help him try to deal with his loneliness and despair—futilely trying to do his chores and deluding himself into pretending everything is completely normal.

Wait a minute. Sobbing? Despair? Depression? Coping mechanisms and delusions? This Is all pretty sophisticated stuff to be programmed into a robot, and if you spend more time with Codsworth, the reality of what’s happened to him becomes apparent:

Codsworth has evolved beyond his programming. In his 210 lonely years of existence, he has developed emotional reactions and self-awareness far beyond that of most other robots, and, indeed, has basically evolved an artificial consciousness.

“Emergent intelligence” is the theoretical ability of an AI to eventually develop something resembling human thought processes, and it seems that our dear Codsworth has undergone this. Traveling with him, he displays many sophisticated thoughts and behaviors far beyond what most robots are shown to be capable of. He has memories of pre-War time and places, and understands how various locations have changed. He is capable of learning new information and forming opinions on it, gaining his own understanding of the people and factions in the Commonwealth. He can feel happiness, sorrow, fear, disgust. He can anticipate things, predict danger and imagine how people might respond to your actions. The mere he fact he has opinions and a moral code that he applies to you shows he has free will, something even other robot companions don’t (Ada has a personality, but absolutely does not care about your actions.)

He’s also smart enough to make many wry observational jokes, and to lay one hell of a sick burn on you:

{Joking - Found an old bowling alley. / Amused} Fancy a game, mum? Something tells me the bumpers are no longer available.

Codsworth’s intelligence is even more sophisticated than that. He displays stunning self-awareness, frequently referencing the fact he is a robot and what that means. He is very proud of his background as General Atomics’ finest, and seems pleased with his robot nature and his lot in life. (Unlike Curie, I don’t think Codsworth would ever really want to gain a synth body. He seems quite happy as he is.)

Here he is making reference to still feeling the tug of his programming:

{Seeing an office with chairs arranged in a circle. / Neutral} I've the most incredible urge to rearrange those chairs in a more perfect circle.

Understanding when other robots are restricted by theirs:

A pity. It appears Deezer's programming is too severe to allow for normal conversation. Ah well.

And when they’re actually not:

Codsworth: Greetings, sir. Good to see another robot in town. That chef hat becomes you.

Takahashi: Nan-ni shimasho-ka?

Codsworth: Takahashi you say? I'm Codsworth, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Takahashi: Nan-ni shimasho-ka?

Codsworth: Is that so? Well, we both know RobCo is no General Atomics. It's not surprising it failed, shoddy work and all. {Friendly - trying to cheer up another robot. / Friendly} Chin up, though. Never know when parts may turn up.

And here’s Galaxy Brain Codsworth ruminating on his own state of being and contemplating his nature:

{Disappointed that he can't be 100% human sometimes. / Sad} It's unfortunate that I lack the proper design to consume liquids. Something about camaraderie over a few drinks is very inviting.

I suppose if I had the hardware, I'd have the software as well. I'd hate to see how that'd affect my honesty and manner settings.

{Reconsidering what he thought was a good idea. / Thinking} Indeed. Perhaps I should rethink my initial desire.

Hilariously, Codsworth does not seem fully aware of how remarkable his intelligence is. He occasionally says things like “if I had feelings” and “if I could feel things,” indicating that in some ways he still believes he is only a robot and defines himself by what a robot is and does.

But as we can see, our humble robot butler has essentially evolved to become the smartest, most emotionally intelligent and person-like robot in the Commonwealth*, and potentially in the series.

([SIDE NOTE: Other FO4 robots nearing Codsworth’s level of consciousness and developed personality include Captain Ironsides, KLE-O, Whitechapel Charlie, and perhaps Takahashi. Curie is close, but also receives the unfair advantage of being uploaded into a synth body with a human brain. Jezebel also functions off of a human brain. Nick is not a robot, he’s a synth (though he does jokingly refer to himself as one) and also has the advantage of a human brain encoded on his processor.])

Also hilariously, the game basically does not acknowledge Codsworth’s impressive evolution. At all. There is absolutely no direct mention of it in the script. It is all left to ambient dialogue and the player’s own observations. And because so many people overlook Codsworth as a companion, they may not even realize exactly how unique his expanded consciousness is.

Now, you might call this total lack of mention a mistake, an oversight on Bethesda’s part, or that old chestnut “bad writing.” I don’t think it is. I think it’s a deliciously subtle little detail to include in a story about humanity, machines, artificial intelligence, and what makes a person.

Many of the themes of FO4 revolve around synths—distinctly not robots, but androids, artificially created beings with fully organic human bodies. Most of the storyline factions have strong beliefs about synths and the relative humanity thereof. The Institute believes that synths are objects, tools, machines no different from a robot who are only simulating their personalities through programming. The Brotherhood believes synths are monstrous abominations, a danger to humanity itself, technology run amok which needs to be destroyed. The Railroad believes they are people. Not humans, but people, built instead of born, free-thinking beings that deserve to be treated with respect and given rights.

Through quests, dialogue, notes, worldbuilding and other venues, players explore these questions. What makes someone a person? If your personality and memories can be rewritten or programmed, then who are you, really? Where do we draw the line between humans and machines, and how do we decide who belongs where?

Meanwhile, as the player contemplates the nature of personhood and the definition of intelligence, their robot butler quietly evolves into a fully-conscious person on his own, right beside them.

Codsworth is unquestionably a machine, but also unquestionably beyond the appliance he was built to be. Which to some philosophies and players should really beg a few other questions. If a robot can be considered a person, then what makes synths so different? And how many excuses do we have to make to pretend otherwise?

Ya boy Codsworth may not be flashy, or powerful, or kissable. He may not be the most glamorous companion around. But he is a good friend, a beloved member of the family, and above all else, a loyal butler—content to serve, quietly and humbly doing his job where some may never even notice him-- or the fact that he’s casually become his own person and sent generations of roboticists and philosophers spinning in their graves.

#fallout 4 #fallout meta #codsworth #hey tumblr fuck you i win #i was forced to do an involuntary second draft #but i like it better now so hey

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watchinglikeafangirl · 3 years ago

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The problem with GMMTV shows

Many, many Thai BLs were published and lauched by GMMTV and some of these shows are probably the most popular BLs in the genre, although other ones like ITSAY also get a lot of attention these days. GMMTV definetly is a monopole when it comes to producing such content because they produce the most BLs per year. There's always a new fandom rising in the background and that's not necessarily a bad thing but everyone knows by now what to expect from a GMMTV show and these expectations are pretty low. At least my expectations have sunken to zero when it comes to acting and I'm already impressed if the kiss looks real or if they actually cry some tears. I know, crying is hard and I find it unfair they don't even try to change the script, so the actors won't have such a hard time. I think the worst crying I have seen so far would be Tine in 2gether when he thought Sarawat was in love with that girl. Left alone that his reason doesn't make sense storywise, his crying was aweful and I actually skipped this scene because I was cringing so much.

Anyway, back to my topic.

Honestly, I have to give GMMTV credit for their marketing office because the marketing and promotion of new shows is pretty good. They publish posters, drop a cute trailer and give us a shipping to wait for. Although the design of the posters is not good and the trailers don't match the show's actual story, we are willing to wait. The bad design doesn't leave our minds and we are curious what new low quality show will be published. GMMTV knows pretty well, we all make fun of the shows and don't find them good but watch them nevertheless. That's how they make their money.

I can't help but wonder if the actors sign binding contracts or not because every one of them has at least more than one GMMTV project going on. Mix for example is in atoats, a short movie and in futs. Earth was already seen in Kiss me again, then atoats and this short movie. I find this very suspicious.

Now, lets get to the low quality of all the GMMTV shows. They really mastered their strategy. First, they create a world only revolving around the main couple, so we get a lot of screentime and cute moments of them. Second, the character traits and backstories look interesting at first, catching our attention. Third, the characters are pretty flat, so everybody can somehow relate to them. Fourth, the world these characters live in is simple and the less we see of it the better, because then we can project ourselves into it. Fifth, create a plot that looks interesting from afar and then let it play out in the most passionless way but everybody watches anyway because they want to see the happy ending.

In all these BLs the dialogues, story and acting is not really on point. It is average, but they try to cover it up with jokes, sound effects and cliffhangers to make you believe you had a good time, so you go back the next week and watch the new epsiode.

Here three examples with which I'm gonna explain how the stories are created.

Fish upon the sky - the beginning

I only started watching this show because of the title. It contains a metaphor we don't know the meaning of but we sure know it has a nice vibe and probably a deeper meaning between the two main leads. It seems like a private thing only the these two understand. In general, this metaphor is kind of cute, I have to say. This whole "fish upon the sky" vs "star in the ocean" thing, they got me there. But the rest and the way it plays out is boring.

In the trailer, only these scenes with the metaphor and deep talks were cut together, so we thought this whole show would have that vibe and I still hope but after this 8th episode my expectations nearly vanished.

So, in the first two episodes, the characters are introduced alongside the problems and relationship they have. Thank God, Pi doesn't have friends, so he can have more screentime and not even more people have had to be casted, right? No, because friendgroups make more clear what kind of person the protagonist is, but okay, he interacts with his brother instead. Problem is, Duean is - how do I put this - aweful. He is terrible and only exists for the jokes. So, no deep conversation there. We get nothing from Pi. His character is build up and within the first two episodes we know his character completly because GMMTV characters are designed as simple as possible, so you won't have a hard time understanding them and their actions. You don't have to analyze to get them. This leads to inconsistency and plot holes later on.

During these two episodes, the most story happens apparently. So, we think as much will happen later on, but no, this is GMMTV. But since we're already invested because of the simple world and relatable characters, we don't stop watching every week.

