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vvatchword · 7 months ago

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Paradise Lost: Book 3 (The Words of God)

<- Part 3 || Back to the Beginning || Part 5 ->

This section was mostly written between 3/26 and 3/30, but I had blocked myself on Tumblr for Reasons. As ever, remember that I am no scholar: I was an English major, I'm an editor, I write constantly, and I used to be a huge Christian nerd, but to fully understand Milton would take a bit more research into the time and place in which this book was written.

Long story short, feel free to correct me, and realize that I'm shooting from the hip throughout this project.

Introduction to Book 3

At first I thought I’d do this zooted. Unfortunately, I got SO zooted that I fell unconscious. I couldn’t tell when or where I was. When I woke up I had a perfect comprehension of Book 3’s introduction. Thus, in my official opinion, this counts as zootery.

Hail holy light, offspring of Heav’n firstborn, Or of th’ Eternal Coeternal beam May I express thee unblam’d? Since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from Eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate.

Milton calls upon the Holy Spirit to lead him and describes Its virtues. Remember: when approaching your liege lord, the first thing one must always do is butter Them the fuck up. This is how you know it’s a normal relationship and not one where a single fuck-up might inspire the Power to throw you in a fiery pit to be raped for the rest of eternity.

I do think it’s curious how Milton feels like he has to interject this here—as you might recall, he spent a long time in Book One calling down the Holy Spirit, so this seems a bit extraneous—but perhaps it’s his way of setting a new section apart. Perhaps each venture—whether into Heaven, Hell, Paradise, or Chaos—requires a freshly-blessed eye.

On a less bitchy note, I love this description of God, and the Holy Spirit’s relationship with him: God is light incarnate, and the Holy Spirit contains God like a Three Musketeers contains nougat.

“Eternal Coeternal” should piss me off but at this point I’d forgive Milton for almost anything. Also, it feels like rhythmic reiteration—emphasization. Which is a word I made up.

I must reiterate: don’t ever take my word for ANYTHING

Or hear’st thou rather pure Ethereal stream, Whose Fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun, Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite.

I love this description. I love how the Holy Spirit is never anthropomorphized. I think it’s assumed that the Holy Spirit is here with us as we read, in the same way that he accompanied Milton.

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, Escap’d the Stygian Pool, though long detain’d In that obscure sojourn…

Last time, on Paradise Lost…

Milton proceeds to summarize the previous two books. He chooses some interesting language to do so.

Taught by the heav’nly Muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend, Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovereign vital Lamp; but thou Revisit’st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene hath quench’d their Orbs, Or dim suffusion veil’d. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt…

I did not understand this the first time I read it. Now that I read it again, realizing that Milton was blind, it makes a lot more sense. As I recall, my earliest read was just me slamming face-first into one unrecognized classical reference after another, so even though this particular section was completely comprehensible, I was primed to look for other meanings.

It so blatantly means “I cannot see. I’m blind. I’m so blind. My eyeballs are fucked”

It’s so blatant that I’m actually a little ashamed of past me. Like how did you not see that he’s mourning the loss of his sight?

The dark descent,

Is Amnesia: The Dark Descent a callback here? It’s a common enough pair of words, and such good alliteration, that it’s possibly not.

In any case, there’s something about this section in general that hits me so good. There’s something sharp here: I can visit these beautiful places, but only visit them inside my brain, on flights of fancy. I can feel God’s light, but only in my imagination.

“You are the god who makes the blind see,” cries Milton. “Why haven’t you visited me?”

Yeah buddy this was the vein of thought that led me to leave the faith years ago: why is it I’m always the fuck-up if I don’t pay perfect attention to God 24/7, but God can just never show up and I still always have to kowtow and lick the memories of his feet?

This part is particularly beautiful to me:

…Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt Clear Spring, or shady Grove, or Sunny Hill, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee Zion and the flowery Brooks beneath That wash thy hallow’d feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit…

God this whole section is a mood.

Now what he’s describing is how his lack of sight doesn’t stop him from venturing to otherworldly places. But he does this despite lack of sight, and I feel like there’s the ever-so-slight hint that maybe he’s like: “God, I have devoted myself to you; will you come to me, instead of DUMPING ALL THE WORK ON MY FUCKING PLATE”

On another and equally important note: if you’re a writer and you run face-first into some inexpressible sentiment or experience, you probably know the feeling that Milton describes here. The intense yearning, unable to completely see the sublime heights to which you have a piecemeal picture, with a bunch of crude words in your forebrain and an even cruder sense of how to put them together

Another part of me recoils at this section, although for a different reason. Back when I was an evangelical Christian, I would write like Milton does here: I was proud of myself, for I knew I was a good writer—but pride is a sin. So I tried every trick I knew to make sure that I gave glory to God in everything (to God be the glory—all of my glories were His, although I retained all of my failures).

Thus, Milton’s voice strikes me this way: “I must speak of God here, invoke the (highest, most Heavenly) Muse, and assure Him once more that I do not mean to bring glory to myself, but to Him only. What is more, I write this piece seeking His voice and His presence. I want nothing more than Your will.”

(Don’t beat me to death bro. Don’t throw me in jail. I swear you’re the most important bro I swear you’re the best and this is all for you. please don’t hurt me)

In other words, maybe Milton felt guilty for having a good time writing the Hell sections, and realized that what he’d put together was Quality, and felt bad for recognizing this. This said, keep in mind that this is me bringing my modern evangelical sensibilities to a Christian of the past, so take this with a big grain of salt.

Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid Tunes her nocturnal note…

UGH. UGH UGH UGH FFFFF

Look. So goddamn pretty. The rhythm. The imagery. “The wakeful Bird/sings darkling.” ughghghhghhhhehhehghghghghgh

The blind man compares himself to a bird early in the morning, who starts singing before the sun ever comes up. “Harmonious numbers” might refer to Milton’s use of iambic pentameter. In the immortal words of Wikipedia contributor somewhere: “da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM”

I have meant to study rhythm more closely, and Milton is a master at this, so… who better to take cues from?

Learn with me, fellow babbeys.

…Thus with the Year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of Ev’n or Morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summer’s Rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a Universal blanc Of Nature’s works to me expung’d and rais’d, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

OUCH. This is the most passive-aggressive section imho. This entire part of Milton, which he knows exists, which he can feel exists, but “wisdom at one entrance [is] quite shut out.”

I tried to look up “blanc.” It was not in Shakespeare’s Words, which was very upsetting. According to Dictionary.com, it was a silver coin in France, greatly debased over time; the French meaning is “white,” which I actually knew for some reason (probably from wine names). “Blanc” also might come out to “blank,” which makes sense in this context. It is also used to denote kinds of sauce and wine, which does not make sense in this context.

So I went to Etymonline, where I probably should have gone in the first place. It’s a great deal clearer about where “blank” emerged and when, so I feel confident about using the word “blank” here in its modern meaning. Paradise Lost came out in 1667; “blank” in its modern sense is attributed to around 1550.

I’M CONFIDENT!

If you have Knowledge Otherwise let me know.

(If you haven’t noticed, I’m using the copy from Project Gutenberg. Sometimes I modernize the spelling of a word when it’s clear that’s what it means so that you can read along a bit better. I love going to the source of a document instead of reading translations, so…)

So much the rather thou Celestial light Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight.

“I’m just kidddinnggg God! I’m fine with being blind if you fill me with celestial light :)))”

I think I might take this and make it a Writer’s Prayer of sort, although to an ineffable and personal muse—the one inside the brain instead of hovering somewhere outside.

In any case, I love this and feel sorry for Milton at the same time. I get it.

Now, it’s totally possible I’m misreading his sentiments—I’ve had a powerful personal experience that might be overriding Milton’s—but I can’t help but feel I see a fellow soul, centuries in the past, experiencing the same spiritual frustrations I once experienced. In many ways, he had no choice but to stay where he was. I had the luxury of leaving.

This makes Satan’s character more interesting, imho.

Now had the Almighty Father from above, From the pure Empyrean where he sits High Thron’d above all height, bent down his eye, His own works and their works at once to view:

POV: You are God the Father spying on your ant colony.

I love this. First, Milton gives a sense of God’s scale. He’s got a broad view of creation itself—creation and creations’ own creations. I’ve been reading up on Gnosticism so my first thought was OH SHIT but thankfully I spy no demiurge. Can I go one document without thinking about the demiurge? I hear it’s possible.

About him all the Sanctities of Heaven Stood thick as Stars, and from his sight receiv’d Beatitude past utterance; on his right The radiant image of his Glory sat, His only Son…

I just mentioned gnosticism. Now, in gnosticism, there are heavenly aspects called “Aeons.” They’re kind of like angels, and can be angels, but they aren’t always. Sometimes they are literal living embodiments of God’s qualities—his lovingkindness, for example, or his mercy. “Sanctities” is such a vague word that it can refer to any kind of divine creature, and because this precedes death, they can’t be human spirits (unless, again, time is just wacky up in heaven, but I don’t get the sense that’s the case here).

This makes me wonder, because in modern Christianity, acceptable heavenly spirits are few and far between. In Protestant evangelicalism, only angels are acceptable; if you’re Catholic or Orthodox, you have saints on top of that. But this isn’t Roman Catholicism. This is brand-spanking-new Protestantism.

So my question is: what does “Sanctities” refer to? Are there things OTHER than angels and saints? I first thought of the “four living creatures” (Revelation 4:8) or “hayyot,” but after some light research I realized that they are classed as angels.

I’m especially curious about this distinction because in evangelical Christianity, any kind of spirit encountered out in the wild is a demonic one, full-stop. You’re not supposed to talk to mediums or engage in seances for this reason. You shouldn’t even call on an angel. The sin is that you’re not approaching God for advice. Even if you were lucky and hit on Samuel or a godly spirit, you fucked up by not going to God first!

When I went through a haunting, the experience was so fucking weird that it actually helped me leave the faith many years later, because if it were a demon, what the actual fuck man

…on Earth he first beheld Our two first Parents, yet the only two Of mankind, in the happy Garden plac’d, Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, Uninterrupted joy, unrival’d love In blissful solitude…

Haha nice

I mean yes there’s a spiritual element of this, but that spiritual element is also X-rated. Something you just have to understand: the Puritanical sex-negative world we live in is weird by ancient standards. Sex is constantly invoked in Christianity in a variety of ways. The Church is often typified as the bride, with Jesus the bridegroom; what do you think that means lol

In gnostic texts they get even more explicit than this. Do you assholes want to talk about that next? I want to talk about that next.

…he then survey’d Hell and the Gulf between, and Satan there Coasting the wall of Heav’n on this side Night In the dun Air sublime…

“On this side Night” is a hell of a phrase. Nothing but bangers in Book 3, and lots of great chapter titles and band names here.

All right, this is totally random observation, perhaps, but I like thinking about how words develop. So there’s a term for a horse coat color—“dun.” The word “dun” in ye olden dayes meant “dark.” A dun horse has a dark nose, dark socks, and dark stripe running down its spine, and those dark colors usually even out into a main coat color of dusty golden brown.

I mention this because, in its older sense, “dun” is like “dark”—an adjective for a full and all-encompassing state, the full state of darkness—but in my mind I see “dun” as an attribute, a dark stripe on a lighter body. Even now, “dun” only exists as the description of a kind of horse. That alone is interesting.

…and ready now To stoop with wearied wings, and willing feet On the bare outside of this World, that seem’d Firm land imbosom’d without Firmament, Uncertain which, in Ocean or in Air.

And ready now/to stoop with wearied wings, and willing feet/on the bare outside of this World…

Half of my problem with Paradise Lost is that I want to repeat all of it. I want to ingest the words like fine foods. There are strange lines that hit me so right, and this is one: that sensation of relief as Satan settles upon the Earth.

I see I am incorrect about one thing: I said that the ancient peoples saw the world as round. Well, yeah. But some of them definitely thought the world was flat. And I see now that when Milton wrote the “pendant world,” I envisioned incorrectly. See, I imagined a globe. But here, Satan struggles through an uncertain firmament—the boundary between Earth and Night—and that boundary feels more like the jut of an isthmus than it does a branch extended to a lowering foot. There is no sensation of dropping from the sky, in short. The imagery lends itself to a flat boundary. It’s more like stepping from a boat to a pier.

Flat Earth Milton :(((

God Speaks

Him God beholding from this prospect high, Wherein past, present, future he beholds, Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake.

This is both beautiful and terrible at once. God as the great spy; God for whom nothing is hidden, the creature who visited heinous punishments on Sin, the creature who introduced pain without end to heavenly creatures damned.

I’m zooting now btw. I went to the back porch to enjoy the beautiful day. There’s somebody blasting hard rock from a garage or porch somewhere. I should start shrieking lines from Paradise Lost. Let’s start with God’s lol

“Only begotten Son, seest thou what rage Transports our adversary, whom no bounds Prescrib’d, no bars of Hell, nor all the chains Heap’d on him there…

What chains? You literally threw him in a deep hole and gave the key to one of his allies. You fucking moron

Was pain supposed to control Satan? Was that its literal purpose? Maybe God overestimated pain’s controlling aspect, having never experienced it himself.

I love how God remarks on Satan’s anger from afar, with the same bland observation that one might make about the weather. I hate this guy lol

“…nor yet the main Abyss Wide interrupt can hold; so bent he seems On desperate revenge, that shall redound Upon his own rebellious head.

The creator doesn’t understand his own creation. God is the ultimate scientist—so aloof, and so dispassionate, that he is incapable of comprehending the created’s inner world, or why a thing he has made should have any desires of its own.

“…And now Through all restraint broke loose…

A Gate Whose Key You Gave to a Demonic Ally You Extreme Dumbfuck

“…he wings his way Not far off Heav’n, in the Precincts of light,

One curious trait about this text is the words that are capitalized. Now, this could be as simple as, “This is an imperfect copy of the original text as shared on Project Gutenberg.” Sometimes machines are used to scan texts and they make mistakes. And, yeah, people make mistakes as well.