Tonhon Chonlatee - the middle part

I guess this show is the perfect example of catching us with an okay story and then letting our hopes drop at an instant. This ending showed how you don't do it. But okay, we're not talking about the ending here. It's about the middle part.

This is the main problem with GMMTV shows. Nothing happens in the middle part and I guess Tonhon Chonlatee is the perfect example for that.

We know Chon has a crush on Ton since they were little kids and he gets super excited when Ton shows up again. Sadly, he turns out to be pretty homophobic. Okay, that is a conflict I can understand. But the thing is, the characters don't have another story apart from that. They don't grow. They don't change their mind. That just happens at the very end. Tonhon is introduced as homophobic and stays homophobic during the whole middle part. Not many moments take place and he doesn't seem to regret what he says against the LGBTQ-community. There's no confrontation to raise my excitement. The show goes on with no real input.

This is something all these shows suffer from. The middle part is very poor and they don't even try.

A tale of a thousand stars - the end

Okay, this example is based on my upopular opinion and wish for a bittersweet ending because I still believe this ending didn't fit.

This show wasn't as boring as the other two examples but it still wasn't great. After a boring middle part, we get a lot of drama until they finally get their happy ending. The problem with atoats was Tian suffering the whole time and without a detailed explaination why. Maybe I missed something but I think they could've gotten more into this idea with him living with another heart inside but instead they chose to give us a bunch of cuteness between Tian and Phupha and Tian and the kids.

In the end, Tian tells everyone that Torfun is dead and he cries a lot because Phupha totally overracts. There's a bunch of crying and I was sitting here still not getting it. Why is it such a bad thing he has her heart? Why is it such a burden? Still, the explaination in the middle part was missing. The inconsitency and plot holes I mentioned earlier are showing up and make the ending illogical, rushed and forced.

Outro

They just threw the drama away and came up with a solution to give them a happy ending to let us believe we had such a good time because we got what we wanted and what we've all been waiting for.

GMMTV knows we expect a happy ending and just hang on until we get it. That's why I went behind my back and continued futs even though I was extremly mad about the racism. Because I know, PiMork will have a happy ending and I'm curious hownit will play out. The middle part is awefully boring but I can't stop wondering. That's probably the essential part of GMMTV's strategy. They create boring shows which are compelling nevertheless.

Anyway, this is just my opinion on what I saw of GMMTV so far. Feel free to dicuss. Maybe someone of you has an answer to my questions about atoats...

#fish upon the sky #atoats #2gether #kiss me again #they all have a problematic middle part #a lot of back and forth over nothing #unnecessary drama #a very long rant #just go watch itsay instead #its so much better #i told sunset about you #i promised you th moon #GMMTV #gmmtv should focus more on producing a few good ones than producing many

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

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falling feels like flying ['til the bone crush]

Someone should revoke her title.

They’re trying, Emma supposes. Inevitable death probably means people can’t call her savior anymore, but they shouldn’t call her that now and that’s almost entirely because of what an absolute and complete liar she is. Telling Killian she would have done the same after he admitted he didn’t get rid of the shears isn’t her most massive lie, although it might be her most ridiculous. And they both know it’s not true. She wouldn’t do the same thing, she has. More than once.

AN: That gif has nothing to do with the story! Here is approximately 3.5K where I once again force Emma and Killian to acknowledge their trauma. Not in the Underworld this time, though! So maybe we’re all evolving here. I blame this gif set, which I saw this morning and felt compelled to write something about. Maybe that evolution is also a lie, actually.

———

“I lied.” Killian hums, exhaustion clinging to the sound, and Emma understands that. Less so why she’s talking right now, but neither one of those words seemed particularly interested in preserving the quiet calm of this particular moment, and she’s never been a lightweight quite like this. In more ways than one, she supposes. Hazy thoughts drift through her brain, muddled as it is by buttered rum and the steady flicker of flames in the fireplace because naturally this is the sort of house that has multiple fireplaces, and she burrows her face closer.

To Killian’s chest.

Takes a deep breath, not quite slow, but maybe a little greedy, and they ordered both things. Pizza and Chinese, half-finished egg rolls and beheaded slices of cheese with extra peppers strewn across the coffee table because Emma always likes that extra bit of crust and Killian’s nothing if not a frustratingly endearing sort of pushover.

With her, especially.

She closes her eyes.

“I lied,” Emma repeats, “in the hospital, I mean. Wrong verb tense.” “You’re not making any sense at all, darling.”

Her nose must be cold — if the way Killian tenses as soon as it brushes his skin is any indication, but Emma knows it’s far more than that and far deeper than that and she might be the world’s biggest idiot. Looming death does that to a person, she supposes.

Breathing isn’t particularly easy. And that’s not only because she ate four pizza slices worth of crust. Still, using death as an excuse again seems like an emotional crutch and an unreasonable reason, her muddled mind capable of clinging to every single letter in that particular endearment. It might be her favorite.

She’s not sure she’s ever told him that.

Stupid, really.

“I told you that I get it; what you did today, and that part’s definitely true. But, uh, the rest of it. That I would have done the same thing? Total lie, right? I mean, I did it. That’s what happened.” Nothing. Just flickering flames and the quiet hum of a TV, neither one of them has been interested in actually watching all night. Emma doesn’t even know what channel they’re on. For all she knows, the remote’s in the kitchen.

She counts inhales. Tries to keep her exhales measured, most of her face still pressed into the collar of Killian’s shirt as it is. And it takes about five full seconds before his hand moves, starts tracing a calm line up her spine, following that path until he reaches the base of her neck and the goosebumps that have already exploded on her skin and oxygen is overrated anyway. Holding her breath as soon as his fingers card through the ends of hair is basically instinct at this point.

“Felt wrong to point that out at the time,” he mutters, “all things considered.” “Been kind of a long day.” “Reuniting with long-lost relatives will do that.” Scoffing is not the best reaction. Nothing about this is funny. Includes far too much death and dismay, and Emma’s gaze flickers up. Of its own accord and something much deeper, like the absolute refusal to accept a world where he does not exist.

Goddamn Captain Hook.

She loves him so much sometimes she thinks she’ll simply burst with the force of it all.

It’s a gross thought, honestly.

And they’ve already spent far too much time in the hospital today.

“Is he ok? Li—” Cutting herself off, Emma grits her teeth, but one side of Killian’s mouth is already tugging up, and the kiss that lands on her forehead is as soft as anything. Maybe bursting isn’t so bad, actually. So long as she can come up with another word for it. “God, that’s so weird.” Killian hums. “Indeed.” “Thoughts, feelings, et cetera?” “Vast. And none of them particularly pleasant.” “Seems fair. That sort of day, huh?” “Indeed.” They need more blankets. Need more things that are theirs in a collective sort of way, but that’s a dangerous and disingenuous train of thought, and Emma’s fingers twitch towards the fire. To ward off the sudden chill that’s settled between her shoulder blades, and it almost works, but it does absolutely nothing to help the sway of her stomach and the acid lingering in the back of her throat, threatening to burn far more than what these meager flames are able to do.

“Should have finished high school,” Emma mumbles, “then I could choose more accurate verb tenses from my inevitably vast vocabulary. Did. Have done. Would do again, several thousand times over.”

“That’s the future tense.” None of his words come with any kind of pointed emotion, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see the tightness that lingers in the corners of his mouth and the way he’s holding his shoulders, straight as a line, and some joke about rigging that she no intention of making, and the furrow between his brows makes every muscle in her chest twist. Ache too, for good measure.

With the promise of everything she wants to say and everything she hasn’t or can’t and—

Fuck magic, quite honestly. And the rules no one’s bothered to mention until now. Seems like poor planning on everybody’s part.

“You heard me.” “I did,” Killian agrees lightly, and his hand has never actually stopped moving. It’s nice. Steady. Something Emma can almost nearly time her breathing too. “I would also choose that particular tense. If given the choice, that is.” “Do you not think you have that?” “I don’t particularly enjoy the thought. I’m rather partial to the option of whim, you see. Pirate and all that. We don’t much abide by schedules and fated decision.” “Seems like it’d be in the by-laws.” “Well, by-laws by their very nature are rather contradictory to the entire pirate notion, but you’ve got the gist of it at least.” Emma laughs. Doesn’t quite regret the sound, even as out of place as it is — just presses it into the edge of Killian’s shirt and the buttons he never bothers to do, trying to brandh the smell of him and the feel of him into every corner of her memory and she’s not really sure what happens after. Once the prophecy is fulfilled, and all that.

She’s got too much unfinished business.

To totally leave this particular plane of reality.

She doesn’t mention that either. Not when the crux of that business is breathing steadily under her hand, and Emma can’t remember when she moved her hand, only that Killian’s warm under her touch, and he’s always so much warmer. Than just about anything else she’s aware of.

“I thought you were dead.”

Of all the things Emma expects to happen in the midst of this night and this moment — and it’s really not a very long list, admittedly — that did not even make the cut. Wasn’t a consideration or a fledgling idea in the back of her mind, several different vertebrae almost audibly objecting when she jerks her head up. To find Killian staring straight ahead, lips not much more than a thin line across his face.

Seriously, the rigging jokes almost write themselves. Which is more than Emma can say about her clearly piece of shit list, as metaphorical as it might be.