However, there are too many capitalized words for my comfort. Now: English is a Germanic tongue, and you capitalize nouns in German. However, Milton employs modern English (although very old), and there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for what is capitalized and what isn’t.

It might also be as simple as: a blind dude dictated this text, maybe the capitalization choices were someone else’s. Whatever the case, I don’t get it. Does anyone know why he capitalizes some of these words? Is my copy suspect? Please contact me at my webzone.

“Directly towards the new created World, And Man there plac’d, with purpose to assay If him by force he can destroy, or worse, By some false guile pervert;…

Something has jumped out at me.

You know purity culture? And in purity culture, if you fuck, you’re like a piece of chewed-up gum? Where did this concept come from? Because here it is, preserved like a pressed flower.

You can follow this concept back—way back. The idea that it’s better to die than lose your virtue is ancient. Innumerable saints would rather die than sin; death is better than corruption—and equally preferable to life itself. The longer you live the more chances you might fuck up and get sent to the Gulag. Half of the reason people venerated saints is because those motherfuckers got the easy route up to heaven. They just had to suffer horribly for a second to get there.

I’m reminded of the video game Blasphemous: the body is a source of corruption; and, in the fear of losing sight of Heaven’s ultimate reward, terrified that any form of happiness is sin, you punish that body for simply existing.

One common trait between faiths seems to be the hatred and distrust of the physical body, and that’s one reason I’m not a religion fan.

“…and shall pervert; For man will heark’n to his glozing lies, And easily transgress the sole Command, Sole pledge of his obedience: so will fall He and his faithless Progeny: whose fault? Whose but his own? Ingrate, he had of me All he could have; I made him just and right,

“Gloze” is an intransitive verb meaning “to flatter, wheedle, cajole, fawn, talk smoothly.” I have never heard of this word in my life but I love it. I’m going to use it somewhere.

The “sole Command” is to pay homage to God, and only God.

Look how pissed God is at Man and nobody has done anything yet. Hell, God is mad at future generations! Thanks!

Is “free will” free if the only alternative is unending suffering? I mean, I guess in that you are free not to choose God. But I have questions.

First, are you telling me God developed a system where you can NOT choose to obey him—already an extremely vague and relative command—but you make the most heinous, brutal punishment imaginable if you don’t? I say this because God didn’t have to make “horrible agony” a choice at all. Why not make an enormously variegated world for all the different choices that different kinds of creatures might choose? Why a right/wrong duality? We already know from living in the world that so many things aren’t just right or wrong—sometimes they’re only right in specific contexts, or you have to make a choice that has drawbacks as well as benefits, or sometimes a situation just is what it is. It’s absurd.

Second, it’s clear God wants all the benefits of an unthinking drone from a creature built to be self-interested, and that’s just absolutely bizarre. It’s a no-win state. By their very nature, a self-interested creature is going to have an entire interior world, and much of that interior world will have to do with the creature’s immediate needs and desires and not involve God at all. God has made a creature just as complex and individual as he is, and yet he can’t conceive of those creatures not wanting or needing him.

Third, if you create creatures with free will, it just serves to reason that some of those creatures are going to reject God at some point. It’s literally a statistical absolute. Which gets weirder yet when you realize God is omniscient and can foresee the future. What the fuck was he planning to do? Why is this shocking or hurtful to him at all?

God strikes me as a controlling parent or abusive spouse. There is no love in him. It’s like he’s looking for an excuse to hurt something, and he wants that thing to be able to fully acknowledge and comprehend its suffering. Yikes.

Coincidentally, one constant to Christian music and philosophy is the idea that you are constantly reducing yourself. A pastor once described the ideal life as living like “Jesus with skin on”: literally obliterating your individual self, the better to let Jesus take command. All the suffering I went through, trying to obliterate my own will for that of God’s—trying to unmake myself for a creature thirsting for my pain.

“Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall. “Such I created all th’ Ethereal Powers And Spirits, both them who stood and them who fail’d; Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. Not free, what proof could they have giv’n sincere Of true allegiance, constant Faith or Love, Where only what they needs must do, appear’d, Not what they would? What praise could they receive?

Again, this is gross.

Dear God: you remain God. Maybe you should be happy with what you have? You have hordes of loyal angels. Maybe the devil wouldn’t have brought arms against you if he could have had his own way and his own place. He can’t pose any real threat to you, so what do you lose when he leaves? Some pride? Who cares? Calm the fuck down you big baby.

“What pleasure I from such obedience paid, When Will and Reason (Reason also is choice) Useless and vain, of freedom both despoil’d, Made passive both, had serv’d necessity, Not me.

Wait what is the difference between “Will” and “Reason” here? I’m confused, because to me, they’re linked. I reason, and my will is more often than not wrapped up in my reason. One never goes without the other. Is there a benefit to separating the concepts?

I immediately went to Etymonline, a blessed site.

“Will” has the definition: “to determine by act of choice,” “to wish, desire; be willing.” “Reason” is defined as “the intellectual faculty that adopts actions to ends.” According to Etymonline, it gained a particularly human bent in the 13th century—that is, that humans possess reason, and thus are more enlightened than the beasts. So if I approach this statement the way I would the most modern of English: desire doesn’t always require the brain to go charging off after its objects. Likewise, one might reason oneself into positions one does not desire.

So I guess yeah, it’s beneficial to separate the two concepts—and to acknowledge they’re part of a larger whole.

Also, and I cannot stress this enough: if you have given a creature the ability to exercise free will, and you become angry when they exercise free will, you’re an asshole, and you did not actually want free will. You wanted an excuse to Punish.

“…They therefore as to right belong’d, So were created, nor can justly accuse Their maker, or their making, or their Fate; As if Predestination overrul’d Their will, dispos’d by absolute Decree Or high foreknowledge; they themselves decreed Their own revolt, not I: if I foreknew, Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, Which had no less prov’d certain unforeknown.

When you write a story, and you have a character who is doing something really fucking weird, but you just shoehorn them into doing the senseless thing anyway, and then you have that character explain in a paragraph dump how what they are doing actually makes great sense, you end up with this section in Paradise Lost where God looks like an unhinged controlling bastard who can’t stand it when the thing he gave free will exercises it.

“It’s not my fault they’re suffering!”

Yes it fucking is. You created the universe. You created everything. You made it this way. None of the devils had to suffer, hell and pain didn’t have to exist, shut up. You are literally the least-helpless organism in the universe.

Another unnecessary personal aside: sometimes Christianity bothered me because if we had the Creator of all existence on our sides, why was it we were always reactive and not proactive? Why was everything created to uplift our God and message out-of-touch or satirical or defensive instead of novel and offensive? You’d think we’d be generating the most interesting movements and ideas and inventions, but we were always turning back to the past, to ancient peoples and texts that you needed a special education to even halfway understand.

In my mind, the ideal God is a generator, not a status-quo.

Maybe I just can’t envision a god that could generate an entire universe and then not keep generating.

“So without least impulse or shadow of Fate, Or aught by me immutable foreseen, They trespass, Authors to themselves in all Both what they judge and what they choose; for so I form’d them free, and free they must remain, ’Til they enthrall themselves: I else must change Their nature, and revoke the high Decree Unchangeable, Eternal, which ordain’d Their freedom, they themselves ordain’d their fall.

Hahaha wait a minute “I else must… revoke the high Decree Unchangeable, Eternal [for free will]”. YOu are GOD YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU FUCKING

I make a big deal about this partially because Christians use all of this logic to this day. They really do. “This is the nature of the universe! We can’t do anything about it! If you saw someone about to walk off a cliff, would you stop them?”

Show me the cliff? Who put the cliff there? Why a cliff and not a reasonable conversation? Why pain for eternity and not just, idk, showing up to talk to people? What is wrong with you and what is wrong with your god?

I have this complete supposition—and I don’t know how right it is—but religions tend to reflect the governments and power structures they were built underneath. So Zeus and the Olympians reflect the oligarchies of the Greek city-states; medieval Chinese literature describes an afterlife full of bureaucracy; the Finnish Kalevala describes God as “the Old Man,” someone all-powerful you never see, because for so long the Finns’ own relationship with government was as some far-flung court somewhere.

In other words, the Christian god is an anachronism: a stone-age king more akin to Zeus and the Babylonian gods, with human foibles and human pettiness, a powerful little rich man without any concept of other people because he doesn’t have to think about them in any depth.

“The first sort by their own suggestion fell, Self-tempted, self-deprav’d: Man falls deceiv’d By the other first: Man therefore shall find grace, The other none: in Mercy and Justice both, Through Heav’n and Earth, so shall my glory excel, But Mercy first and last shall brightest shine.”

Again: gross, although for a different reason.

So, because Man does not come to sin of his own volition—sin, as in the exercise of his free will, his ability to choose—he is granted mercy, whereas the devils (who have tempted him with sin) are not.

You wouldn’t need “mercy” if you hadn’t made “hell.”

Again, this is an abusive setup. You’ve got the Creator of the Universe acting like he can’t do shit (how embarrassing) since he’s set up this system (he’s omniscient, he should have seen every problem before he started). He’s constructed a universe where thousands and thousands of souls go to Hell to suffer forever so that he can “save” a fraction of lives to show how cool he is.

What an insufferable character. But it makes sense if you look at him as that petty stone-age king: I have altered the deal. Pray I do not alter it further. (This is mercy.)

#paradise lost #christianity #reading #vv zootin #vvatchword #vv reading

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suppenzeit · 2 years ago

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BVs costume is pretty decent, actually: the post

Disclaimer: I'm not actually a professional, but I do like to think I'm not completely clueless. Also, I haven't written analysis like this in literal years.

Anyway, analysis below the cut

Some notes about his color:

-The color of his costume is a really good question. Depending on the lighting he can look purple or blue or even black. Color picking a neutral value in neutral lighting puts his base color right in the middle of blue and purple.

-However, I like him being blue more, so I’ll refer to him as blue.

-It really doesn’t matter though, as his base color really is best described as either a bluish-purple or a purplish-blue.

Anyway, let's get right into the analysis.

Overall, the goal of changing BVs design was to make him look more like a smooth talking gangster, and all of my points are about how his design achieves this goal. I’m not here to compare him to CBs costume, they’re trying to communicate totally different things, and comparing them wouldn’t really achieve much. (But just fyi, CBs costume really is just, *chefs kiss*, perfect little clown boy)

His color really is the most obvious thing about him. For a red caboose he sure doesn’t have a lot of red. Sure, but the change in base color is just strengthening his personality. The darker color makes him stand out less, fitting his more shady personality, and the blue makes sure that his red pieces and pinstripes still pop.

See how the stripes pop against the blue better compared to the red, even though they’re the same value?

And the stripes. The stripes have gone from just representing wood panels, to looking more like actual pinstripes, with the dark base and lighter stripes. This reinforces the idea that he’s more of a gangster, more specifically the smooth talking kind.

The red in the red caboose is now mainly limited to his hat, shoulder pieces, chest piece, gloves and shoes. Most of his red being near his face guides the eyes towards it, making his face stand out even without flashy makeup. His gloves and shoes could have been black, but I think them being red brings a nice balance (and his red shoes do look rather dapper!).

The shoulder pieces don’t resemble a caboose shape in the slightest, but Starlight Express isn’t too concerned with accuracy to real life. And neither am I, as long as it serves a good purpose. Trapezoidal shoulder pieces are sleek, and remind me of the padded shoulders of certain zoot suits, once again reinforcing the gangster theme. And, from the back, especially at an angle, the pieces form a sleek caboose shape.

His hat can look a bit goofy I admit, but it does heavily depend on who is wearing it. Dan has a tendency to pull it down a bit too much, with no skew (though this could possibly be just his hat not fitting too well because it’s damaged). Thankfully most other actors wear it better, making the hat look less goofy.

(L -> R: Dan Ellison, Gary Sheridan, Tom Nihill, Kai Cameron-Jay and Darius James)

And still speaking about the hat, while the shape isn't quite like a regular caboose cupola, it is pretty close to a more tapered design seen in some Pennsylvania Railroad cabooses!

Now, for some actual complaints.

-His design is actually a bit empty? I wish he had something more going on, but I have no idea what you could even add.

-His chestpiece looks kinda goofy ngl. But again, I’m not sure what could replace it. A chest box perhaps? Though I have my own personal reasons for not wanting him to have one…

-I wish he had some more silver in him. Perhaps some necklaces attached to his scarf?

-Speaking of, the scarf doesn’t quite fit the theme. Maybe making the costume look more like a suit and making the scarf a high collar instead could work? That’s something for me to ponder about later...

And I think I’ve ran out of juice! Thank you for reading this quick analysis of his costume! Discussion, comments and questions are welcome :)

#stex #starlight express #bv the brake van

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torielectra83 · 3 years ago

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Garak and the Jack Pack

Want to thank

@volixia669

for giving me the idea and motivation; this is the first fic I've posted and finished in quite a while. Also gonna tag

@unicorn-and-bluebells

and

@tirlaeyn

since their DS9-related posts are what helped lead me to this (if there's a DS9-related Discord I should join, let me know); note that I'm not much of a shipper (and I'm ace), so I wasn't quite sure how to approach the Bashir/Garak relationship; I just left it in the background (and the lizard man t-shirt).

“Oh, Doctor. There you are, and I….see you’ve brought company!” As he could see, Dr. Bashir was heading for the Replimat for his typical luncheon with him, only four other people were crowded around him. A skinny man with a mustache, a stocky older man with a timid expression, a rather gregarious-looking woman, and another woman who looked rather distant. “Oh, hello Garak. I’d like to apologize for being a bit late.”