“I don’t—” “—When I saw you,” Killian interrupts, and none of the words shake. Come out like a stream of consciousness and memories neither one of them have able to shake yet. Or talk about. Can’t possibly be healthy. “Chained to that stone, blood dripping into my mouth, and then all of a sudden, there you were. Worried I’d simply dreamt you up, couldn’t imagine how you looked quite that lovely in that hell hole, otherwise.” “Oh, that’s kind of insulting, actually.” “Hair like the bloody sun.” “Better,” Emma murmurs. Reaching up, her fingers tangle with the charms around his neck. Pieces of luck and trinkets she hasn’t learned all the stories to yet. The idea that she won’t makes her nauseous. “You told me ‘you shouldn’t be here.’” “Aye, and I meant it.” “Because you thought…” “Living people don’t often appear in such a God awful place, do they? Not without something tragic happening, and my mind was impressively efficient on that front.” “Which one is that?” “Every threat that’s ever lingered, every person I would have gladly run through if it meant you were safe. Half of goddamn Camelot.” Emma might snicker. Killian’s arm tightens, though. And that’s all she’s really worried about. “I think I could have taken Arthur. Y’know if it had come to that.” “Likely not a very good swordsman,” Killian nods, but that’s only so his lips can trace Emma’s temple and the top of her hair. More than once. Like he’s still making sure. “Pampered prince—” “—He was totally a king, babe. That’s like...the most basic Camelot knowledge.” “Ask me in five minutes if I care at all about anything to do with Camelot.” “Should I time it, or…” He scoffs. Presses another half dozen kisses to any spot he can reach, and he can actually reach a fair amount of places. Emma’s impressed. Swooning too, but also pretty impressed. “I kept thinking about you,” Killian says, softer than the last few words have been, and it sounds like an admission and another promise, and it’s weird that it can be both. At the same time. “This house. What it was and wasn’t. All those possible verb tenses.”

“I’m sorry.” “Ah, that’s not your fault, love. None of this is, really, but—well, it did make it so seeing you, realizing you were there...left all of those thoughts crashing down around my ears, so to speak. Falling apart, like an avalanche of what hadn’t been and what I still wanted so desperately. No matter what Hades did.” “Stupid stubborn.” “I believe there’s something about a pot and a kettle in this realm.” “Don’t have that cliche in the Enchanted Forest, huh?” “Not that I’m aware of, no.” “Maybe you just didn’t go to a good college.” “Tell me every Greek word you know,” Killian challenges, and Emma rolls her eyes. Ignores the first few flutters of a headache brewing at the base of her skull. “It didn’t seem fair.” “Which part?” “All of it is also rather vast, but mostly that if you were there, then it happened again.” Narrowing her eyes, Emma tries to piece together those letters and the syllables they make, only to be marginally annoyed when she can’t make sense of them. Killian kisses the bridge of her nose.

She might have to go get Tylenol soon.

“Losing you without fighting, without challenge the goddamn reaper myself, was worse than anything He could have done,” Killian continues, and he doesn’t have to be more specific. “Worse than whatever pain I’ve ever suffered. Cut off twenty more limbs; it wouldn’t even come close.” “Do you have that many?” “Your humor lacks a little something; you know that, Swan?” “It’s a defense mechanism.” He noses at her hair. Drags the soft hum of what could very well be either an agreement or the opposite, or maybe even the sort of deep-rooted understanding that’s allowed him to sneak his way into the center of everything, across her skin. The specifics don’t matter, only that Emma’s magic roars under her skin, an inferno, and a symphony, meeting the challenge that no one has really laid down yet.

“Do that again,” Killian mutters, a low chuckle as Emma’s scratches at his side.

“I’m not sure I can, honestly.” “Pity.” “Something like that, yeah. And you’re not totally right, you know?” “Ah, and that’s almost rude.” “I’m serious,” Emma says, “that’s—none of that was your fault either.” Tilting his head only ensures that several strands of hair he still hasn’t bothered to cut fall almost artfully across his forehead, and Emma is grateful to a variety of gods, Greek or otherwise, that Killian doesn’t mention how much her hand shakes. When she tries to brushes them away. His hook finds her wrist instead, cool metal against freezing cold skin, and the state of her tongue is going to be a problem. Large as it is in Emma’s mouth, making it all but impossible to properly swallow while Killian’s lips sweep the bend of her knuckles.

“Charmer.” “Aye, that’s my endgame.” There’s not enough room between them for him to run his hand across his face like Emma knows he wants to, and part of that isn’t really a bad thing, but the rest just seems like another entirely unfair thing, and Emma knows the rest is coming. Makes tears burn her eyes all the same. “They were just...gone, you understand? No chance to do anything about it. One moment they were living and breathing. Then Liam was dead. Slumped in my arms in the corner of a cabin he was supposed to spend the rest of his career in. He—he would have been a very good captain.” “So are you,” Emma says, fierce and determined, and Killian kisses in the inside of her palm. She’s moved her hand again. To cup his cheek.

“For a time, maybe. But then she was gone too, and I thought I could feel it, you know. The exact way her heart crumbled in his hand, tiny bits of dust that I never wanted to blow off the deck. Like some of her still managed to stay. Is that—” The muscles in his throat move, jaw clenching, and Emma has to blink. She hopes the moisture on her cheeks isn’t tears. She’s not sure what’s a better option, really. “Must sound daft.” “No. I—I get that too.” “Do you?” “Not the only one who’s watched Rumplestilskin hold the heart of someone you loved.”

He can’t be holding his breath. His chest is moving much too quickly, but the burst of air that all but flies out of Killian is enough to ruffle the ends of Emma’s hair and possibly even dry some of the tears she’s still refusing to acknowledge, and she can’t get closer to him.

She makes an admirable effort all the same.

Like occupying the same few inches of space will ensure that she stays there.

“Did you—” Killian starts, looking almost pained as the words war for his voice on the tip of his tongue. “Did you like her?” That didn’t make the list, either. It’s entirely possible that Emma is just garbage at making lists. She nods. “Anyone who loves you as much as I do is fine with me. Better than, even.”

His expression shifts again. Light lingers in his gaze, cautious hope, and misplaced optimism, gears whirring in his head that Emma can’t almost convince herself she hears. Her verb tense was on purpose that time.

That’s a confidence boost, all things considered.

“She was something fierce,” Killian says, sounding reminiscent and not as sad as Emma has worried he must be. “Once she got away from him. Could get a grown man to do her bidding with a single look, the kind of glare that’d set you on fire from the inside out. It was—they loved her too. Men on the ship, would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if she’d asked. Probably even if she hadn’t.”

His next inhale becomes an exhale almost immediately.

“She never would have asked,” Killian adds, almost entirely to himself, but then his eyes are back on Emma, and they’re a little glossy and just as blue and she’s holding her breath now. “She liked you too, I know it.” “I think she thought I was crazy, actually. Gold didn’t really have much tact in the...introductions.” “Ah.” “Right?” “Right,” he echoes, a pale imitation of her voice that makes Emma’s cheeks ache. From smiling. Legitimately smiling. Huh. “But I suppose that’s part of it, though. She was there again, and I—” “—I’m sorry. For...for all of it.” “Still not your fault, love.”

“How did you know?” she asks, and her voice doesn’t sound much like her either. Wobbles and warbles and some other word that fits the alliteration. “About me. And not being…”

“Dead?” Killian’s eyebrows jump. “Strawberries.” “Excuse me?” “That soap you use in your hair. Smells like strawberries, or strawberry adjacent maybe. Manufactured just a bit. I think it’s my favorite smell in the world.” “Backhanded compliment.” “No, no,” Killian shakes his head. His hair moves again. “It’s not. It’s—well, it’s you, love. Smells like everything that you are and—”

“—I’m manufactured?” “If you let me finish,” he chides, and Emma all but yanks her lips behind her teeth, “It smells like home. Smells like falling asleep next to you and a distinct lack of blankets.” He nips at the tip of her nose. She scoffs again; that’s why. “And your distractingly cold feet, and leather jackets, and how the smell clings to the collars, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve worn them. Lingers on your pillow too, and the fronts of my shirt. You fall asleep against me quite often, you know that.” “Can sleep anywhere,” Emma reasons. “Might be my greatest talent.” “I don’t know about that.” “If I call you charmer again, will you hold it against me for lack of synonyms?” “Tell me how charming I am again.” Emma scrunches her nose. “Now it sounds like my dad.” “Let’s leave the prince out of this. He’s only a prince, aye?” “Far as I know, yeah.” “Good, good. Strawberries, love. Touching you helped too, though. If we’re being frank.” “Anything except blunt force honesty seems silly now, doesn’t it?” Killian nods. Slow and measured, like anything else will snap this tenuous peace, and maybe they can just sleep on the couch. Getting up is an impossible prospect right now. Maybe they can make out a little before they fall asleep.

“It’s a very big house,” Emma whispers, and they should really figure out a schedule for conversations like this. Talking about it all at once is exhausting.

“It is.” “You don’t want to expand upon that?” “Oh, I want a great number of things I shouldn’t,” Killian admits, “but as much as I appreciate this fresh round of honesty we’re engaging in, the false hope would—” “—There’s no such thing,” Emma interrupts. “False hope. It’s an oxymoron, ask my mother. And I think you should get some sort of crew again.” “How would you suggest I populate such a thing?” She shrugs. Nearly hits Killian in the chin in the process. “Untold stories. Dwarves.” “I will not have dwarves on my ship.” “See, I knew you’d have opinions. And there was a possessive pronoun in there that time.” “Was there not before?” “No,” she says. “Just called it the ship. Like it’s not the most important thing you have.” “Well, it’s not.” Emma’s cheeks warm. “That was very smooth.” “Someone did guarantee I was a very good captain earlier.” Space continues to be relatively minimal between them, but Killian’s nothing if not adaptable, and he works with what he’s got. Swinging Emma’s legs perpendicular over his, she’s nearly sitting on his lap, an arm slung over his shoulders, which makes it even easier to get her fingers into his hair and his head to rest against hers, and he takes another deep breath. “I know you understand, Emma,” he says, soft and serious, and she doesn’t bother doing anything except cling to him. With everything she’s got left. “All of it, from the very start. So I don’t think I’ll apologize, actually. For what I’ve done, or what I’d still be willing to do. I won’t give up on you, do you understand me?” “Didn’t,” Emma says, only a little optimistic that’s the right verb tense. Maybe she can get her GED, or something. Before all of this ends. “In Camelot, or after. Accept or acknowledge, and I probably would have—”

Announcing that killing Gold for what he’d done to Killian regularly crossed her mind in the twenty-four hours or so before they finally made it to the Underworld doesn’t really have the right sentiment for this conversation. Far too violent, and just as honest.