“Oh, don’t worry, given what I’m seeing it’s very much a valid excuse.” Garak had heard about the other genetically-engineered people who’d been sent to DS9 to meet Dr. Bashir, but he’d been busy with orders at his shop; he’d been thinking about hiring someone to help out, actually. “Well, that’s Jack, Patrick, Lauren and Sarina. This is my...friend Garak, he runs a tailoring shop here on the Promenade.” “Oh, hi there, Hi. Uh, I gotta go over to the replicator, I’m starving over here.” Jack promptly excused himself, while Lauren made her way to Garak next. “Well, hello, Mr. Garak.” She promptly began her flirtatious attitude. “If you’re trying to seduce me...it won’t work. I am sorry, but I do not generally do one night stands.” Surprised and somewhat disappointed, Lauren backed away.

Patrick then approached Garak. “Do you make clothes?” “Yes, I do.” Patrick then grinned eagerly. “Good, because the clothes the institute gives us are too...itchy and things like that. Do you have softer clothes?” “Well, I can certainly make some? I believe Dr. Bashir said you need “sensory-friendly” clothing?” Bashir nodded; the term was an old term from pre-warp Earth. “I’ll do it at no charge; anyone who’s a friend of Dr. Bashir is a friend of mine.” He sipped his Tarkalean tea as Jack argued with the replicator over not being able to make something, while Lauren used the other one to replicate a bowl of Vulcan plomeek soup.

“And… Sarina, is it? I’ve noticed you haven’t said anything yet.” Garak simply saw the young woman turn, before holding up a PADD, with words written on it -- “I can’t speak, If you want to have a conversation with me, use this.” She promptly set the PADD down and continued to watch Jack’s tussle with the computer. “Sarina’s unable to speak, I can explain the whole thing later Garak.” Julian felt the need to pre-emptlively apologize for their behavior. “Oh, you don’t need to. I’m seeing people with a lot of potential here.” Bashir nodded. “So do I. And not many others do. That’s why I brought them here. I want to try and help them.”

“They seem to be helping themselves.” As Garak watched, Jack had finally managed to get something from the replicator that agreed with his standards -- a ham sandwich with Bajoran mapa bread. “So, this is the irrefutable Elim Garak, huh?” Jack asked. “Yes, and I see my reputation precedes me.” Garak said politely. “That’s right. Former intelligence agent for the now-defunct Obsidian Order, exiled and now working as a tailor here on DS9.” He said hastily before ripping into his sandwich. Garak raised an eyebrow. “And how did you find that out?” He asked, a tone of interest in his voice. “Oh, you’d be surprised what you can dig up on the extranet. There’s all sorts of unsavory rumors about you, like you causing a Cardassian doctor to break down by staring at them for four hours straight.” He promptly chugged from his cup of targ milk, before continuing. “And that your father was the head of the Obsidian Order, Enabrian Tain, and he got wiped out by the Dominion when the Obsidian Order and Tal Shiar teamed up, yeah, but they didn’t know the second-in-command of the Tal Shiar was actually a Changeling leading them right into a trap!”

“I...think we will have to pick up this conversation sometime later, Doctor.” Garak was getting rather uncomfortable at all this private information being practically shouted in the Promenade. “Oh, and I’ll see what I can do about those new clothes you requested, Patrick.” As Garak walked back to his shop, getting his mind off old events, he began pondering about what to do in the present. My orders are backlogged. I simply need help. As he opened his shop doors to see the current state -- half-finished orders, bolts of fabric all over and supplies in crates he hadn’t unpacked. “I must find someone to help me. I would get Julian but he’s too busy with being in Starfleet.” Garak sighed, and began getting back to working on an order.

Some time later...

Having returned from the Defiant, Dr. Bashir went into Garak’s shop, expecting to see it as it had been for some time -- cluttered and filled with things Garak was working on. He instead found it a hive of activity. Customers were entering and exiting, some waiting for their orders, others were looking at holographic models of new clothes to order. Bashir looked around in confusion. “What the…'' Suddenly, a figure blocked by their holding of several bolts of fabric maneuvered into view. “Look out, everyone!” Bashir knew that voice. “Patrick?!” “Oh, hi, Dr. Bashir.” Patrick didn’t even turn back as he carried the bolts into the back of the shop. “Patrick, how did you get here?” Bashir followed him, and realized the entire “Jack Pack” (as someone, most likely Quark, had nicknamed them) was working there. Patrick set the bolts down for Jack, who proceeded to start measuring what exactly was needed for that order. Lauren was busy inputting data of some kind into a PADD, while Sarina was sewing an order up. “Ah, Doctor, good to see you’ve returned home safe and sound!” Garak greeted him cheerily from behind his desk.

“Garak, what is going on here? How did they…” “Well, Julian. I saw their potential and I needed help. And so far, they have been excelling at everything they’ve been doing. I haven’t been this efficient, ever!” Garak looked positively delighted at this. It was rare to see him like this, and Julian was a noted expert on Garak’s emotions. “But...what about the Institute? And Dr. Loews?” “Well, she needed a vacation, and my offer to give them steady employment was something she couldn’t pass up.”

“Oh, well then. But...how are you so busy now?” Julian wondered. “Well, their brightness led them to not only help clear my backorders, but also introduce whole new product lines based on pre-warp Earth stylings. I will admit I knew little about it, but they have brought in several new kinds of clothing. Like this ‘tee shirt’.” Garak promptly held one up, the front reading “WWCKD?” with a small line underneath reading “What Would Captain Kirk Do?” “They’ve come up with several of these things. Like this one for the USS Voyager.” The shirt had a fictional flyer on the front with a picture of Voyager, underneath a “Missing: Reward” banner as if it were a lost dog. “We’ve also re-created other Earth fashions, from “bell-bottoms” to “zoot suits”. I must admit, they make most current styles of clothing look downright boring!”

“Yeah, Dr. Bashir! Here’s one we made especially for you!” Jack promptly handed him a T-shirt and headed into the front of the shop. Julian simply looked at Garak with an expression of disbelief. “Garak, we caught them trying to pass on classified information to the Dominion, and now, they’re recommending I wear a t-shirt that says ‘If lost, return to lizard man for reward’!” He said angrily, shaking the shirt in his hand for added emphasis.

“Doctor...these people needed another chance. One that nobody else was willing to give them. And another thing...they are still very useful analysts. They can predict trends, root out information and generally think far ahead of the game. To be quite honest, they’re the best analysts I’ve ever seen. “ Garak admitted. “Yeah, where else can you get a nice new pair of pants and information of Dominion troop movements?” Lauren commented.

“So...you’re basically running your own intelligence service out of this shop.” Bashir muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Well, there has to be a third-party intel service somewhere. With the Obsidian Order gone, there’s a market for it; we used to take on clients for analysis as a method for extra revenue. Strictly off the books, of course. So that’s what I’m doing now.” Garak reasoned. “And we aren’t just doing war intelligence either; we’ve got multiple projects for the Ferengi Alliance, the First Federation and the Gorn Hegemony for analyzing things like market trends, population censuses and whatnot.” Patrick nodded. “Yeah, Grand Nagus Zek and Ishka appreciate it! We got in touch with them thanks to the Ferengi maintenance guy, oh, what was his name…”

“Rom, that’s him. Real friendly guy. Came up with the self-replicating mines around the wormhole and keeps the holosuites running, real good guy.” Jack said at his normal speedy pace, before returning to his fabric measuring. Sarina promptly passed a PADD to Bashir, with a message reading “This is the best we’ve been treated in years. We’re working for ourselves, we’re constantly kept active, and we’re being paid 5 strips of latinum an hour.”

“Anyway, I’ll see you later, Doctor. We’ve got a lot to do before closing time today. After that we can meet at Quark’s, perhaps? Jack came up with this astounding holo-program based on another pre-warp Earth cultural thing, a “game show” called...Wipeout, yes. It involved picking the right answers and avoiding the wrong ones, it’s fascinating. But we have work to do and I’m sure you have work in the infirmary.”

Garak promptly ushered Dr. Bashir out of the store and back onto the Promenade. “...what just happened?”

#ds9 #dr bashir #garak #jack pack #one shot fic

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wickedsrest-rp-archive · 3 years ago

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ZOOted | group chatzy

TIMING: Midday, August 29, 2021. LOCATION: The Main Street of Downtown. SUMMARY: What’s black and white and silent all over? The creatures at the zoo make their grand escape. TRIGGERS: Brief vomit (marked in chatzy), animal death.

Anara Kingston was just getting ready to open up her family bistro for the day, hands propped on her hips as she admired the storefront that multiple generations had made thrive on the corner of Main Street in Downtown White Crest. There was your usual display of signage, an eye-catching banner that advertised a meatball sandwich special, and a small paper in the lower left corner of the front window that proudly read ‘127 days since last accident’. The notice was actually one of the larger draws of the establishment in a town such as White Crest, where oddities and danger seemed to lurk around every dark corner. People wanted to feel safe while they ate, munching on overpriced meals while they tarried the day away. Anara leaned forward to polish the glass in front of the advertisement of their sanctity, only to stiffen when she heard a foreign braying of...was that a donkey? No. She’d been around enough of the farms that peppered White Crest to know it wasn’t the sound of such a creature.

A clopping of hooves was quick to follow the strange barking, and to the shop owner’s amazement, none other than a genuine zebra had begun to parade down Main Street, children and adults laughing and pointing alike as the escaped creature began to graze on the flowerbeds of a plant shop.

Nell stared for a solid minute at the zebra that had waltzed down Main Street as if he owned the place, already trying to figure out whether this was some bullshit she was willing to deal with today, or if she should simply call Kaden at Animal Control and make this his problem. Unfortunately her decision was made for her as a swarm of pixies, seemingly also escaped from the zoo, buzzed after the zebra to tug at anything they could get their grimy little hands around. With a deep sigh, Nell made her way over to the swarm that was doing their best to scalp a woman by yanking at her hair. This was now officially a problem she needed to solve.

Sai huffed as he ran down the sidewalk after a black horned Scapegoat that had gleefully decided to aid some oddly silent goats on their break towards glorious freedom. “No Ibulba! They live in the zoo!”

Keys rattled as Metzli strode towards their gallery, deciding to walk through Main Street. Yuca was leashed and in tow, picking up her pace in excitement. She always loved walking about the gallery. All the pets and enrichment she could ask for, making for a very happy cat. That was until, a swarm of sprites zoomed past the two and made the vampire stumble and trip, dropping their umbrella. Yuca mewled terribly, angry and shocked by the sudden interruption.

Metzli barely had enough time to react as they saw the swarm circling back around. Eyes widened and they reached for a door, any door to swiftly let Yuca inside, but it was no use. The sun made their skin sting and bones ache, but getting their cat to safety was the top priority. Leaping into an alleyway, only a few of the sprites managed to find them and picked and prodded at their skin. “What the fuck!” They yelled, hoping they could catch someone’s attention as they wrapped their arms around Yuca.

It had been drizzling on and off all day, leaving the pavement tiles slightly slicker than Chloe liked as she navigated her trolley along the road. Her mind was fractured in several place - thinking about the strange flower order she’d processed for a funeral this morning that for some reason wanted tree roots in the bouquet as well as flowers, about the grocery shop she’d just finished, and the painting of Lydia’s face that stuck with her. She didn’t notice the rumbling of animals at first, until something pig-sized, black, and white cantered past her. Chloe screamed, jumping back as she waved her umbrella at the mime-like creature, her eyes wide. After a second, her hand clutching her chest, Chloe realised it wasn’t another evil type of mime, but just a… an anteater? No, what were they called… The ones with the longer noses that looked a little like pie-bald pigs…. The word would come to her in a moment, but it didn’t look too threatening.

Unfortunately, most things in White Crest didn’t.

Bly had spent the morning in a coffee shop with Nas and overall it had been a really freaking good time. Nas had to meet up with his girlfriend so he had left them alone in the shop until they had finished their coffee. Leaving with the shop, overpacked backpack slung over their shoulder, they stopped short. Was there like a fair and they had missed the advertisements? It didn’t really seem like a fair, but White Crest was weird like that. “So, uh, is this like an event? I didn’t buy a ticket so I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be here?” They looked over to a person nearby, hands splayed out in front of them. “I don’t have cash on me either, so I can’t even buy a ticket!”

White Crest’s one and only white Bengal tiger prowled around, looking at all of the strange and new sights that one never gets to see from behind a cage. However, she only had one thing on her mind. Where, oh where, was that zebra?

Alcher didn’t often go into town, but something had piqued her interest today. She could smell the animals crowding the streets, free from their cells at the local zoo. It was something she knew would be fun to watch, if not join in on. Unfortunately, being a wolf in this commotion might end up with her being chased by the humans who thought animals belonged in cages as well, so it was in her human guise that she showed up downtown, arms folded as she watched. Someone spoke up nearby, and Alcher shrugged. An event, not that would be funny. A smile curled her lips. “I can not say, but I can say I am enjoying this, are you?”

Nell didn’t necessarily want to kill the sprites. After all, as far as murderous pint-sized things went, they were decently harmless for the most part. And perhaps she could relate with being so angry at a world while being so little. Not that she’d ever admit that. So instead of burning them to bits with some form of iron, she looked around for any sort of box, container, something to hold the creature within. Seeing the person struggling with their umbrella nearby she yelled out to them. “You got a box or something? A bag? Anything?”

Morgan couldn’t remember how she’d convinced herself that taking Sundew along her usual weekend walk/leisurely shopping trip would be relaxing. On their way, the smug pixie delighted in reading every sign, front page, and logo they passed. When Morgan said Sundew didn’t have to, she knew how smart she was, she seriously didn’t have to, the pixie only cackled and circled higher to see more things, and then spoke of her ambition to market something to humans as ‘natural and organic’ and fill it with cat droppings. And this was before Morgan went from giving Bex a look of apology one next and starting a zebra eyeball-to-eyeball the next.

If Morgan had ever learned anything useful about zebras, it vanished in that moment. All she could process were its stripes, its beady, wicked little black eyes, and the tension freezing her cold muscles.

“That's a dummy looking horsey,” Sundew giggled. “It’s hair is almost as funny looking as yours!”

Morgan ached to take the pixie and squeeze her quiet, but it dawned on her, just in time, that there were a lot of people she recognized just beyond her (at least one she never wanted to see) and stare-down with a zebra was going to be the least of her concerns.