She’d consider killing him now, too.

For everything he’s doing, and everything he hasn’t, and she should have shoved him in that river.

Killian doesn’t smile. At least not in a way that reaches his eyes, the same ones that are looking at Emma again, all blue and earnest, and his shoulders shift. When her fingers graze his chin, more than stubble there because, she imagines, spending a day or so underwater with a sibling he only sort of wants and kind of knows doesn’t leave much time for facial-type grooming.

It’s a good look, though.

Most of them are, in Emma’s experience.

“This entire time,” she continues, “you haven’t given up on me yet.” “Works both ways, darling.” “That one crosses realms, huh?” “Pick up things spending so much time with you.” There’s nothing extra in the words. No sap-filled sentiment or promises she’s only a little hopeful will become actions. And they haven’t talked about the rest; might not even have time, but Emma will let herself think about all these empty rooms anyway, of the exact shade Killian’s eyes go when he stands at the helm, and she hopes he doesn’t cut his hair. Not yet, at least. Longer strands make it easier to touch him, to leave a lasting mark, and settle into his center the same way he’s taken root in hers.

They fall asleep on the couch.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #laura writes canon #force characters to talk 2k4ever #also remember when i wanted to write about killian not getting to see milah in the underworld?#have some of that here too #just for fun

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abigailnussbaum · 4 years ago

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The Watch 1x01 - 1x02

The first two episodes of BBC America’s The Watch aired this weekend, and I’ve seen basically zero discussion of them on my twitter and tumblr feeds. Which I assume is because most of the people I follow are Pratchett fans who have been horrified by the press releases and the trailer (or, for that matter, the lackluster reviews) and decided to write the show off before it even started airing. To be clear, this is an entirely reasonable approach, but there’s nothing else on right now and I was bored.

Quick verdict? It’s not dire, but also not so interesting that you’d feel compelled to keep going with it. In fact, my most powerful reaction after the first two episodes is puzzlement - I can’t understand who the intended audience for this show is. The thinking seems to have been “everyone will be interested in a brash, in your face, rudely comedic fantasy cop show!” And maybe that’s true, but The Watch isn’t particularly brash, in your face, or even that comedic, so what’s left are fans of the genre(s), who are reasonably spoiled for choice right now (the show The Watch most closely resembles is Carnival Row, which is not amazing but still has a greater depth of emotion and a more interesting world). Why anyone would go out of their way to watch a show that seems to be working so hard to stamp out anything original about itself is a question the creators don’t seem to have asked themselves.

More thoughts below the cut.

First, something positive: I quite like the look of the show. There was obviously a lot of pressure from previous adaptations, not to mention the famous illustrations associated with the books, to strike out in an original direction, and I think the show really found one. Instead of fantasized-medieval-through-Victorian, The Watch’s Ankh Morpork combines those period and genre elements with modern ones. So The Mended Drum is now a seedy nightclub with DJ lighting and an open mike stage, and the city’s walls are covered with graffiti tags. The more distinctive settings - the Patrician’s palace, the Unseen University library - are not as interesting, possibly because the budget wouldn’t stretch to make them look really spectacular. But the core approach of the series, that Ankh Morpork is an old but modern city where there are also a lot of fantasy elements, is a fun and refreshing one.

Second, despite all the prevarication and spin in the run-up to the show, this is a Pratchett adaptation. It isn’t merely “inspired by” Pratchett’s novels, as the show’s title screen insists. It isn’t taking Pratchett’s ideas and making its own things with them. I can only assume that these claims were made in response to the backlash against stuff like “Sybil Ramkin, young, hot vigilante��. But despite changes like that, this is actually a fairly straightforward adaptation of Guards! Guards!, which also incorporates elements from Night Watch, plus some rather deep cuts from the rest of the Discworld corpus (the second episode, for example, implies that the ultimate villains of the series are the Auditors of Reality). So yeah, The Watch doesn’t have the excuse of being its own thing. It is a Discworld adaptation, but a bad one, that fails to understand a lot of fundamental thing about the world and the characters.

Third, I think the thing that most strikes about the show is how low-energy it feels. Despite billing itself as something outrageous, and despite some work on the visual front (and in Richard Dormer’s Jack Sparrow-esque performance as Vimes), the show itself feels almost bland. You see this in particular when it comes to the humor. It’s not that The Watch isn’t trying to be funny. There are jokes, and a few of them - mostly the ones original to the series - are mildly amusing. But when it comes to Pratchett’s own humor, the show simply has the actors deliver the gags and references in the most low-key way, and unsurprisingly the result is that hardly any of it lands.

Now, to be fair, this has been a problem with Pratchett adaptations since the 90s. Most of Pratchett’s humor is based in what his third-person narrator tells us about the world, and is hard to convey in a dramatic presentation (Good Omens tried to solve this problem by putting a lot of Pratchett’s narration in its voiceover, with only limited success). But even the dialogue-based jokes are so arch and stagey, that to deliver them successfully would require committing to a lot of very specific, demanding choices from the actors and writers (off the top of my head, the only show that even comes close to that kind of humor is Brooklyn Nine-Nine). It would have to be a high-concept, meticulously executed sitcom, whereas most Pratchett adaptations have been fantasy dramas with jokes.

So it’s not entirely The Watch’s fault that it isn’t managing to convey the zany energy of Pratchett’s novels, but at the same time, it also clearly isn’t trying to. Its attitude seems to be that simply the existence of things like troll cops or assassins’ guilds who leave a receipt are funny in their own right. And sure, even in a media landscape in which fantasy has been mainstreamed by Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings movies, and Game of Thrones, not a lot of fantasy settings have an orangutan librarian who only says “ook”. But what makes The Librarian funny isn’t that he’s a librarian who is an orangutan. It’s that he’s a librarian who is an orangutan who still behaves exactly like a librarian (while also doing ape things like swinging from the bookshelves and eating bananas), and that “ook” can convey almost any concept in existence. The Watch doesn’t seem to realize this. It seems to be assuming that just putting that stuff on screen, or parroting Pratchett’s lines, will be hilarious in and of itself, while leaving out a lot of the specificity of setting, character, and tone that made the books sing.

You see this also in how it handles its characters. Everyone fixated on Lady Sybil when the promos came out, because that’s the most egregious misreading of the original (and rooted in the most boring assumptions about what audiences want and will respond to). But it’s everywhere. Take Carrot, for example. In the books, Carrot is fascinating because he’s never entirely what you take him for. He’s innocent, but not naive. Principled, but not a zealot. A goody-two-shoes, but not a prig. He’s always a lot smarter than you think he is, and most importantly, he genuinely likes and is interested in people.

The Watch delivers none of this, and instead makes Carrot your basic hothead rookie who just wants to take down bad guys and sees the more seasoned, cynical officers who keep trying to slow him down as hopelessly corrupted. There’s none of Carrot’s openness, or his genuine love of the city, in this character. Instead he’s sullen and judgmental. And look, we could have a long conversation about which one of these characters is more useful to us and our ongoing conversation about policing (as well as a much shorter conversation about which one of them is truer to the ideas Pratchett was trying to convey about policing). But what feels more important to me, when coming to evaluate a new series that is trying to make an argument for why you should keep watching it, is the simple fact that there are a million places where you could find a character like The Watch’s Carrot, and hardly anywhere where you could find one like Pratchett’s.

Again and again, it feels as if, in the pursuit of what it thinks of as outrageous, risk-taking storytelling, The Watch jettisons the unique characters from the books and replaces them with ones that we’ve seen a million times before. Angua in the books is kind of neurotic, and extremely thoughtful about the way her condition can incline her to see other people as objects to be used and consumed (which Pratchett later develops into an aspect of his theme of monsters-as-aristocrats). In the show, she’s obsessed with how her lycanthropy makes her “the real monster”. Oh boy, I’ve never seen a werewolf worry about being a monster before! I’ve never seen a scene where they send their friends away just as they’re about to transform! This is cutting edge stuff, I tell you. And while we’re on the subject, it gives me no pleasure to report that Anna Chancellor as Patrician Vetinari is thoroughly meh, because no effort has been taken to convey the character’s intelligence, near-omniscience, and constant scheming. Vimes is intimidated by her because she’s his boss and she’s posh, not because of anything specific to her. She feels almost identical to a million other posh rulers whose job it is to infodump to and threaten scrappy, working class heroes.

Which brings me back to my original observation: that I do not get who this show is for. It’s not for Pratchett fans, because it deliberately drops a great deal of what made his writing and characters special in favor of the most generic, predictable choices. But I can’t help but feel that anyone who is into this sort of extremely familiar cop story will be put off by the dragons and the wizards and the orangutan librarian, not to mention Dormer’s gurning performance. The whole thing is almost fascinating to watch - a work that clearly believes itself to be boundary-pushing and different, when really it’s just dull but with dragons.