“Sai!” Morgan called. “You’re proficient in animal handling, right??”

Things in White Crest had been pretty mild, all things considered, which to experts like Leah meant that mischief was right around the corner. She had been thinking it all morning, and the thoughts continued to plague her as she sat for a quick lunch in the park. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind again than she heard a rumbling close by- literally around the corner. She stood up suddenly, confusion lacing her features, and walked toward Main street where she saw the contents of the zoo quite literally spilling out into town. A couple of lemurs hung from a tree nearby and suddenly, a dalmatian soared past her, running in the direction of a pet supply shop. Did the zoo hold dalmations now, too?

“Uhhh, I mean, I am trying to enjoy it but, like, there’s a tiger here now.” Bly said etched the animal began to look around looking like it was trying to find prey. “I’m pretty sure it would probably try to eat me if it had a chance. I don’t want to be eaten today?” There was a lemur somewhere nearby, Bly could hear it and they were starting to think this wasn’t an event. “Do you think we should like call the government or something?”

Sai ran up to one of the zoo employees that’d been rather nonchalantly pursuing the escaping animals, recognizing their striped uniform and panda hat. “I’m sorry… sir did you ..” he panted hands on his knees. “See which …way…the …goats..went?”

The Quiet Panda Fan regarded Sai expressionlessly for a time. Eyes with strange white pupils and black irises, contacts no doubt, seemed to bore into some deep place inside of the wizard. The Panda Fan turned and walked into an alley out of sight.

“Oh thanks!” Sai followed after, thinking Ibulba and the goat exodus had run into a dead end. He walked into the alley only to watch the Panda fan be torn apart by some unseen force, sinews, sin, and fuzzy panda kitsch unraveling into a haze of hair-thin black and white strands. The pale and dark flesh-ribbons swirled around Sai like a school of curious Koi fish before slithering onto the walls of the alley. Black and white murals of zebras, penguins, pandas danced beneath a picture of a black sun with white rays all over the alley walls. Above it all were the words “BENEATH THE LOATHSOME NOISE OF LIFE, BLESSED SILENCE WAITS.”

Sai swallowed as he stared, but thankfully Morgan's voice called out from somewhere on the street. “Uh…uh, yes! Yes I can help,” the wizard shouted, running aware from the black and white murals now adorning the alley bricks.

Forming into a ball to protect Yuca and their face, Metzli heard Nell call out her question. They answered in a frustrated huff, “Does it look like a have a fucking box?!” Swatting away with an arm they growled and hit several of the few sprites picking at them, even managing to grab one and bite its head off without a second thought.

Somewhere, in the distance, screaming could be heard. A waddle of penguins had just stolen a man’s coffee.

“I think it’s cute,” Bex had said when Morgan insisted Sundew didn’t need to read every sign possible as they strolled downtown. She was like a toddler, learning to read for the first time, and eager to show off and prove to people how smart they were. Bex gave Sundew a smile, and a quiet wink when Morgan stopped and Bex nearly ran into her. In the street, a zebra trotted by, and for a moment, Bex wasn’t sure she was seeing things right. She rubbed her eyes, looked between the animal and Morgan, snapping to and realizing it was, in fact, real, when she called out to Sai. What was he doing here? Why was there a zebra downtown? But as she looked around, she noticed more animals roaming the streets and took off in a trot after Morgan. “What’s going on-- what is that?” Wide curious eyes, not sure if she was supposed to panic or be of help somehow.

The anteater? Pig? shaped animal slowed to a trot in front of Chloe, then snuffled at a nearby plant pot full of purple gardenias, its long nose prodding and poking at the flowers. Skeptically, Chloe bristled the umbrella at it, not trusting that anything this innocuous looking could truly be innocuous. Someone yelled at her and she tore away her eyes from the creature for a second to look at the young woman. “Uh!” She yelled back, looking at her trolley full of groceries, before remembering that she’d packed some extra reusable cotton bags in case she bought more. Turning her gaze back to the animal that was now happily monching on the flowers, she pulled out the reusable bags. “Will these do? What is going on??”

Alcher regarded the tiger that was pointed out with a placid expression. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” The child was complaining, and they smelled so human, it made Alcher’s nose crinkle through the scents of animals free from their prisons. “You do not know that. Not all animals are vicious and want to eat everything.” A shrug, and she was strolling away from them and into the street. “What good can men in suits do? I say enjoy the show, kinder, perhaps it is a free one.”

Nell growled in frustration as the first person proved useless, though she supposed they were busy protecting their cat. Fine. As always, she’d have to do it herself. But then another woman procured a plastic bag, and there was hope for the people of the world and their abilities to respond to a crisis once again. “It’s gonna have to do!” Nell said while reaching out for the bags, already thinking of a spell she could use to make them stronger, harder to be torn apart by little sprite hands. “Looks like a jail break,” Nell replied dryly, recognizing some of the animals from the zoo.

The tiger could smell her prey in the distance. It was near a group of the two legged creatures, those humans who locked her in behind those bars and watched her. Now, she watched them. Now, they would not separate her from her meal. She moved forward with the confidence of a prisoner released from her cage after too long. Like a prisoner, she wanted a good meal, and she wanted it fresh. One of the humans, a strange smelling one, one that did not seem human at all, regarded her, and so the tiger returned the look only for a moment. She was so hungry. She would eat.

The sprites became preoccupied by Nell’s trapping attempt, giving Metzli enough time to get up and run off with Yuca in their arms. That’s when they saw the rest of the animals roaming about the street. Zebras, tigers, and several others. Supernatural others. “Whoa…” They said, amazed and confused. “What is happ—” They were interrupted by running into someone, and that someone was Morgan.

“My familiar is criminal,” declared Sai mournfully as he reached Morgan, Bex, and another clumsy person, face flushed from a long sprint down several streets.

“I guess?” Bly had to admit it did make sense that animals didn’t always want to eat people. Still… They didn’t want to test it. “They might get hurt if we don’t help them though! A tiger or a zebra isn’t going to do well in Maine. It’s cold here.” Then the tiger was looking at them and Bly was pretty thankful they didn’t pee themself. They slowly inched behind the intense lady, “I don’t like this. Making eye contact with a tiger is a bad idea!”

Sundew had never dreamed of a more perfect day. The humans looked so silly with their faces like that and one of them made the funniest sound when a fluffy cloud of sprites swarmed and picked at her nisty-nasty hair.

Sundew flew out of her hiding spot on Morgan’s shoulder and conjured a mallet just her size between her fingers. She bonked the human running toward them to help, then she flew toward the sprites, cackling, “Yes! Yes! Cage-free chaos!” Then she flew to the nearest human and bit their hand and left the image of a lion paw on their wrist instead. “Woopsie! Better get that checked out! I hope your premiums are good!”

Morgan looked from Sundew, to Sai, to Bex, to the zebra, and back again. There were people losing their coffee, people losing their sanity, Nell and Chloe maybe doing something clever with a plastic bag, and it was all too much.

“What do you mean criminal?” She cried. “Did Ibulba do this?” Normally this would’ve been outrageous but nothing was outrageous today. The zebra bared his teeth and Morgan jumped back and ran into someone else.

“Oh, hi. Nice day for a walk, huh? You really might wanna consider going anywhere else right now.” Then she saw Sundew fluttering back their way with a familiar, dangerous look on her face. “Or better yet, get down! This really isn’t safe for anyone!”

Chloe eyed the animal chewing on the plants, itching around it carefully. When she looked up at Nell again, she frowned, finally realising that the ungulate creature wasn’t the only thing running around. All of the animals were black and white, and despite the havoc they were creating, they were much quieter than a normal stampede. “Are you going to use a bag to try and stop-” Chloe gestured at the skunks, snakes and single cow, as well as the terrifying creature beside them. Its nose was too long and flexible. She didn’t trust it.

Bex glanced between Sai and Morgan. Sai seemed breathless and Morgan seemed panicked and Sundew was off making trouble with some small, butterfly-looking creatures that seemed to like her. As far as animal handling went, Bex had rolled low, she’d never been around animals in her life, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know anything about them. The zebra brayed at them and she scooted behind Morgan as well, when someone bumped into them. A familiar someone.

“Metzli??” she breathed, raising a brow. Why were they here? It was still daytime! “Oh, watchout!” She called, tugging on their arm as Sundew whizzed toward them, ready to spread more antics. “Sundew, no, please!” she tried. The pixie rarely listened to Bex, even though she often let them braid her hair in the garden and laugh about silly pixie things.

Nell shook her head while she mumbled a quick spell under her breath, and the cotton bag stiffened into something much harder. “What?” she asked with vague annoyance on her features while she tried to figure out how to herd the sprites into the bag. “You want me to use the bag on the tapir?” That was the long-nosed thing standing next to Chloe, right? She remembered seeing them in the jungles of South America. “If you wanna keep it as a pet you’re gonna have to use something else. Maybe think of a name for it first. But no- this is for them!” she replied, gesturing towards the swarm of pixies.

“Maybe? I don’t know? She is aiding and abetting it at least, and her unluck is very powerful ,” Sai confessed glumly, as if somehow convinced his magic goat would be put on trial for zoo escapes.

It was too late, Metzli was knocked to the ground and Yuca yelled out in terror. She almost ran off, but they managed to grab her leash and pull her back in as they got to their feet. They were too frantic between the chaos and trying to get into some shade. “Oh. Hi Bex!” They said in a daze and ran under a nearby canopy for protection with Yuca in their arms once again. Her hackles were raised and she was growling.

Leah watched from across the street as a panda bear chewed on pages from a book, and that was the last straw. Chaos and carnage she could let go, but book destruction? Unacceptable. She stomped across the street toward the bear, taking a deep breath to settle herself as she went.

The tiger and her gorgeous coat stopped to regard Alcher for a moment, and what a sight she was. Alcher simply stood and admired her back, giving a nod. She didn’t need help stalking her prey, but the proud zebra had strutted further down the street and seemed to be oblivious to the chaos it had caused, if maybe proud. Alcher could relate. She would want to kill it, too. Perhaps it would taste sweet, like the smell of fae hanging in the air. Fae blood was a treasure for someone like Alcher, though she did not indulge often-- fae held grudges, fae remembered, fae had magic she didn’t want to mess with. Alcher turned to beckon to the child, whose worry was palpable. “I think they’ll do just fine. Keep up, if you don’t want to be the next meal.”

The lemurs began jumping on people, using their little hands to flip people off. They’d learned things during school field trips.

Sundew would later tell her troop that she’d made fifty humans think they were turning into animals even if it was only more like ten.

“Can’t catch me!” She giggled, whizzing by Bex. She pulled on the girl’s hair as hard as she could, humans were so silly when they weeble-wobbled, and did several circles in the air to show how much she was enjoying herself. She circled around to where the sprites were clustering and touched her toes to the tops of their heads as she crowed, “Fly my pretties, fly!” Just to get them good and riled up.

The zebra in front of Morgan pulled its ears back and huffed silently, then, swift as chaos, it reared and lunged at Morgan, knocking her down as it pranced toward freedom. Morgan wheezed, wincing as her chest bent back into the right shape, and looked ahead into the thick cluster of goats and animals. “What I’m hearing, Sai, is that this is only gonna get worse until we find your goat. And so we gotta—“ she gestured vaguely at the mess brewing in front of them. “Find her?”

A tall jogger sighed and scooped up a grizzly bear cub that’d been making excited friendly noises at the bibio-voric panda bear and had begun to imitate to see if human literature was indeed delicious. “No Zeke,” Roy sighed, chiding his youngest sibling. “We can’t play with cousin right now.”

Bly’s mouth was dry, this lady just nodded at the tiger. The tiger who was hunting was nodded at by a Lady who didn’t seem to care. Their fingers drummed a rhythm against their sternum, drowning out the pounding underneath it. “You think it might be hungry after a different meal?” Their voice was reaching a scared squeaking pitch. “Should I call my mom?”

“No! I thought you wanted to use the bag on the tapir! It looks shifty!” Chloe yelled back, eyeing it suspiciously again. “I don’t want it as a pet!” All bickering about the tapir faded away as she saw the sprites twisting around in the air. Chloe froze, shrinking in on herself as she clutched her iron necklace her breath racing. “I- I can’t- I can’t I can’t-” She handed Nell an iron necklace with a long iron chain on it, fingers trembling as she pressed her back against the wall. Please don’t notice me, please don’t notice me, she thought as loud as she could.

Bex recoiled. “See if I ever share my gummies with you again!” she growled at the pixie as she incited a rebellion among the butterfly beings. Her eyes roamed again until she found Metzli under a canopy, cradling their cat. “Maybe you should get out of here? Your cat seems angry and scared and I think it’s just gonna get um--” she glanced back at Morgan, the zebra, wincing at the hit, refraining from calling out to her-- “worse.” She waved her hands a moment. “At least stay here! I’ll be back.” She backed away, then, and made her way over to Sai. “Which way did she go? Can you, like, track her?” She tried to think of a way for herself to be useful, but barring becoming a distraction, she couldn’t think of much. “Maybe we should split up?”

The tiger was close enough, now, her prey nearly in her mouth it was so close. She looked to the human that did not smell like a human, to the cub human next to her. They were not important. One did not smell like prey, and the other was too small to worry with. The tiger had her prey. She looked back at it and let out a silent snarl. Sound had not come out of her, not anymore. Not since she had been locked behind those bars, since the colors in her fur dripped from her like rain water. She lunged, teeth and claws sinking into the hind end of her prey. It, too, could not properly cry out. The tiger finally had her meal.

“She probably wants to take the petting zoo goats to the farm,” Sai said, watching with wide eyes as Morgan went from definitely dead to bodily wholeness in the span of seconds. “Which…would mean I’d be harboring stolen property aw shit noooooo!”