#the watch

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passionate-reply · 3 years ago

Video

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This week on Great Albums: most 80s enthusiasts are well aware of the Buggles’ “Video Killed the Radio Star,” famous for being the first music video ever played on MTV. But when’s the last time you actually listened to the whole song? Chances are, it’s better than you remember. And the rest of this album is a masterpiece, too. FInd out more by watching the video, or reading the transcript, below the break:

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be looking at the 1979 debut album of the Buggles, The Age of Plastic. If you know anything about the pop landscape of the 1980s, you’ll know that MTV played a key role, codifying the “music video” format and aestheticizing the music industry like never before, not to mention introducing a plethora of British electronic acts to American audiences for the first (and sometimes only) time. The Buggles were one of the many synth-pop bands that scored a crossover hit chiefly from the exposure that heavy rotation on MTV won for them, but at the same time, their legacy is intertwined with MTV’s much more deeply. The Buggles’ clip for their single “Video Killed the Radio Star” has the distinction of being the very first ever played on MTV, during its 1981 launch.

Music: “Video Killed the Radio Star”

I’ve done my fair share of videos where I talk about artists who are brushed into the “one hit wonder” bin in America, and I usually find myself saying that their big hit isn’t that outstanding compared to the rest of their work, or the album it appears on. But in the case of “Video Killed the Radio Star,” I have to say, I think this track is a veritable masterpiece. It’s a shame that it’s become so inextricably linked with MTV, and its place in history overshadows its ability to stand on its own as a great work of art. It’s a song that feels very familiar, because it’s used so often as a sort of jingle for this era of music history, but every time I go back and listen to it in full, it blows me away. The song was, of course, not written with the intent of being about MTV--it’s about how the advent of television doomed radio dramas back in the 1950s, and was chosen by MTV in a bit of amusing irony.

But “Video Killed the Radio Star” is so much more than that post facto smug joke. It’s delicately wistful and nostalgic, with the crisp, soprano backing vocals of Linda Jardim providing a nod to 50s pop, but also very firm and powerful, once you add in that despondent piano. It’s the part that’s usually cut in the “jingle-ificiation” of the song for B-roll, but also the piece that really makes the composition tick--it’s the contrast between the brash and childlike optimism represented by Jardim, and the rest of the melody coming in to remind us of how those hopes are dashed as we come to adulthood, and we grow to see the world we lived in as children collapse upon itself. This all comes together to make the song utterly compelling to listen to in full, despite how pithy and trivial its oft-repeated hook has become.

While “Video Killed the Radio Star” was the single that managed the most mainstream success, the rest of the album features tracks that resemble it, in their sense of cinematic narrative and fascination with nostalgic retro-futurism. It’s not quite a concept album, but it still has an impressive amount of thematic consistency, and its tracks’ resonance only seems to increase when considered alongside one another.

Music: “Johnny on the Monorail”

Stark and plaintive, “Johnny on the Monorail” closes out the album on a moody, introspective note. Those bright backing vocals return, this time adding in some scatting, in a more overt reference to 50s doo-wop. Its high-tech mass transit theme calls to mind Kraftwerk’s seminal “Trans-Europe Express” from a few years earlier--but where they had used heavy, hyper-physical percussion to portray the workings of the machine itself, the Buggles’ hymn to the train focuses on the internality of its human occupants. The train is a socially-charged space here, but one filled with awkwardness and tepid, partial connections to other people. It’s a perfect microcosm of a sterilized future world that separates man from physical actions, like walking, as well as from his fellow man. This emphasis on the human, emotional toll of high technology is a constant throughout the album, even on its lone “love song.”

Music: “I Love You, Miss Robot”

In “I Love You, Miss Robot,” the age-old myth of romance between human and machine serves the role it always does: satirizing the transactional or objectifying nature of “modern” relationships, and the perversity of our attempts to fill our needs for companionship with things instead of people. The composition is, fittingly, quite hollow and languid, centered around a simple bass guitar riff while electronically-distorted vocals flit around like ghosts. Despite Trevor Horn’s reputation for orchestral, baroque pop, there’s actually a surprising amount of driving, rock guitar on this album too. It’s most prominent on the track “Clean, Clean!”, which is certainly a major sonic contrast with “I Love You, Miss Robot”! “Clean, Clean!” actually directly follows it in the tracklisting, albeit broken up by the flip to side two, if you’re listening on vinyl.

Music: “Clean, Clean!”

Despite its rough-edged aesthetics and driving rhythm, “Clean, Clean!” maintains the sense of high-concept narrative that pervades The Age of Plastic, showing us a glimpse into a brutal war. But, set against the haunting sense of distance and sterility embodied by tracks like “Johnny on the Monorail,” “Clean, Clean!” ultimately feels quite different thematically as well, with its soldiers inhaling diesel fumes and struggling to “keep the fighting clean.” Both sonically and lyrically, its feel is a bit less atompunk, and more dieselpunk--and, for once, the linguistic allusion to “punk music” is also relevant here!

The cover of The Age of Plastic features a headshot of Buggles frontman Trevor Horn, rendered in lurid primary colours. Combined with the tight horizontal lines of the background, and the digital-looking typeface used to render the name of the band, it seems to be an image culled from some futuristic display screen, fitting the album’s aforementioned science fiction themes. Looking back on it now, of course, there’s a certain retro feel to these now-outdated ideas about computer displays. It’s a reminder that for as much as this album was, in its own time, looking backward to Midcentury ideas about the future, and embracing a certain retro-futurism, it’s now aged into being “retro” itself, in a world where much of contemporary culture looks back at the 1980s with hope and wonder.

The title, “The Age of Plastic,” calls to mind not only a world of futuristic super-materials, but also the negative connotations of plastic: fakeness, disposability, and malleability to the point of having no fixed identity. In that sense, Horn’s technicolour visage can be read as the image of that plastic-age hominid, formed anew by evolving technology and an increasingly cold and alienating culture.

If you’re familiar with Western pop, the odds that you’ve already heard a lot of other work by Trevor Horn is extremely high. For as much as “Video Killed the Radio Star” has gone down in history as a gimmicky number, Horn’s fingerprints run all throughout popular music, from a stint as the frontman of progressive rock outfit Yes, to producing hit songs for artists like ABC, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, the Pet Shop Boys, and Seal. My personal favourite project of his, though, is probably his sample-heavy, avant-garde work as a member of the Art of Noise. A lot of people don’t know that there was actually also a second Buggles album, 1981’s Adventures in Modern Recording. I’ve met few people who would argue that it’s quite as good as The Age of Plastic, but if you’re interested in more of this sound, you might as well give it a shot! Lead single “I Am a Camera” even managed to chart minorly in several markets.

Music: “I Am a Camera”

My favourite track on The Age of Plastic is its opener, the pseudo-title track, “Living in the Plastic Age.” Moreso than any of the other tracks, it really draws its strength from its narrative, with clever lyricism that really rewards a close listen. It captures a day in the life of a businessman in a soulless, corporatized future, going through the motions despite a nagging notion that the corporate grind is no path to true fulfillment. The song’s frantic pacing portrays that ceaseless, hectic sense of stress, and its soaring refrain is one of the album’s highest points of drama. I can’t think of a better summation of the album’s overarching themes. That’s all for today, thanks for listening!

Music: “Living in the Plastic Age”

#music #album review #album reviews #buggles #the buggles #trevor horn #mtv

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andersoncharm · 3 years ago

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Long Live All The Magic We Made- Saturday, March 26, 2022

Para: Long Live All The Magic We Made

Rating: PG.

Pairing: Seblaine. Hunter/Antoinette (OC)

Blaine: @andersoncharm

Sebastian: @smythesm

When: (Four month time skip.) Saturday, March 26, 2022 *Seb is now 27, and Blaine is 25.

Location: Boston, Massachusetts

Notes: Hunter and Tony share some big news with Sebastian and Blaine before asking them something life changing.

Warnings: This RP in general includes; Mentions of death/Parental Death (Blaine’s Mom), Mentions of toxic past relationships. Mentions of brief past Klaine. Depression. Anxiety.

Extra Warnings: (This RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Para Title Taken From: Taylor Swift- Long Live

Extra Information: This took far too long to post, we apologize! There will be FOUR POV’s in this Para. We’ve done our best to make it as easy to read as possible.

We will be doing a series of little mini’s to progress over the next few years of this RP. Things might get a little confusing but we promise to date them accordingly.

Under cut for length. Work is mostly unedited as usual.

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s heart was full and thumped happily in his chest as he poured out four glasses of cabernet sauvignon and giggled with a smiling Tony. He listened to the sounds of his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s best friend Hunter carrying on out in the courtyard. Their new home felt awake and alive tonight after a dinner that Blaine had planned out perfectly, only the second one in their home. Sebastian had done his best to help, but mostly stuck to meticulously clearing and organizing which was saying something as they’d only lived here for a few months now. Neither Tony or Blaine knew what their boyfriends were doing in there, only that they kept hearing random slaps on skin and loud oofs followed by faux annoyance in both of their voices only to be soothed by tipsy laughter.

The night had gone on perfectly- they’d had dinner out in the courtyard, the spring air was a bit chilly but they were warmed by the cute little firepit Blaine had put in. And since he was with company that knew what he was, Blaine had offered some magic and the whole area had been pleasantly buzzing with his heated energy all night long. Enjolras loved getting to run around wildly with Freya, who still insisted she didn’t run around. But, Blaine had caught her multiple times tonight and promised her he wouldn’t tease her too much. Besides, Ras loved it when she played with him, he’d hate for her to stop. The thought was almost laughable to him as soon as he thought it-Freya would let Blaine dress her up in cat clothing if she thought it would please the golden pup, she loved him that much. He could feel the two of them still running around out there in the glow of the firelight just outside the kitchen door.

He was happy, very much so, but this little ache like a bruise pressed over his heart. Don’t get him wrong, he loved having Hunter and Tony around- Hunter was Seb’s best friend and had done so much for both of them. And Tony, well she was pretty much Blaine’s little sister at this point. They shared a bond, a different kind of fate that few others could touch. Still, he wished he could invite David and Nick, and of course his father, but he knew he had to keep his friends at arms length to save face, and he had to keep his dad even further away. He tried to picture Sam in the room with all of them, and knew instantly that his best friend would probably fit right in, despite not being able to know the truth of it all. Tony would laugh at Sam’s jokes and Hunter would do the same and then quiz him about Japan. Too bad he was still over there, living his dream with his adorable girlfriend.

And then there was his mom. All of these years and her absence still felt like a sucker punch to the chest when he thought about it. He pressed his hand over his heart just at the spot where her crystal used to rest and wondered how long she’d let Seb wear it. He could tell it was getting antsy to come back every single time he touched his boyfriend. But, he still wasn’t ready. He’d give almost anything to have all of them here so he could show them how far he’d come and good things had turned out. He wanted to show off his beautiful home and his gorgeous person, not to boast but to say hey, I made it even when I didn’t think I would… Missing those few people was the only thing keeping Blaine from feeling the happiest he’d ever felt. And even with them not being there, he was pretty damn happy.

He sighed and dropped his hand before turning to Tony- her large grey eyes now studying him curiously and he knew she knew he was silently working through something. He gave her a big, genuine smile and shrugged.

“Everything’s okay, Tony. I promise.” He pushed the try full of drinks towards her and scooped up the decadent round dark chocolate mousse cake he’d made from scratch yesterday. He noted that a few raspberries were missing from the top and wondered which one of them had stolen them, Hunter or Sebastian. He knew it was probably Sebastian- it was like his boyfriend felt compelled to steal food from desserts or salads that would taste just the same out of the package. He smiled to himself as he nodded towards the door, imagining Seb sneaking into the kitchen last night and opting to steal two raspberries from the cake instead of the fridge. He’d probably give Blaine some excuse about wanting the chocolate on it. Tony caught his smile and shook her head.

“You’ve gone from happy to a little melancholy and now back to happy again in the span of three seconds, , you’re going through it tonight, aren’t you, babe? Something you want to talk about? We’ve got a little time before they get too stupid.” She laughed and nudged him before getting a sparkling water from the fridge for herself. “I don’t want to get too tipsy, you know, we are staying here as guests and someone’s gotta keep Hunter in line. I can see it now, he’ll end up dragging the two of us to your bed because his drunken mind thinks that’s a normal thing to do when you’re staying at your best friend's house.” She teased, but Blaine hadn’t witnessed her drink much of anything with alcohol tonight, let alone get any kind of tipsy. She’d been sipping on water most of the time. Her energy felt high and positive, she was happy. So he didn’t think too much of it. But, she was right, Hunter probably would find a way to implant himself into his and Sebastian’s bed and drag Tony with him. All six of them, Freya and Ras included, just snuggled up. As if on cue, Hunter’s crackle of delight soared from outside and through the kitchen.

“I’m really okay, just thinking about things I can’t really change. I am happy though, you’ve got it right. And Gods, you’re probably right about Hunter. I mean, as comfortable as that sounds… he has a whole room here that he can roll all over to his heart's content.” He nodded towards the door. “What are they even doing out there? We should probably go feed them some more before someone gets hurt.”

She laughed, knowing he was right and nodded, still looking a little skeptical over his answer, but she sat her water down on the drink try and walked with him out into the magically warm March air and Blaine followed. Both men looked up at them, the echo of a laugh still hanging in the air. Blaine made his way towards Seb, sat the cake down on the table and snuggled into his boyfriend's side.

“Do I even want to know what you’re doing out here? Also, did you steal my raspberries, Sebastian? You messed up my aesthetic.” He teased, pressing his lips into Seb’s jaw and nuzzling into his neck. He could hear Hunter’s childish, teasing ewwws and he looked over at his friend, who was just as snuggled up with his girlfriend, with wide eyes.

“Keep it up, Clarington and I won’t give you any cake.” To which Hunter followed up with a scandalized and very dramatic face of woe even as Blaine moved forward to cut each one of them a slice.

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian thought that he would hate having company over at the new house. After a successful holiday season with a visit to Ohio where he realized he missed his mother, Wick, and Luke more than he thought he did and a few small gatherings he decided he didn’t mind it. He was actually excited to have little parties here and there and he knew how happy it made Blaine to prepare artistic charcuterie boards and bake mini desserts.

When Tony and Hunter came over, things always felt natural. Ever since everything had calmed down after the trial, things with his best friend felt normal again. Sometimes when they were joking around over beers (and a cigarette for Sebastian) he’d forget that Hunter actually was a hunter of supernatural beings. He liked how easy and connected B and Tony seemed and that things just finally seemed settled into place as much as they could be when you were implanted into a magical world.

The two of them had been roasting each other and laughing in the courtyard. Normally Seb wouldn’t choose to sit out in the chill but B had extended his magical warmth throughout the area. Sebastian had hit his tipsy best friend in the arm a little too hard and he fell out of his chair a little bit and spilled some of his drink and the ground. They burst into laughter because well, there was just no reason that Seb should have been able to get one over on somebody trained in combat. Hunter made a sly comment about how he had a soft spot for him and that was the only reason it had happened.

Tony and Blaine had made their way into the courtyard with more drinks and cake and had snuggled up to their significant others.

“Hunter was just flirting with me. You should like, zap him or something.” He waved his hand in the air like little volts were shooting from his fingertips. “I might have snuck a few, they taste better with the chocolate.” He liked how Blaine’s lips felt on his jaw, a tingle slid its way up his spine.

Hunter’s POV:

Hunter’s skin felt electric with excitement. They were all gathered around the small fire pit, the air comfortably warm with Blaine’s magic. He felt giddy from the wine, Bas’ laugh, and Tony’s glow. Her soft body pressed into his side, his arm wrapped around her. Everything felt right and he knew that tonight was the perfect night.

Hunter leaned forward and plucked a raspberry from Sebastian’s perfect slice of cake and popped it into his mouth.

“You’re a tattletale. You know I could stop him, right?”

Tony’s elbow gently poked his side, “You could try. I think I’d let him give you a good zap.”

Blaine smiled and Sebastian took a smug bite of cake and Tony giggled into her sparkling water. He couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t even joke about his feelings being hurt. Things may not be lining up how he had always pictured them but he felt satisfied and truly happy. He and his best friend were in love with two amazing people and their friendship had remained just as strong. Their lives were all changing for the better.

Blaine gave in and slid him a small plate with a decadent slice on it. Tony stole his raspberry which he knew he deserved. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” She kissed him and he could taste the slightest hint of berries on her lips.

After everyone’s bellies were full and their drinks were refilled the night fell into a comfortable silence. Hunter could hear dove’s somewhere in the courtyard, Tony’s breathing, and the traffic on the streets. He gently nudged Tony and they held eye contact for a few minutes, she knew what he was thinking.

Antoinette’s (Tony) POV:

Tony glanced around the courtyard, feeling full of happiness and hope she hadn’t felt in a very long time. For the first time since she’d been cursed with sickness as a child, she felt like things were actually going to be okay. She was a full-time, certified member of the Order now, she was able to freely train and got to work with the love of her life every single day. Hunter always had her back and she always had his. She got to spend time with Blaine, someone that understood her more than almost anyone else in the world, someone she had bonded with as soon as they met, by extension of both Hunter and Blaine she was able to spend time with Sebastian. A person who made both of her boys incredibly happy and therefore made her happy. She had secretly started calling the three of them her boys in her head and she wondered as he laid her hand on her stomach if she’d be adding another one into the mix soon.

“Something does tell me that Blaine might have a leg up here though, it is his house after all. I mean, we’re actually sitting in a swarm of his magic right now.” She looked over at Blaine and grinned with a shrug while blatantly betraying her own boyfriend. She’d figure out a way to make it up to him later. She secretly sometimes wondered what hidden potential her friend had hidden away. She’d met both his mother and father and they’d both done incredible things and it made her wonder what secrets or untapped power Blaine Anderson might be carrying around. She also sort of hoped that maybe they never found out.

Good Witches tended to only pull out the crazy magic when things were about to go incredibly bad. Imelda when saving her, and well, Will was on the Council, he got to do bigger magic every day. She knew Blaine was close to cashing in his good card and possibly doing something drastic during his trials, but they’d all pulled through and he didn’t have to. She supposed that was for the best, they were all here now and happy and well, she’d take that over getting an answer to her curiosities any day.

She couldn't help the little smile that played on her lips as they finished their food and drinks and when Hunter snuggled in a little closer and dipped down to get her to look at him, she knew it was time to let them in on the reason they’d wanted to come this weekend in the first place. Her heart gave a little flutter and she cleared her throat as she looked up at Blaine and Sebastian. They had three full things to tell them. The first one was the easy part, the other two were a little harder.

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed that I’ve not exactly been indulging in the spirits with you.” She laughed a little and settled her hand over her mostly flat belly again. The very tiniest swell was there and you had to know she was carrying in order to tell at all. Hunter insisted he could tell when he laid his head on her stomach at night, but she could hardly tell herself. She was only thirteen weeks along as of three days ago. She thought it was cute though so she let him coo at her. “That’s because well, we’re having a baby.” She grinned, enjoying the changes in the faces of the two men sitting across from her. From surprise, to happiness, to what might have been sadness- she felt that one... and back to happiness before crossing over into what could be described as elation. “We’re due at the end of September, early October.” She held her hand to keep them from advancing on her just yet. She had more to say and number two was the the second hardest-

“Before you get too ahead of me, we have a couple more things to ask…” She paused, she knew that Blaine and Sebastian had been through hell and that they had made many sacrifices to be together, including finding out that they’d never get to be parents together, so she didn’t want to fuck this bit up. She reached over and took Hunter’s hand for comfort and then looked from Sebastian, who was holding sweetly onto his boyfriend and giving Hunter a sort of amazed look- to Blaine and settled on his kind, eager, wide golden eyes. Eyes that reminded her so much of his mom, now that her memories of the wonderful woman had been restored.