Bea heard the yells before she saw anything out of the ordinary. All she had wanted was to buy a bottle of wine and have a bubble bath tonight. Sighing, the witch cracked open a bottle, screw top, Thank God, and took a sip. She saw her sister doing something and determined it was likely best to go help her. “Hey, Nellie,” She said casually as she offered the bottle to her sister. “Who let the animals out of the zoo?”

The tiger took its prey and Alcher grinned. The young human was panicking and she rolled her eyes. “What good would that do? If you want to survive, you must think smarter.” She didn’t know why she was even bothering with this human child, but she didn’t know how to walk away anymore. She’d grown...soft. Shuddering, Alcher turned away. She could smell them on the air, her cousins. They were traveling together and were getting closer. She had been waiting for this. It was time to make a new home for them. “Come,” she ushered to the child, “I want to show you something.”

Nell shot the other woman an incredulous look, sparing the black and white tapir once more glance before calling back to her in exasperation. “It’s a vegetarian!” The witch couldn’t remember the fancy name for ‘plant-eater’ right now. She wasn’t sure what to make of the blond’s alarm, but it only took Nell a moment to recognize the iron that had been deposited into her hand. She still didn’t want to kill the things...but maybe she could use this to herd them. It covered more ground than her knife, anyway. Swinging the chain above her head in a wide circle, Nell moved towards the sprites with her bag in the other hand. “Get!” she yelled out of instinct, as if she were wrangling some particularly rowdy cattle. “Into the bag and I won’t singe your wings off!” Bea? What the hell? Where had Bea come from? “I don’t know who let them out. Would you care to help get them back in?”

Miriam had decided to go for a walk, her skin mostly covered as she wore a large sun hat and glasses, looking for a meal before she headed back home. She was drawn to an intense amount of misery and pain, despair coming from a particular area of town. She was curious, this much concentrated agony unusual. “That little fucker waddled away with my cappuccino!” was all Miriam heard as she stumbled upon, well, a herd. All sorts of wildlife ran amok, and she blinked against the sight of it. She should turn around. She was going to turn around. This was just a little much for even her.

Mom always said not to lose your head. She also always said that letting strangers show you things would often end up poorly. Bly had already lost their head, might as well let a stranger show them something. Plus, she wasn’t scared and it was a good idea to be with someone who wasn’t losing their shit. “Uh, yeah sure? Is it another tiger cus I’m not sure if I can deal with that. Especially after witnessing that…” They trailed off looking at the tiger feasting, it made their stomach turn.

Of course Yuca was upset, her predators were roaming about and Metzli could do close to nothing to help as long as the sun was around. People were running and screaming as they glared quietly. They opted to simply threaten, baring their teeth in a predatory show of dominance under the safety of the shadows, petting Yuca and cooing at her every so often. They needed just a little more time before they were able to bolt back home.

The wine was ignored and Bea let out a little huff through her nose. She wouldn’t offer next time then. Screwing the top back on, she placed the bottle back into her tote bag gingerly. It was a pretty nice wine. “Direct me, Nell. I don’t exactly have experience in this.” If Nell wasn’t here, deep in the fray like she always was, Bea might have considered leaving, but her sister was and so Bea couldn’t leave. “What are you going to do with the bag after you get them?”

The sprites were only too happy to listen to Sundew. With a cascade of hissing and fluttering they rose, spread and circled the room. When the iron started flying into their cluster, their humming grew louder. Yes, it was going to be a cutting kind of day after all.

Morgan nodded along to Sai’s words. “Mkay. No one is harboring stolen animals. Petting zoo. We got this. We totally got this.” She stood slowly and staggered forward. But maybe, uh—” Morgan didn’t want to broadcast that she couldn’t remember what Ibulba looked like under these circumstances, but just then, every fluffy goat in the distance looked the same. “A description so we can all be equally aware and prepared would help!” She nodded encouragingly, then stuck her hand into her bag and took out a snack to eat on her way to the goats.

Alcher walked through the animals as they gave her a wide berth, especially those one might consider prey. Even in this form, they could sense what she was and she moved like a fish through water, smooth and gliding, the child in tow. Good, they’d decided to follow. She made her way down the alley and towards the edge of the streets, where it met fields of grass and eventually grew into trees. She looked back at the child. “Not a tiger, no,” she pointed at the pack of only black and white wolves, stalking the edge of the forest. They, too, had found prey, and Alcher was eager to watch. “Watch how nature truly works. This is what the world makes of those who are weak.” Of those who are prey, like little human children.

“Everything here is weirdly quiet and mime shaped so the tapir probably eats hearts on the DL!” Chloe yelled back. When she noticed the sprites, her body trembled, remembering the time she’d seen them swarm and slaughter a nearby bird. The other thing she’d learned was that wherever there were sprites, there were pixies lording over them like a bite sized monarch. She shied further back into the street, terrified to get any closer, when suddenly the sprites grew more and more energetic, spreading out and urging into a frenzy. One zipped inches from Chloe’s face as she choked on the kind of scream banned by fae promise, unable to do so much as swat them away. “Maybe- maybe- maybe something sweet!” Fae were renowned for their sweet tooths, she knew.

Sai shoved a hand in his pocket and grabbed a handful of Parmesan cheese from the baggie in there. He covertly held the Parmesan flat on his hand while moving closer to Morgan to screen the cheese from view. The Tyromancer murmured a few phrases under his breath and the cheese grains shaped themselves into a moving perfect replica of the black horned Scapegoat. “That's her”

Bro, Mom was one hundred percent right. This was a bad idea. A messed up teaching moment. The dizziness wasn’t fading as Bly looked over the scene that this woman had lead them too. “I really, really prefer when I see nature working through a documentary.” Why had they had coffee today? That always made their anxiety spike and their anxiety was already spoke. “I mean this is metal as fuck, like maybe you should write for horror movies, but I’m not a prey animal? I’m not going to be in situations like this very often and a pack of wolves isn’t going to eat me. I’m not weak. Or like I’m not usually weak?”

Bex watched in awe as Sai shaped the cheese, a bit gleeful at the creation of it. She wondered if one day she could do something like that. Maybe not with cheese. Definitely not with cheese. She glanced up and squinted down the street towards where Morgan was headed, the heard of goats far enough away to look like a stripe of cotton on the horizon. “Okay,” she nodded and started off across the street, looking both ways and letting a heard of quick moving raccoons scuttle down the road towards the alleys before turning to head up the sidewalk. She spotted Nell and Bea and another woman dealing with the sprites and decided it was probably better to not disturb them, pulling her own magic to the edge of her fingertips in case she’d need it. “Ibulba!” she called out as she got closer, “I’ve got um-- apples for you!” Goats liked apples, right?

Nell patience was worn thin. She already had so little of it to begin with, especially these days in the wake of everything that had happened over the past few months. Without warning she whipped the iron chain hard and fast enough to slice clean through a swath of the sprites, killing them instantly as their burned halves fell to the ground. “Get in the bag while you still can.” Again it had come to violence. Was this what she was supposed to be doing? Killing sprites and helping people? But the sprites weren’t being helped. The reason she couldn’t be worthy in the way Dave had said— was it because she’d never been able to solve things without adding more violence? Trying to shake her head of the thoughts she spoke again to Bea. “I’m gonna put them in the bag and glue them to the fucking ground. Then I’ll deal with them after.” Bea wanted direction. The biggest threat was the tiger, though she seemed happy now that she’d gotten her meal. “Just herd the animals back towards the zoo. Starting with this guy-” Nell nodded in the tapir’s direction. “A shadow leash or something.” The blond’s continued fear drew Nell’s attention, and she didn’t hesitate to dissect the sprite into two, the necklace swinging inches from the woman’s face.

Alcher frowned and turned to look back at the child, golden eyes reflecting sunlight in a way human ones could not. “Oh, but you are, child,” was all she said, before she moved forward swiftly and finally ripped free of her human flesh. She wanted to join the pack, the ache of needing one too hard to resist.

There was finally a chance, a chance to run in the midst of the chaos. Everyone was doing their best to do a multitude of things. Stop the chaos, run from the chaos, and even ensuing more chaos. Normally, Metzli would be excited by their own dangerous plans, but they would never dare risk Yuca’s life like that. And so they ran as fast as they could, inconspicuously. Running past Bex, they pulled her to the side as an ostrich that was running next to them nearly trampled her. “Watch your back!” They yelled as they continued to run, and get the fuck away from the fun. It was fun they were willing to miss out on. “This doesn’t mean I like you though!” Their voice trailed off into the distance as they finally escaped with Yuca. Passing by Bly and taking the chance for a little chaos. “Watch out. There’s a leopard behind you…!” Even yelling “Made you look!” As they continued.

Ibulba was watching approvingly as the quiet petting zoo goats tore through an upscale clothing store. Stalls and hangers toppled inside the store, the destruction escalating in unlikely domino effects as some unseen force seemed to play havoc with probability. Ibulba and several other goats were munching on a delicious Marie-Chantal Miller wedding dress they’d pulled out from the shattered viewing window. But her ears perked up at her name.

Ibulba turned to face the familiar she-human who was holding an apple to her. Ibubla turned back to look, and saw the sacking of the silky human-covering place was well in hand. She trotted over to Bex, seeming at home in the surrounding anarchy, and took a prospective bite of the apple.

Bex stumbled when Metzli whizzed by her, yanking her out of the path of a storming ostrich. Scrunching her nose, she shouted back, “Yes you do!” before she reached her destination and found the clothing store in utter disarray. Well...most of the dresses were tacky, anyway. She wondered if expensive clothing tasted better than bargain bin. But Ibulba was happily trotting over to her and she held out the apple she’d had in her bag and reached out to pat her head. “Hey there,” she said casually, smiling at her. “Sai’s kinda worried about you, ya know. Can you go back to him? I think he really needs your help.” From what Bex had seen of her, and knew of her, she was fiercely protective of her spellcaster. It was the bond between familiar and caster Nell had told Bex about, and she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. “Besides, looks like your friends’ve got everything under control here.”

Shadow leash. Bea could handle that, and she could start gathering a decent amount of animals with her as she went with them. “Alright. I’ll be back when I can okay.” It was good to see Nell take charge. There was energy in her voice, a commanding tone that had been missing. “You’re doing a good job,” She said offhandedly as she subtly made a shadow leash for the tapir. The animal moved uncomfortably as it realized what she had done but she was already walking along, forcing him to follow.

VOMIT TW BEGIN

This was it, this lady was a serial killer and Bly was about to be a victim. Then her skin… changed and there was a wolf in her place and finally that bile that had been working it’s way up erupted, Bly choking on it as they let out a surprised wail. As they spit it up into the grass, someone screamed about a leopard and it took all Bly’s strength to sprint away as fast as they could. They were pretty sure they had screamed, but they were running to fast to know what left them as they reentered the chaos.

VOMIT TW END

Morgan had just enough calm to take note of the image without choking on her fried brains. “Beautiful,” she deadpanned, and shambled with Bex toward that goat.

Sundew flew somersaults into the air, faster and faster, speeding toward the ground. A big black and white furry creature sneezed and swatted at her and sent her veering off course, into Morgan’s head.

Morgan caught the pixie in the palm of her hand. She had a few irritated words lined up and ready to go when a hundred little cuts pinged on her head and back. The sprites, scattering from the threat of iron, had landed on her, and had decided to take out their aggression on her body. Morgan lurched away from Bex and Ibulba and fell on her knees.

“What was that for?” Sundew asked. She had fully expected to meet the eternal pixie night after that swipe, but the dummy boob had caught her on purpose and for absolutely no trade at all.

Morgan was a little occupied with being bitten by angry sprites. She gave Sundew a dirty glare, so clear even the pixie knew what had to be done. She gave a whistle and ordered the sprites to go home. “There, are you happy now, Dummy Boob?” She asked.

Morgan looked around, dazed and bleary eyed. “You know…maybe yeah,” she said dryly. “Come on. I’ve got a real live bad luck goat for you to meet. And a big ol farm she needs to go home to.”

From an alley, a friend was watching. It was not seen. It was not heard. But it was watching. Perhaps it, too, would one day find a companion to romp through the streets and eat with.

While the sprites rammed into Morgan, Nell saw red. With another uttering of her magic, and a tug on the bond that linked her and the witch’s familiar, Taki was blipping into existence at her side, as easily summoned as breathing air after nearly a decade of doing it. “Roast them,” she told Taki, waiting for the fiery inferno of his breath to make barbecue out of the bothersome pint-sized fae. “Morgan, duck!” A swath of flames erupted from the Ovinikk’s mouth before Nell could realize the sprites were retreating on the orders of Sundew— and the stragglers of the pack screeched as they were set ablaze.

Ibulba closed her amber eyes and concentrated for a moment. She could feel her partner’s mounting anxiety from here. When Ibubla was still a kid, she’d been presented with a young he-human. He suffered from convulsions and visions, but Ibulba has souldbounded with him nevertheless, discerning that his gentleness and diligence would provide balance to her chaos. Ibulba reached through the bond and found her human partner.

Ibulba opened her eyes, munching pensively on the apple while nodding for Bex to follow. Several petting zoo goats looked up questioningly, but Ibulba knew she’d done what she could. They must find their own freedom and delicious silky snacks now. She had a hyperventilating partner to attend to.

Ibulba wove her way unerringly through the stampedes, seeming to navigate through some superior sense of probability. She occasionally checked to see if Bex was following. Eventually she sprinted straight into her caster’s embrace, allowing him to bury his face and mumble inane worried things into her wooly fur.

Relieved, Bex followed Ibulba back to Sai, who grabbed her and hugged her so gratefully, it was as if they’d been parted for years. Or, perhaps, that their distance had pained him. She heard Nell’s familiar voice, too, and looked up from Sai and Ibulba, watching as Taki opened his mouth and let out a roar of flames. Something heavy fell in Bex’s stomach as she heard the anguished cries of the small butterfly critters. Winced and looked away, deciding that keeping her focus on Sai and Ibulba was the best idea. “C’mon, we should maybe get her back to the farm,” she ushered, looking back over her shoulder at Nell and wondering if she noticed her, too. She looked angry. Bex wished she could reach out with her own magic and help calm her down, but that wasn’t within her grasp yet. She patted Ibulba’s head again and smiled at Sai as best she could. “Maybe invest in a leash, too,” she teased.

There was little left of the tiger’s prey as her stomach became overly full. Still, it was so good, so fresh. She would not waste it. And, as the humans’ sounds grew louder, she would not be caught again. No more cages. No more bars. Only fresh, warm prey. She grabbed what was left by its leg and began dragging it off, away from the noise. She would finish it later, after some peace and quiet and freedom.

“T-t-the tiger,” one of the zoo keepers, scrawny and trembling and a voice that was beginning to fail every few words, managed to say. They were a new hire. They’d find their words eventually. Or perhaps lose them. They pointed in the direction of where the tiger had gone, but it was too late to go after her with all the other chaos on the loose. They would have to follow the blood smears and hope it led them to her. After all, how hard would it be to locate a white tiger?

It was all gloved hands on deck as the rest of the zoo keepers, along with some of White Crest’s finest joined together with tranquilizers and began systematically and, for the most part, silently dispatching animals to get them sent back to the zoo. It would be hard work, but it would be done.

While the tiger wandered off, Anara Kingston took inventory of the wreckage that had been done to the front of her bistro, the lemurs that were still flipping the bird to anyone who so much as glanced in their direction, and the actual birds that were fluttering around with teeth that looked a little too human. Hold on. Birds didn’t have teeth, did they? It didn’t matter anymore. With a resigned sigh she turned back towards the sign she’d been so proud to display, sullenly erasing the number on it, changing it to read ‘0 days since last accident.’

#chatzy #wickedswriting #wcw

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yinyanchan · 3 years ago

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Housemates x Zoot Suit Riot Crossover: Lucky and Strike part 1

Wanted to post this for my birthday. You guys get to see it here first before the parts are combined and put on AO3. I will update when that happens as I’d like to do POV’s I’ve written for housemates and Zoot Suit Riot as well. The rating on it will be M as we do have a lot a pervs to cover and well Lucky being Lucky.

Summary: In which Blue and Orange from Housemates end up getting sucked through the still active machine in the basement of the house and swaps them with Lucky (Underswap Mafia Sans) and Strike (Underswap Mafia Papyrus) from my fic. Zoot Suit Riot. If you haven’t read Zoot Suit Riot… you are in for a treat with Lucky. Rating is what is and you will find out soon enough.

Check it out under the cut!

Blue was cleaning up near the dryer as Orange was helping him fold clothes in the basement. Both of them zoned out at what they were doing… until…

“You hear that bro?” Orange looks around. He faintly hears a soft whirring sound but both the dryer and washing machine were off.

Blue pauses and looks around.

“I HEAR IT BUT WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE IT IS? I MEAN I FEEL LIKE I’VE HEARD IT BEFORE BUT I CAN’T HONESTLY PLACE IT.” He hums as he continues to investigate with his brother.

“Oh crap. It’s getting louder behind the locked door.” Oranges’ sockets widen as do Blues.

“YOU DON’T THINK THE MACHINE STARTED UP ON IT’S OWN DO YOU!?” Blue looks highly concerned over at his brother.

“It doesn’t seem possible. Go get Sans… I’ll take it from here.” Orange says undoing the lock on the door only to have his hand gripped by his brother.

“I DON’T WANT YOU GOING IN ALONE. MAYBE THIS IS SOMETHING LIKE AN UPDATE BUT I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO IN AND IT POSSIBLY TAKES YOU FROM ME.” Blue is serious and Orange relents… he knows if he doesn’t comply he won’t even get the chance to investigate. Blue will ground his sorry behind that’s for sure.

“Ok bro. On the count of 3 we go in together.” Blue nods, getting that serious big brother mode game face on.

“1...2...3” They open the door and are instantly bathed in light and are instantly sucked into the room. Then moments later two skeletons who look eerily similar are thrown into the room.

They both groan slowly getting up from their awkward positions on the floor. They both look at each other only to do a double take.

“Brother, I know you are lazy but honestly?” The Blue look alike scowls at the orange hoodie clad skeleton next to him. The skeleton in question looks himself over and then scoffs.

“At least you can tell what I’m wearin’ unlike you bro… what even is that?” His brow raised in question.

The Blue imposter looked down at the battle body that Blue so lovingly wore in absolute disgust.

“THE FUCKING HELL IS THIS!? WHERE IS MY GODDAMN SUIT!?” He raves then touches head for his hat… and instantly blue tears are welling up in his sockets.

“Strike… my hat is gone… my classy yet uniquely me bowler hat has gone missing… I CAN’T BE CLASSY, yet highly adorable, AND GET PUSSY IN THIS!!!” The blue skeleton has tears cascading down as he looks around for something far more wearable… he only can find more of what his brother Strike is wearing and aprons.

“Lucky, Look, it's a bit more serious than our clothes right now. Forget our soulmate was in the world we left behind?” Strike asks his brother who looks ready to combust.

“THAT IS THE PUSSY I WAS TALKING ABOUT!!! IF WE ARE HERE THEN WHERE IS SHE!? SHE BETTER NOT BE STUCK WITH THOSE ASSHOLES WITHOUT US BIDDING FOR HER AFFECTION!” Lucky looked positively pissed.

“Well she’s not here obviously.” Strike meanders to the machine listening to its soft dronning hum.

“FIX THIS NOW!!!” Lucky demands but Strike laughs.

“Unfortunately this is out of my league. My machine doesn’t even have one of these usb ports. I had to print orders on a card file for the machine to read it… one mistakenly placed card would throw everything out of order.” Strike sighs.

“Hmmm perhaps this may be a similar situation we were in… multiple versions of ourselves convening in one alternate universe. I say we go out there and pretend to be whoever these skeletons are and single out the one who is responsible for this mishap.” Lucky says lifting up the battle body attire with a repulsed look.

“Great plan bro but how are you sure that they will think we’re them.” Strike questions.

Lucky pulls out the photo in the chest plate of Blue and Orange posing for the picture.

“I think we can handle it.” Lucky smirks, his blue eyes sharpened to blue icy stars.

Strike chuckles as the pose gives everything away. They were just plain ordinary versions of themselves in a different universe… How hard could it be?

They go up the stairs and find themselves face to face with someone so strikingly familiar their soul about leapt out of their chest.

“Y/N?” Lucky asks almost in a whisper but loud enough for you to turn around and smile. Lucky is in a daze and he feels the familiar pull of his soul's longing.... Could it be that there was another soulmate version of you in this world.

“What’s up Blue? Done with the laundry already? From the way you were lecturing Orange about his growing pile of filth… I thought you’d be down there a lot longer.” You chuckle as you come up to pat his shoulder.

The silence was obviously starting to worry you.

“You ok…..” You start but are instantly cut off by Strike chuckling.

“It’s okay honeybun, he’s a little speechless after he found a snack in the pockets of one of these (Slightly lifts the hoodie for emphasis) and it’s well traumatized him a bit. He’ll be back to good ol’ Blue in a moment.” Strike knew he slipped up by the way you look at him puzzled when he called you honeybun but fortunately his deductions about himself in this world were correct. You snort making both Lucky and Strike ease up from the tense situation they were in.

You give Lucky a hug which he’s shocked but instantly hugs you back.

“I’m so sorry Blue. At least it’s not like when Red went on a full cursing rampage… You and Berry both were mortified for days.” From Lucky’s position he was able to make eye contact with his brother.

It was an unspoken acknowledgement of the information they had just gathered. So there was a Red and a Berry… then you leaned back to look at Lucky once more.

“I’m sure you’ll be my cheery, bubbly Blueberry in no time.” Lucky almost cringed and Strike couldn’t hold back his laughter. Leaving you confused and Lucky glaring daggers at him while your focus was off.

Lucky only used that persona as a ruse… He hated being cute but he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant he could get something he could use. Everyone usually thought Strike was in charge and were left confused when Lucky showed up and made sure everyone knew their place. Strike knows that persona works like magic… no matter how much Lucky hates it.

“MWEH HEH! YOU HAVE ME THERE Y/N” Lucky throws himself into the act. You give him a concerned look again but shake it off with a grin. Lucky saw it and knew that Blue must’ve given you a term of endearment that he must call you by constantly… He wished he knew what it was…

Luckily he and Strike were always a team and Strike has his back.

“Sorry honeybun but it looks like he’s still a little out of it.” Strike snickers and Lucky puts on a playful pout that instantly has you looking relieved.

“Well this homework isn’t going to do itself… If only…” You sigh and grab a backpack off the floor and start heading upstairs after waving to them.

“Strike, She’s not used to you calling her honeybun. She seemed okay with honey before the bun. Just call her honey but there must be something this Blue was calling her… I can’t think of anything at the moment of what it could be…” Lucky has his game face on again as they both stand around thinking about their gameplan.

Well… if they couldn’t get back to where they were… There was a soulmate for them here and they both smirked at one another.

“There ya are pipsqueak.” Both Luck and Strike turn to see someone who was definitely a shorter version of Sweets… Had the most atrocious shorts with a parka… but red and black per the normal color pattern. Also the gold fang that stuck out like a sore thumb… So that could mean that their version of Swisher was here too if his brother was.

Lucky actually looked behind him in confusion and worry like there was someone else that he hadn’t seen. Strike noticed the skeleton rolls his eyelights.

“You, You dumbass.” As Lucky turns to glare and Strike straightens himself a little… ready for a fight.

Then all of a sudden the other skeleton starts laughing.

“What? am I in trouble? I shouldn’t be cursing is that it? I hope I don’t invoke big brother mode.” The skeleton continues to guffaw only when he notices that the two skeletons aren’t really reacting the way he was wanting… in fact they seemed deathly serious.

“Hey come on… didn’t mean it. Ya not seriously gonna go inta big brother mode because of that?” The skeleton that resembled Sweets starts to look them over concerned.

“What the actual fuck are you going on about?” Lucky is seething. Strike coughs to let his brother know he’s slipped character because of his anger once again.

Too late the damage has been done.

The skeleton starts to eyeball them both a little more and starts to sweat.

“Who the…” He pauses in his question then in a blink disappears while yelling “Sans!”

“Well isn’t this a total shit fuck of a mess I put us in?” Lucky groans.

“Told ya ta watch yer anger bro… now all I can say is we gotta sell who we’re impersonating.” Strike sighs as both walk around and try to get familiar with things as quickly as possible.

Both of them find themselves wandering into the living room to be cornered by someone who looked like Black from their world. Only they almost had their jaws drop at his outfit. Bandanna with ragged looking black and red clothes that showed off his spine like a midriff.

“YOU TWO KNOW WHY RED IS SHOUTING LIKE THAT? IT’S NOT LIKE HIM TO BE THAT OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD.” The new skeleton loudly hisses out.

Strike had to nudge Lucky as he saw his brother's eye sockets narrow in what was sure to be a retort. Shocking his brother to let out a “MWEH” as he suddenly remembers.

Strike was good on hunches and was definitely a walking talking lie detector… even though that doesn’t stop Lucky from lying all the time.

“Come on, Berry, don't be like that. Poor bro is traumatized enough as it is going through my laundry.” His hunch was right as he watched ‘Berry’ shudder in absolute disgust.

“INDEED. I’VE SEEN THE WAY YOU AND RUSS LAZE ABOUT… THAT ROOM OF YOURS MUST BE EQUALLY ATROCIOUS TO HIS.” Berry shakes his head.

“Where is everyone?” Strike grins as he knows this will get them names at least.

“FORGET ALREADY? SANS IS AT THE UNIVERSITY ALONG WITH PAPYRUS AND RUSS. YOU KNOW? DOING THEIR JOBS. EDGE IS AT HIS JOB AS WELL. AXE AND NOOK ARE IN THE GARDEN AND RED OF COURSE IS BEING AN IDIOT. DEAREST IS ATTENDING HER HOMEWORK.” Both skeletons flinch at the smile on Berry’s face when he mentions well… you… who else would it be that a skeleton like this would be so fond of?

Yet Strike and Lucky are grateful to the access of information that was just handed to them on a silver platter.

Lucky has been in thought while listening to the drivel of his newest rival. What would he call someone absolutely dear to him? Obviously it would be something similar to this Blue… would it be Starshine? He likes stars and the way they shimmer and shine… but even Strike seemed to be a little off with honeybun.

“YES! DOING HER BEST! S-ORANGE? AFTER ALL OF THAT YOU’RE SURE YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE THAT NEEDS TO GO IN THE WASH?” Lucky almost slipped but pulled through.

“I’m sure bro.” Strike says with a grin knowing where this would go.

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU. LET US TAKE ANOTHER LOOK SHALL WE?” Lucky and Strike begin to make their way upstairs leaving Berry… without realizing that Berry is looking at the stairs they chose weren’t the stairs they often took to go to their rooms.

Shrugging it off. Blue might’ve wanted to pop in to see how you were doing.

As Lucky and Strike crest the landing both look at each other seriously. You were in one of these rooms so they couldn’t go barging in but all skeletons were accounted for either not being here, inside, or upstairs… save for Red.

He was another problem. If he knew where Sans was he probably took a shortcut there but possibly could be in one of the rooms himself.

Strike shrugged and Lucky sighed walking over to the first door and knocked.

“Yes?” You called out and Lucky swooned.

“JUST CHECKING IF YOU NEEDED ANY HELP!” He calls out and you laugh.

“I might need some help with math later okay?” You tell him through the door.

“THEN I SHALL BE BACK TO HELP YOU.” Lucky preens but Strike pulls him away before he can say anything else.

“Bro, you forget that math is a subject you don’t excel at unless it’s you figuring out how to do something successfully in your own head?” Strike urges his brother to stop while they are ahead. Lucky was only good at numbers from his perspective and not from a textbook.

“Of course and by successful, it is! And Doing…?” His grin is lecherous as he looks back at your door.