“We- both Hunter and I, were wondering if, no matter what we have, if you, Blaine, would give us the honor of naming them Mel.”

She waited, watching Blaine carefully. How he took this question would help decide if the last big thing they wanted to ask them was plausible. If Blaine reacted negatively maybe they shouldn’t be asking such big things in the first place, but if he accepted then they had the biggest, possibly life changing question to ask the two of them. She was nervous as she watched him process with Sebastian’s help.

Blaine’s POV:

There were doves again. They cooing and twittering all over the courtyard. Little flits of pale pink and grey and white here and there, making for a lovely show… Blaine didn’t always notice them right away, but when he did they always seemed to make a big show by spreading their pretty wings and flocking around Sebastian in particular. As if showing him off- Like hey, look over here, this one’s ours. As if Blaine didn’t know all about Aphrodite's advanced role in their Fate’s intertwining. They had an actual altar to her in their bedroom. It still left him beside himself whenever he woke up, or came home to find decadent dark chocolates or expensive flowers or deep red wine left as an offering to her. If it had always been him doing it, that would have been one thing, but these things came from Sebastian and that in and of itself was baffling. He figured his logical, lawyer boyfriend would drop a chocolate kiss or a petal here and there, but most of the time Blaine found incredibly nice things for the goddess of love and beauty. Sebastian seemed to take her presence as seriously as he did. Maybe the presence of the doves was a gift for them. A constant sweet soundtrack to everyday life inside (and outside) of the Smythe-Anderson home.

The doves seemed to coo even more sweetly as Tony revealed her and Hunter’s amazing news. So sweetly in fact that Blaine almost missed it for grinning up at the fluttering birds. His head snapped back down as he caught the words due at the end of September, early October… He wanted to do three things all at once. First he wanted to flock to Tony like the doves seemed to love doing to Seb, and wrap her up to congratulate her, but something her in demeanor said to sit back for a second, then he wanted to go to Hunter and do the same, but again, they both seemed to be telling them that wait, there’s more. The third bit was that he wanted to cry a little, a happy one, mind you. Because maybe there was hope for a child to be in their lives somewhat now. One that maybe they could become friends with and when Hunter and Tony visited every few months they’d maybe prefer hanging out with him and Seb. Maybe they’d get cute nicknames one day. Maybe.

He was still processing the information and the excitement when Tony asked her next question. The name was pretty and gender-neutral. He liked it as soon as she said it. He had a familiarity with it that he couldn't place his finger on. Yet, he had no clue why they seemed to be asking for his permission to use it. How could he give them honor over a name?

Seb was mumbling his name in question. He looked at him wondering why his boyfriend was holding onto him and rubbing his back so comfortingly, like he’d been told something sad. Or why Hunter and Tony were looking at him with wide, waiting eyes, looking and exuding the feeling of nervousness. Why was the focus on him? Shouldn’t it be on Tony and Hunter? He looked over at Seb a little confused. His boyfriend cocked his head to the side, not understanding his reaction, gave his hand a comforting squeeze and it wasn’t until Blaine tried saying the name out loud to Seb to question it that he understood.

“Mel? Oh...”

He swallowed hard and blinked once and then twice as everything seemed to fall into place for him. Imelda. Mel… They wanted to name their baby after his mom. The two of them knew that he and Seb wouldn't be able to, so they were asking to do it for them. His heart felt full and sad and he sniffled, blinking back tears as he spoke. His voice a little thick.

“Oh, I would love that, guys. I truly would.” He bit his lip and leaned into Sebastian, feeling shy and overexposed all of the sudden. “She would love that…” He hid his face in Seb’s neck for a moment to collect himself, and smiled as Seb pressed a kiss to his forehead, gaining comfort from his soulmate and grounding himself. He pulled back to rejoin the group just in time for Hunter to clear his throat as if he had something more to say. Blaine could feel this was a big one...

Hunter’s POV:

Hunter wrapped his arm around Tony’s shoulders and pulled her in even closer. He was delighted by Sebastian’s surprised face, his mouth agape for about 3 solid seconds before he mouthed ‘you motherfucker!’ It made him laugh with how simply Bas the reaction was and then there was Blaine, all wide eyed and shy. Hunter was thankful that Blaine had reacted positively to their request. If it weren’t for Imelda’s selflessness and power, none of this would have happened.

“Thank you, Blaine. It means a lot to us,” Tony nodded in agreement.

“We do have one more question.” Hunter shifted in his seat a little bit. This part was big and his stomach felt acidic with nerves. Before all this, he had thought that he and Sebastian had seen it all together. Asking his best friend this next question felt heavy and scarier than any mission he’d ever go on.

“Would you two do us the honor of being the baby’s guardians? Like god parents, only way more. You know, like...on paper. Would you be willing to take care of them while we’re on missions and such? To bring them into your home? Take them in...if...a mission went south.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, ‘in case we die.’ when everything felt new and positive, even if they both knew their field was extremely dangerous.

“Well, don’t keep us waiting fellas.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian smiled and watched his boyfriend’s face closely. It would have been comical how long it took for the name’s significance to settle into his brain but the entire interaction was just, well, wholesome. He pressed a kiss to Blaine’s forehead and waited for him to peek out again. The gesture of choosing the name Mel was very sweet, even an old cynic like Seb could admit that.

The change in Hunter’s tone made his ears prick up. He knew him like his favorite TV show, comforting and reliable for background noise that made his pre B world feel a little less empty. Whenever the other man got serious on him it made Sebastian feel a bit on edge. Not because he was afraid to see Hunter serious, just because he never really knew what to expect and that made his organized microcosm feel a little bit wobbly.

The question that had been asked was not one he had been expecting. He didn’t even think that this was a topic that either one of them, Hunter or Sebastian, had ever talked about. Seb blinked a few times and felt his Blaine shift next to him. He had always thought that he was bad with kids, that he didn’t like them all that much. But, getting to know his little cousin Luke had changed his mind and he really loved to see the light in B’s eyes when they played their games of make believe. There was a warmth that spread through his body, something protective. None of this was ever in the plans they had made over midnights and pizzas and the bellyache of laughter. This was big and special and the most important thing Hunter had ever asked him to do. Especially now that he and Blaine had had their opportunity ripped away...

“I...do we need to think about this or…?” He pulled away a bit to look down at his boyfriend. “ I know that I...would really love to do that.”

Sebastian knew that Blaine felt the same way as he did.

Blaine’s POV:

Once again Blaine was a bit slow on the uptake, he was having a bit of a hard time processing what was being asked of them. Not because he didn’t want it, but because it was more than he thought they’d ever get. His heart thudded in his chest as he looked up at Sebastian, hardly allowing himself to believe what he was hearing. The moment passed and his face broke out into a smile as he pulled Seb closer, squeezing him to show him that no, they didn’t need to think about this. It was truly a no brainer. He turned his attention over to Hunter and Tony and gave them an even bigger smile.

“No, no we don’t need to think about it. I’m with Seb without a doubt… I’d love that more than anything.” He laughed a little, his eyes still bright with tears. Of course he knew accepting came at a price, it put the very real threat that one or both of them might die in the field. They were hunters that worked for the Order in very real dangerous situations. And chances of them dying together were much larger considering they worked right next to each other. It made him, and no doubt Sebastian, look that ugly truth right in the face. “I’m gonna have to double down on protection spells and maybe even make you a few charms because there is no way you’re not going to be around to see this baby grow up.” He made mental notes of the charms and ingredients he’d need for their protection even as he spoke. His brain seemed to be in overdrive as a new person to care about was just on the horizon. He wanted to protect them with his magic and his own self and he didn’t even know them yet. “Tony, how do you feel about letting me make you a little something even more extra while you’re pregnant? And, before you ask, I planned on asking if I could do that before you asked us to assist in the life of your child.”

The four of them sat and talked for a couple more hours, mostly about the baby and what steps they needed to take for their wishes to come to term, but they slipped a few other things in here and there. There were plenty of laughs, Hunter convinced Seb to take a few shots with him for old times sake and even convinced Blaine to take a couple- one for him and one for Tony since she couldn’t, and he obliged.

Blaine had a few moments of panic where he thought maybe he wasn’t cut out for this task that was being asked of him, but he’d look over at Tony and see his mother, just a little bit, and how light Hunter seemed to be right now, and then at his boyfriend, his soulmate, his person and it would all slip away… Seb looked happy and hopeful and he held Blaine close the whole time they sat and talked and drank. It was hard to feel anything other than good when Sebastian looked like that.

Eventually Seb started to yawn and even suggested that Blaine use magic to clean up their messes, which was wild to him considering Sebastian usually liked for him to keep magic more simple. Even after all these years, Seb still would stare in awe and wonder and a little bit of warrant fear over some of the magical tasks that Blaine could perform. And magically cleaning a whole house in one go would do that trick. Seb wasn’t afraid of Blaine, but magic was wild and even though Blaine was a very practiced Witch, he knew seeing something like that to a logical mind like Seb’s was a bit overwhelming. So he said goodnight to Hunter and Tony who were sleeping in the guest room and sent Seb to get ready for bed before doing his fancy bit of cleaning magic. Within minutes the courtyard and kitchen were both spotless and Blaine had rounded up Freya and Enjolras and locked the doors, and renewed his protective spells around the perimeters of the new house. His cat familiar and his not so little pup followed him up the stairs and they were both asleep at the foot of the huge bed before he could change into his pajamas. He was still buzzing with excitement as he snuggled in next to Sebastian whose energy was just as excited, if not drowsy with drink. He might just be making mild hangover cures for Sebastian and Hunter the next day.