“I will be.” He licks his teeth and Strike sighs.

“Bro, I feel the pull too but we need our head in the game, so we can win it before they find out we aren’t who they thought we are.” Strike pulls him to the next door and knocks.

No answer. Looking around they slowly open it to not make a sound. They see a room in squalor and Lucky nearly gags. Lucky might be a little lazy in the mornings but he likes things nice and tidy.

This must be Red's room from the shorts they see lying about and the red and black color scheme… the only thing that really just has them floored are the pin ups… Naked pin ups…

Lucky looks around and sees a magazine. As he picks up the magazine the centerfold unfolds to a nude woman in a very sensual position.

“L-Lucky put that down!” Strike is flushed with embarrassment as his brother looks awestruck.

“I feel jipped. Where was this stuff in our timeline!? The only things naughty I had were stuffy pin ups with people in their unmentionables but only some skin was shown… This. Shows. Everything.” Lucky wipes a little drool away instantly pinning your face onto what he’s seeing.

“Guys!? Are you in Red’s room!?” They both freeze and Lucky instantly chucks the evidence away from him by instinct.

Only for them to sigh in relief that you were calling out from the otherside of the wall. Yet strike sees Lucky quickly stuff something in his pocket.

“YES WE WERE DROPPING OFF A TURTLENECK SWEATER WE FOUND IN THE DRYER!” Lucky quickly lies at the drop of a hat. Something that was both a blessing and a curse for poor Strike.

“Ok, but you know he doesn’t like anyone being in there when he’s not!” You call out again. You were still pretty muffled due to the wall… which had them looking at one another in curiosity if you had heard anything they said.

Seeing as you didn’t seem weirded out or come over in a huff they speculated that it wasn’t something to be upset about. So they quickly left and shut the door loud enough behind them for you to know they had left.

They went over and gently knocked on the next door so that you couldn’t hear but any occupant would. No answer so they silently slipped in. It was a very nice simple room. Had some books arranged neatly on a few shelves and at least they could see the computer on the desk without piles of dirty dishes and… well they didn’t want to think about what all those kleenex wipes were doing there.

There was a picture on the desk and this one showed Red and a Tall skeleton resembling Swisher from where they were whisked away from. Strike narrowed down the names listed and since it seemed to go in pairs the way it was given. Russ was obviously Berry’s brother. Sans and Papyrus of course the originals… That left Axe, Nook, and Edge. Since Axe and Nook were working together they might be brothers so that left Edge.

“Edge right?” Lucky smirks as he also narrowed it down. Well this wasn’t either of their rooms so they went down another door. Gently knock only to be spooked by a loud voice.

“OH! IS SOMEONE THERE? I WILL JUST BE A MINUTE.” They listen closely, leaning towards the door. They heard water stop running and then the door was thrown open startling them to both jump back. Panic stricken as they see a lumbering disfigured Papyrus lean down quizzically eyeing them.

“Figures there’d be one of him too.” Lucky gripes under his breath and gets elbowed by Strike.

“I AM TERRIBLY SORRY FRIENDS… WERE YOU NOT WANTING TO USE THE RESTROOM? OR WERE YOU LOOKING FOR SOMEONE?” They were at a pause… this was either Axe or Nook and since they had nothing to go by, playing it off was going to be a difficult feat.

“SCAVENGER HUNT.” Lucky blurted out and Strike looked at him like he’s lost his mind.

“WE DIDN’T WANT TO INTRUDE ON ANYONE MWEH HEH HEH.” Lucky gets that big sweet adorable grin as he rubs the back of his skull.

“OOOH A SCAVENGER HUNT!? WHO ARE WE SCAVENGING!?” The tall lanky skeleton of nightmares looks positively joyous and ready to join.

“Ummm who?” Strike looks between the skeletons nervously.

“MEHH NO! NOT WHO BUT A WHAT!” Even Lucky seems at a loss as his shoulders droop.

“YOU HAVE ME PUZZLED BLUE… TO SCAVENGE IS A HUNT FOR FOOD.” Both Lucky and Strike look floored.

“Then why did you say who?” Strike chuckles nervously.

“OBVIOUSLY BECAUSE I MADE A FUNNY. AXE AND PEACHES WOULD HAVE LAUGHED.” The one that is now known to be Nook poses dramatically and somehow his tattered cape like scarf blowing in wind that was not there.

Now the question was… who the hell was Peaches?

“MWEH! OF COURSE I GET IT NOW! VERY FUNNY NOOK!” Nook looks at Lucky weirdly but smiles.

“GOOD TO KNOW THAT MY DARK CANNIBAL JOKES AREN’T *Snicker* DRY.” He pauses and both skeletons seem to have no choice but to laugh while they are screaming internally.

“YES, WELL, NOOK PERHAPS YOU CAN HELP US?” Lucky quickly rebounds to change the subject. Lucky may have seen guts and glory in his line of work but the actual thought of eating someone was not something that sat with him lightly.

Nor for Strike who only sweats as Nook continues to chuckle and say “BONE DRY” under his breath.

“YOU SEE, ABSOLUTELY THE DARNDEST THING. WE ARE MISSING A SOCK. WE’VE BEEN HUNTING FOR IT BECAUSE ORANGE DOESN’T KNOW WHERE HE COULD HAVE LEFT IT… BEST TO RETRIEVE IT BEFORE SOMEONE ELSE STUMBLES UPON IT… LIKE Y/N.” He does the best bubbly impression he has but that doesn’t stop the tall skeleton looking down at him, with a knowing that something isn’t right.

“STARLIGHT.” Nook says bluntly at Lucky who falters.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON?” Lucky tries to keep his cool but even Strike knows when his brother is getting close to the ‘Fuck it’ stage and guns start blazing. Lucky was never really patient unless there was a type of goal that he really wanted to strive for.

“BLUE ARE YOU OKAY? YOU HARDLY EVER CALL PEACHES BY HER NAME ANYMORE. IT’S BEEN AGES SINCE I HEARD YOU SAY IT OTHER THAN STARLIGHT… YOU ALSO LAUGHED AT AXE’S TERRIBLE JOKES. ONLY I AND PEACHES… SOMETIMES EDGE AND RED FIND THEM AMUSING. EVEN RUSS AND YOU ORANGE ABHOR WHAT WE HAD DONE IN OUR TIMELINE AND CRINGE WHEN WE SAY THEM. SANS WON’T EVEN LET AXE TRY THEM IN HIS PRESENCE… PAPYRUS ACCEPTS US FOR WHO WE ARE BUT EVEN HE DOESN’T LIKE THAT KIND OF HUMOR. BERRY STRAIGHT UP FORBIDS US…. THAT IS UNLESS OF COURSE IT'S OVER SOMEONE WHO WAS MEAN TO PEACHES THEN HE FINDS IT HYSTERICAL AND ENCOURAGES IT… CAN NEVER REALLY TELL WITH HIM…” Nook goes off on a tangent… seems to be because he often does. Both skeletons just worriedly shoot glances at one another until he seems done.

“CONSIDER IT US BRANCHING OUT IN UNDERSTANDING FRIEND! MWEH HEH! NOW WE MUST FIND THAT SOCK!” Lucky puffs out his chest.

“OH YES! IT WOULD BE VERY EMBARRASSING FOR PEACHES TO FIND IT. HAVE YOU TRIED LOOKING IN YOUR ROOMS?” Nook questions and Lucky falters.

“WELL UM YES WE THOUGHT BUT PERHAPS YOU COULD HELP US? MORE EYES THE BETTER AT FINDING IT!” Lucky is trying to persuade Nook into helping them find at least Blue or Orange’s room.

Strike smirks. His bro is really good at handling things when he tries.

“NO THANKS.” Nook shrugs and walks off leaving Lucky and Strike to their stupor.

“Uh… Ok…” Strike looks at him quizzically and Nook pauses with a brow raised.

“LOOK, I’M NOT PAPYRUS… WELL TECHNICALLY I AM BUT I’M NOT JUST GOING TO RUN AROUND LOOKING FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S UNMENTIONABLES. THAT’S JUST… WELL UNSANITARY AND RUDE.” Nook scoffs at the other two and meanders off a ways… then turns and eyes them making them stiff.

“YOU TWO ARE ACTING VERY STRANGE. IT’S ALMOST AS IF YOU NEED ME TO FIND YOUR ROOMS ON THE OTHER SIDE DOWN THAT HALL.” He points and both skeletons waive their hands in defense.

“NO NO! OF COURSE NOT! IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY HELPING ORANGE GET THAT FILTHY LAUNDRY TOGETHER.” Lucky is quick on the draw to lie again.

“Yeah it’s been exhausting work waiting for the clothes to be finished… getting pressed…” Strike realizes he didn’t know what those machines were… he only knew dry cleaners… Lucky glares at him briefly.

“OH YES! PERMANENT PRESS! GOOD CYCLE! TAKES FOREVER BUT IT DOES GET EVERYTHING NICELY CRISP AND CLEAN.” Nook nods with a smile and then carries on down stairs.

Lucky and Strike both heave a sigh of relief they didn’t realize they were holding.

#Zoot Suit Riot #Lucky #Strike #Housemates #Underswap Sans #Underswap Papyrus #Underswap Mafia Sans #Underswap Mafia Papyrus

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palomafxrd · 4 years ago

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* ALEXA DEMIE, CIS-FEMALE + SHE/HER | you know PALOMA FORD, right? they’re TWENTY-FOUR, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of their life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to CASH RACE BY TINASHE like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole A HONEY TONED VOICE SPEWING HARSH WORDS, FRESHLY PRINTED PROTEST FLYERS, PINK GLOSSED LIPS SMOKING A ZOOT IN A BRAND NEW LAMBO, thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is JULY 24th, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( zoey, she/her, 23, cet )

♡ pinterest to be shared tomorrow !!

hello hello !! <3 my name is zoey and i am very excited to join this group. there’s so many of you, ahhh. i’m not going to lie to you, going through the blogroll was almost intimidating BUT i am happy to be here and introduce you all to my newest darling, paloma ford. down below is a short summary of all the things you need to know about her ( this post will be edited and extended to a more complete character biography later. i’m just very tired and wanted to get this post up before bed lol ). now, please excuse me whilst i go read all of your intro posts and get to know everyone.

EARLY LIFE: ( location: lilac ridge )

paloma ford is the only daughter to two illegal immigrants from mexico.

her parents arrived in north carolina when paloma’s mother was nearly nine months pregnant, living undocumented for years

growing up, paloma’s family got little to no financial aid or help to integrate into society. her mother barely left the house and did not speak english. she worked as a maid at the palm motel whilst her father worked a mechanic job at a car rental place in town.

it did not take long before the financial struggles began to take its toll on the family. paloma’s father became heavily relient on alcohol and marijuana to function. the poor man would sometimes leave his family for days on end to drink with new-found friends, leaving his wife to vent for herself.

HIGH SCHOOL / COLLEGE:

as soon as paloma entered high school, the young woman knew that she wanted to be an activist of some sort.

her father left when she was fifteen and, realizing that she could never afford to go to college (and study politics like she wanted to), the teen turned to quite a fascinating side hustle.

in her senior year and college days she was notorious for ‘dating’ older men for their money. despite rumors spreading around town that she was selling her body for materialistic gains, the truth of the matter was that she never took part in any sexual activities with these men, she simply accompanied them to diners and sat pretty. the goal? save up enough money to build a better future for herself (and get that fendi bag whil she’s at it, ya feel me?)

today, at twenty-four years old, paloma has recently graduated from college with a major in public policy.

paloma is working on starting her own non-profit organisation dedicated to help children of illegal immigrants.

her ultimate goal is to become a prominent figure in local (perhaps even national) politics. she wants to improve labor laws for illegal immigrants and strive towards immigration reform.

big dreams for a young woman, ay? she’s feisty, hehe.

ABOUT PALOMA:

however, paloma did not grow up from her troubled childhood unharmed. it was hurtful to lose her father to addiction at such a young age and she has never forgiven him for leaving her and her mother (hello d a d d y issues).

because she grew up in quite a disadvantaged position compared to her peers stemming from richer or more established households, paloma has always suffered from great self-confidence issues.

paloma feels that she can’t show weakness. she needs to portray herself as a woman that has her shit together. if she does, she falls three steps behind everyone else.

thus, she may seem like a stuck-up, arrogant, overly ambitious brat sometimes but it’s quite the facade.

deep down inside she is such a sweetheart though. :’-(

all she cares about is taking care of her mother, her career and good times on the weekends

RECENT DEVELOPMENTS:

over the past years, paloma has been focusing solely on her education and career. this has lead to her surpressing a lot of negative emotions and traumatic experiences stemming from her childhood.

now that she’s graduated, paloma likes to surpress said emotions by drinking fancy cocktails over the weekend. lately it’s gotten so bad she’s been smoking marijuana on the regular.

now for the great cliffhanger: will she go down to the same drugs that ruined her father? (i don’t think she will skcjakjd she just needs some good friends ok)

i want ALL the plots. if you are interested in plotting, please like this post and i will messag you when i get back from work tomorrow. if there is one particular connection that you are interested in or would like to know more about please don’t be afraid to holla at me !! and if you have any fun, toxic, dramatic, angsty, lovey-dovey, wholesome ideas i am all ears. <3

WANTED CONNECTIONS: ( + more to be added tomorrow )

best friend // childhood sweetheart // high school sweetheart // sibling relationship // party friends // exes (good and bad) // friends with benefits // enemies // frenemies // drug dealer // lifelong friend // neighbours // roommates // smoking buddies lol

#addiction tw #drugs tw #♡ paloma. -> introduction.#irvingintro

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askdawnandvern · 6 years ago

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Save Bellwether on Twitter

(In the interest of getting this the best optics possible, I will be forgoing answering asks this week to keep this at the top of the page for the entire week. We will return to your regularly scheduled Dawn And Vern content next tuesday!)