“It looks like we found a bit of a loophole, didn’t we?” He laughed gently and pulled his drowsy boyfriend into his arms. “I mean, they said neither one of us could father children or adopt. They never said anything about being partial guardians. And they’ll be the child of two hunters, that just means they’ll get to know the truth about Witches and magic and what their parents do when they’re young, we won’t have anything to hide from them.” He paused, watching Seb’s face in the dim light. “I know it’s not what we may have eventually wanted, but I think it worked out for us. We get to be there for them. They have a safe space for their kid and we get to be important to someone. I’m really happy. Plus, you’re a lawyer, so if the Council tries to stop us from helping Hunter and Tony, you can help fight it.”

Seb snuggled into him and reassured him that he was just as happy, his words and little kisses tipsy against Blaine’s jaw. Blaine could have talked about the kid and their future forever, but he was much more sober since he was mostly made of magic and stardust, sort of, and he knew Seb would too under normal circumstances. But his boyfriend was overly happy and drunk and sleep would bring morning and morning would bring the excitement of Blaine getting to tell Sebastian of the ideas he had for the third bedroom. Hunter and Tony were gone a lot on missions, sometimes it added up to about five months out of a year. And then they only got a year and a half off after the baby was born and then it was back to the grind and of course they’d be bringing the baby over before that year was up so they could bond, so naturally the baby needed a bedroom!

He looked down at Sebastian and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smiling when Seb mumbled his love. Blaine kissed him back and loved him just as much before settling down with the comforting weight of Seb on his chest. An array of ideas and elation for his friends and for them as he slipped into slumber.

/fin.

#andersoncharm #smythesm #orderofhunter #seblaine witch rp #seblaine #long live all the magic #sebpara #para

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ashes-in-a-jar · 4 years ago

Text

Tma relisten Episodes 6-10

(Still really long)

Alot of really important details that are going to be very relevant later on. Very facinating how early on you find these out. Relistens are good.

Episode 6 squirm

It's a good thing tma doesn't do much of sexual encounters and their connection to entities. While I'm sure that's a thing that in any realistic universe would exist avoiding it was a good choice. This statement was *shudder*

Interesting that she had no visible mark on her. Also being repulsed by police stations because the sectioned officers could have helped.

Naked in the streets after lighting his apartment on fire. What an image.

So technically the worms were in the archives 3 times: when Jane made her first statement, when Timothy hodge made his and when Jane attacked. The worms are very familiar with the magnus institute.

"This story is concerning. Not because of Mr. Hodge’s experience, although I’m sure it was very upsetting." ace Jon talking very technical about "experiences"

" though obviously it’s a tragic loss of life, etcetera, etcetera." Jon being Jon.

Ecdc are aware of Jane and corruption typical attacks which is off the bat interesting world building.

He's skeptic here because of lack of evidence but does admit the existence of a threat in Jane Prentiss

Also! He knows of her from before probably when he was a researcher. This confused me on first listen because I was trying to remember if she was ever mentioned before this. But she wasn't.

Episode 7 the piper

Wilfred kind of sounds like martin in some way but maybe it's just me assigning poetry to anyone like him.

But he hated apathy which might be very Martin like

Gentle sadness and creeping fear from the music. For violence of war... Is that what it means to immortalize it?

It's really cool that the concept of music in this podcast is associated specifically with war and unwarranted violence. There's a very strong statement in there somewhere that needs to be explored.

God this statement was intense. Lying for such a long time in that trench surrounded by violent death. But what's most interesting is that this statement doesn't feel like a supernatural one and yet... The piper was with Wilfred throughout the various battles and bouts of violence until the moment it was officially over. But in a very subtle way.

The description of the piper is really intense with the 3 faces. I think I missed it the first time but hearing that representation of war and fear is something I'm going to look for in artistic depictions now.

Wait. Who is Joseph Rayner? I know of Maxwell but never heard of Joseph.a victim instead of Wilfred? Collaborator with the Slaughter? Hmmm

I wonder how Accidental it was that the statement from 1922 was filed in the 2000s. Maybe to show that the piper never really leaves and the war never really ends. Ever.

Episode 8 burned out

Wow Hilltop Road already! I forgot how many of the first episodes were so important to the plot later on.

"That side of the road backed onto South Park with fences marking the bottom of each garden." this is wrong btw. Hilltop Road in Oxford does not run along Sount Park but is perpendicular to it, meeting it in the corner with Divinity Road which meets with Morrell Avenue which is the road running along South Park. Just FYI because I had to look this up to get a good picture. But I guess Morrell doesn't sound as exciting as Hilltop (which isn't even at the top of the hill smh)

Ivo lensik describes Raymond fielding as white which makes me automatically think he is not. Just a thought that popped in my mind.

Huh. His family had a history of schizophrenia. And his dad was obsessed with fractals. Being followed by The spiral (all the bones are in his hands) was also part of this story really interesting.

Agnes had mousy brown hair and looked like Raymond! Not red hair ( at least at first) like I pictured. Also she was a hell of a creepy child...

So did he time travel? Seeing the moments of Raymond's end? Seems like time doesn't work right in that place anyway.

Web person being devout church goer is also an interesting touch

Father Edwin Burroughs! I forgot he was here too! The knock reminded me of Mr Spider *shiver*

The priest explaining that the church exorcized demons but what not decisive if ghosts exist was hilarious. Jon dismisses paranormal but asks Martin if he's a ghost is opposite of the church.

Hmmm the web pushing him to cut the tree to uncover box from antique table...

Apple full of spiders ugh. Maybe something web was trapped in there by Desolation and ivo managed free it as Agnes was dying.

"We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree." wow that's an obscure thing to find well done Martin!

Jon still looks for credence for this story despite the schizophrenia that could leave him skeptical.

"while I trust Mr. Lensik’s testimony of his own experiences about as far as I can throw a bleeding tree," again Jon with his special brand of jokes.

Episode 9 a Father's love

The Montauk's story! I always thought their family had one of the most tragic ones. The hunt is a really cruel patron with its forced hunger and having other entities use them as tools.

Julia telling the truth of the story to the Magnus Institute instead of the police is also heartbreaking. How desperate and alone she must have felt drowned in that awful literally unbelievable story. The magnus institute feeds off of those people too.

So many of the hunt end up in police it's just... Such a strong statement against that establishment. What do we do to make that less of a horrible, unjust, all consuming system? That feeds on the hunger of some and the abject fear of others? And it doesn't have to be supernatural. It's interesting how season five, of all seasons, is the one that gave us that perspective. The non supernatural one on the subject while the world itself is so far away from the natural. God everything about this idea is so heavy and painful.

I kind of hate Julia's fate because of her background and how much alot of its beginning was out of her control. It's like Daisy. The hunt can never be forgiven no matter how compulsive it is.

The dark that took her mother turned her into part of it? Like the dark liquid?

A dark room to develop his photos of his victims huh? A play on words here.

Oooh they put a heartbeats in the soundscape really cool actually.

So Montauk killed other dark members that tried to leave? For the ritual? Like Julia's mother?

The hunt compelled him to keep the hearts as trophies? which is very self destructive of the hunt to do. Or is it part of the dark ritual with the sacrifices that the heart had to be kept?

I think Montauk was trying to slow down the ritual as revenge that night, rendering the sacrifices he helped create useless. Which is why pitch came after them that night and dissappeared once Montauk finished his ritual.

Sourcing the Serial killer enthusiast community. Love that the archives use whatever source of info they can access.

So Maxwell dissappeared in 1994 from public eye land yet the cult kept working towards a ritual. But now in secret? Their timeline always confused me.

Episode 10 vampire killer

I never noticed Trevor came right after Julia! Oooh this is so much connecting the dots so early on!

Vampires are so disturbing here makes you ever wonder how the hell media like twilight were ever created. But hehe the monster ****er community has always been a vibrant one. Not these vampires tho.

Trevor is so sassy I love his statements. Like Julia it really makes me sad how consumed he became at the end and how awful his death was. Once again the tragedy of the Hunt.

"I taught myself to read, I read as much on the subject as I could, and it isn’t covered often or clearly in those books I have found." can you imagine what kinds of books he might have found during the sexy vampire Era? This is a hilarious picture to paint.

So vampires feed off of blood and not fear which is an interesting creature to have in this kind of universe. Although hunters are also like that but there is still alot of fear and awareness involved with that while the vampires try to conceal themselves until the last moment.

There's alot of mosquito imagery in these vampires which is... Ugh

Also interesting how many time Trevor just uses the vampire's full name. Never shortened and never talked about in another title. Sylvia McDonald this Sylvia McDonald that. Also the other vampire. They always had a name that was psychicly imposed on the victims to be remembered fully. Very Stranger behavior.

Ahhhh the one vampire weakness... Drrrugs.

It's also very flammable which sets interesting precedence to setting unnatural things on fire to make them disappear.

Alard dupont comes in a later statement right? Yeah in 56

Martin was there when the statement was given which was 2010 and in 2016 he's 29 so he worked there for a while! At least since age 23 perhaps we'll find out even earlier. And he was still scared to be found under qualified after all this time! Oof...

I wonder how draining it is to give a statement that it kills someone who is sick.

The government is in on this! Looking for the teeth Trevor gave the institute... Somehow that strikes me as hilarious in the world building of this podcast. And it really leaves Jon no choice but to concede that there is something to the statement even if he refuses to use the term vampire like Trevor did so freely.

#Pfft i was so into this one i forgot to tag #Tma #jonathan sims #Tma hiatus liveblog #magnuspod #julia montauk #trevor herbert #Jane Prentiss #The magnus archives #hilltop road

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