For those of you who have read my story on Fanfiction.net, or follow my AskDawnAndVern blog, you may be somewhat familiar with this idea I proposed a few months back, and referenced it in the journal on my FA entitled 'The end of a road; and looking ahead.' But since I didn't post it everywhere, I suppose I should fill you in with a sort of...short version. At least to give you an idea as to why I guess I care at all about the Dawn Bellwether character, and why I started writing for her in the first place.

I was kinda dubious about Zoot when it was coming out. Both with Disney's storytelling track record with big budget films around the time, or because I preferred 2-D animation because I'm apparently a huge snob. Whatever the case, as it got closer to release I started to get more drawn into it, but Dawn sealed the deal for me. Her design was cute, and her support character roll was endearing. About a month before the film came out, leaks of the children's book revealed Dawn to be the big bad twist villain which left me kind of heartbroken. I was miffed that once again we had a ‘person you least expected' type villain, which at this point is totally cliche, but I was also upset because she was the character I liked the most, and now I knew she was set as the primary antagonist. And while I still enjoyed the film when it came out, Dawn's characterization up until the villain reveal made it that much worse. Honestly, I would have probably been better off if they gave less of a visible motivation for Dawn's actions in terms of her relationship with Lionheart. Had she simply been completely evil for the sake of it, like most Disney villains, I could have just written her off and latched on to a character like Sharla or something. But if that had been the case, I guess we wouldn't be here.

That's basically what ended up getting me to write my fic about Dawn getting back on the straight and narrow, and well...that's how we got here. And while I'm pretty happy with my little established AU, I can't help but feel slightly nervous about Zootopia 2. With the movie doing well enough to get a sequel I should be excited. But Disney's track record when it comes to storytelling, especially when it comes to sequels, always seems to decline with each installment. Characters are kept the same for familiarity's sake, and a familiar face with an ax to grind is an easy route to take for the plot of a would-be sequel. In fact, we've seen it many times in Disney's back catalog of films, and that has me all the more worried Dawn is just going to pop back up in Z2 as a lazy, revenge plot villain. And so that sort of re-stoked those fires about Dawn's future in cannon Zoot, and if there was anything I could try to do in regards to it.

And thus I came up with this hashtag. #SaveBellwether. In my initial announcements I mentioned we were going to be workshopping many of the elements, but that is the hashtag that stuck. What is the purpose? Well to simply show Byron Howard, as well as the rest of the folks that may be working on Z2 as well as other Zoot fans that there is a surprising amount of fans who want to see a better Bellwether in Z2. Even in as much as a blink and you'll miss it moment. If not for anything else then to avoid a lazy retread of the same tired old 'revenge ploy' plot that may or may not be in the works.

'My initial part in the plan is very simple. I'm simply going to tweet Byron Howard a string of tweets. Professional and as short as I could make them. That simply touches on the idea and expresses the sentiment among us Bellwether Fans as clearly as possible. In the interest of transparency, I will share the intended tweets here.

Dear @ByronPHoward, I, like a surprising number of Zoot fans, really loved the Bellwether character, and were kinda crushed when she turned out to be the villain.

With a sequel probably soon to be underway, I just wanted to ask if you had any plans of bringing her back as anything other than a 'revenge villain', perhaps working to reform.

I know I'm not the only one who'd like to see her character make a turnaround. After all, if Gideon could change, she certainly could. And I think it would make for a more compelling story element.

I would just hate to see a Zootopia 2 where she comes back as an antagonist because it's easy, and see the Zoot series go down the same route of almost every other franchise out there.

On Behalf of the Bellwether fans, I thank you for listening. I hope you'll consider redeeming her. If not, hey I tried. There's always Fanfiction after all. #SaveBellwether #Zootopia #ZootopiaFans #AssistantMayorBellwether'

I will also append one of my Bellwether drawings to the post, which is the lead-in for those of you interested in supporting the idea as well as the tag. Once the tweets are up, I'd like those of you who share my sentiments to join the conversation, sharing your own opinions and art of Dawn along with mine to show Zootopia's creators and fans just how many of us there are. Whether that be just a statement, art, a cosplay, stories, or whatever, just sharing shows that there is support for this idea as well as a great deal of care about Zootopia 2's possible plot quality. And perhaps the great show of love for Dawn will persuade them to make Dawn less evil in future Zoot projects. Obviously, we don't want to badger anyone or make it seem like we are brigading them, but I think a support hashtag might let them see that there is something to the idea.

I hope there are as many of you out there as enthusiastic about supporting this idea as I am, and I hope you'll join me in using the hashtag to see if anything manages to come of it. Even if it ends up doing nothing in terms of shaping Dawn's future in Zoot, at the very least it will be a great way to spread positivity and connect to other Bellwether fans. So why not at least give it a try? If it doesn't work we'll always have out fanfictions, and the friends we met along the way.

On one last little note, this isn't necessarily about my specific Dawn story, or anyone's for that matter. I'm not aiming for Disney to hire me and use parts of Rehab for Zoot 2. (Although that would be amazing). I just want to see the character get a better deal, and I think we all want to see that.

I look forward to seeing your own twitter posts, as well as the art and other media you share under the tag. And here's hoping for the best.

Thanks for listening,

-WT

#Zootopia #dawn bellwether #Assistant Mayor Bellwether #zootopia 2 #savebellwether #zootopia fandom

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themusicjerk · 6 years ago

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Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band - Trout Mask Replica

I was stopped once again on my way to Travis’ house to return his Sex Pistols CD. At this rate, I doubt he’ll ever get it back. He should be thanking me. My friend April saw that I was feeling pretty beaten up, and asked me what the matter was. “A Tribe Called Quest,” I told her. “They’re awful. It’s the same thing over and over again for an entire hour. And don’t get me started on the Sex Pistols.” She was surprised that I was even listening to music - me, the Music Jerk, who only knows three songs and hates all of them, and she said that if I wanted music that wasn’t afraid to try new things and go off the beaten path, I should listen to Trout Mask Replica.

I’m a little more willing to trust April, being of the fairer sex, after all. Perhaps listening to this CD will finally convince me that good music is out there. From my research, it seems that Captain Beefheart, Drumbo, Antennae Jimmy Semens, Zoot Horn Rollo, Rockette Morton, and The Mascara Snake got together because of their undeniable rock star names, and Beefheart locked them all in a mansion until the album was absolutely perfect. “Perfect,” “new,” “good,” I have high hopes for this record. April wouldn’t even tell me what genre it was. So here goes nothing.

...

.........

......

.................

What in God’s good name is this garbage?????

So the first track on this album is called “Frownland” which seems to be exactly where I am being transported as I listen to this. Beefheart’s scratchy, off-key pseudoblues singing is a vain attempt to add melody or order to what I can only describe as a cat walking across a synthesizer and a guitar falling down stairs. As soon as “Frownland” ends, Beefheart begins sing “The Dust Blows Forward ‘n the Dust Blows Back,” without any support whatsoever from his Magic Band. Perhaps they all died in the great massacre that was “Frownland.”

I’ve listened to bad music before, but this is insulting. Dom and Travis at least had the good sense to give me CDs that I didn’t immediately recognize as instruments of torture. This is like a conversation with a homeless person that you didn’t know you were starting but that now you can’t escape from.

Off-beat drums and dissonant guitars return as Beefheart attempts to sing “Dachau Blues.” I say ‘attempt’ because the melody and rhythm are all over the place, and I cannot believe that anyone was locked anywhere in an attempt to make this perfect, unless of course they were so malnourished and traumatized by the whole experience that they forgot their original point. Then again, I would think trying to make good music would be akin to spinning gold from straw. The middle of this song has what sounds like the humming of an electromagnet, which I can only imagine is another way in which Beefheart is torturing his band.

Their tortured screams can be heard in “Ella Guru,” in fact even being used as what I can only suppose is supposed to be the chorus of said song. The scary bit is that I’m only seven minutes into this CD and there’s two of them. That’s right, April gave me this torture device and it comes with two discs. It will be a chore and a nightmare to try to even put the second disc in the player, but I will hold out hope that something here pulls back, says “haha gotcha,” and actually lays off my eardrums.

The squealing of elephants and deflated balloons that is “Hair Pie: Bake 1″ is not that, though. “Hair Pie: Bake 1″ is about the exact opposite of everything that a theoretical good music should be. Imagine you’re at the pier, and you hear the foghorn of a ship, but there is a booger caught in the horn and so the foghorn is whistling in and out of its tone. That’s “Hair Pie.” Halfway through, guitar and drums come in as if to try and convince me that this “song” has rhythm, but neither the guitar nor the drums are playing in time with each other. The best thing I can say about this “song” is that at least Beefheart isn’t trying to sing anymore.

Then, there’s about a minute of some guy rambling about an octafish, whatever that is. Dead air, um, dead air. This gives way to “Moonlight on Vermont,” which is the closest thing to an actual song I’ve heard all day. The drums and guitar are actually playing the same rhythm (for the most part) but Beefheart’s incoherent screaming still grates the eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. The guitar meanders and seems to confuse trying to find the right note with artistry.

“Gimme that old time religion,” Beefheart repeats over and over with no regard to meter or rhythm. I’m having flashbacks to Johnny Rotten’s “Holidays in the Sun,” which, with all due respect is better than anything else on this record.

“A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast and bulbous, you got me?”

No, Beefy, I don’t got you.

“Pachuco Cadaver” is somehow the most generic song I’ve ever heard, as it sounds like it was written in an elementary school music class. It also sounds like it was played by elementary schoolers, because despite its very basic chord progression, we’ve again returned to none of the instruments playing in time, and Beefheart has given up any attempt to make a melody as he now rants about everything and nothing all at once on top of instruments playing whenever they feel like.

Oh goodness, they have somehow managed to combine saxophones with geese, my two least favorite noises in the world. Next time a fascist regime seeks to take over the world, they should hire these guys as interrogators. I would talk so fast.

To April’s credit, this is unlike anything I’d ever heard. At this point, though, I’m no longer surprised by it. I’m just waiting for it to be over. There is nothing here that could be construed as pleasant or exciting. To call it listenable is an overstatement.

“Oh lady look up in time, oh lady look out of love And you should have us all or you should have us fall”

My favorite bits, if favorite is even the right word to use, are when it sounds like he’s finally shutting up, like at the end of “Bills Corpse,” but the disorganized alarm tones of “Sweet Sweet Bulbs” prove that he’s not done yet.

“Neon Meate Dreams Of A Octafish” makes about as much sense as the title does. Beefy has now taken a step further away from melody. Now, he is literally just shouting gibberish in my ear while the guitar and drums do their own independent things. This is what it would sound like if Jack Torrance made a record. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. We’ve brought back the elephants. Is there no end to this torture?

“China Pig” sounds like it was recorded from a bathroom. Even the recording engineer couldn’t stomach this and had to retreat and record from a distance. Maybe this album would sound better if I retreated and listened from a distance, by which I mean, put the album to continue playing in my room while I run as far away as possible and disassociate myself with my exfriend April.

Maybe that’s a little harsh, but if April, or Travis, or Dom, or any of you had my best interests at heart, you would not be torturing me like this. I’m not a big sports guy, but I “get” sports. I see the appeal of sports. It’s competition, it’s hometown pride, it’s a way for local underdogs to become massive heroes, and it’s exciting to see how it plays out. If music is just people angrily shouting over people who don’t know how to play instruments, like everything I’ve been listening to over the last few days, then I must confess, I don’t “get” music. I was sort of hoping, honestly, that this project would open my eyes, but it really hasn’t. It’s just confirmed what I already knew.

Oh, “My Human Gets Me Blues.” I guess the engineer is out of the bathroom. Let’s see, what can I say about this? Uh. It has no melody and I don’t know what the guitar and drums are trying to do. I could probably fake my way through the rest of this album just saying that about every song. But maybe, I’ll suffer whatever aneurysm possessed the band to record this album later on and suddenly I’ll become a music fan.

“Dali’s Car” is a guitar solo, which is good, because it means that there are no drums or vocals for the guitar to be playing out of time with. Though, I should clarify: “Dali’s Car” is not a guitar solo which is good. Commas are important. It, like everything else on the record, seems to be dissonant chords and random notes at random times. And that’s the first disc.

It didn’t even end. The randomness of the notes means that the last note on the first disc sounds like the middle of a phrase. I just... I have to listen to the second disc. I need to know *what* April could possibly hear in this. Give me a minute.

First disc reflections: It’s awful. This is what schizophrenia must feel like. It should be illegal to call this music. This makes the Sex Pistols look like talented men, and A Tribe Called Quest poetic. Is that what music is? Listening to music so bad that you can apologize for music that is less bad? Seems like a situation with no winners. Is the only way to win to not play the game? And yet I’ve committed to this, and the last note of “Dali’s Car” has not given me any sort of satisfactory resolution. Here I go. Disc two. Wish me luck.

“Hair Pie: Bake 2???” Was the first one not bad enough??? At least this one doesn’t have so many elephants and deflated balloons. Actually, this one doesn’t sound too bad. I think it’s happening. The aneurysm is happening. Maybe I need to go run laps or something. Focus. Wow. That jarring key change just knocked me out of whatever hypnotic trance they just placed on me. Make no mistake: this is bad. It is clear and evident that the band have no idea what they are doing.

If I hear the phrase “fast and bulbous” one more time I swear I’m going to start saying it too. When a hostage or prisoner begins to develop a friendly relationship with their kidnapper, that is called Stockholm Syndrome, which seems to be developing in my brain in a “fast and bulbous” manner. I did not ask to be here, but here I am, stuck.

Oh my goodness. “Pena” is the Spanish word for “pain” in the metaphorical “pain-in-the-neck” sort of way. Well, that’s what the song “Pena,” is. Gone is any possible inkling that this music might be good. The tortured squealing of whoever-this-is has returned me exactly to where I was on the first disc. It’s like they knew that prisoners become numbed to torture, so they’re still thinking of new ways to break me.

Beefheart singing “Well” sounds like a song a prisoner might sing - sung by my jailer, it is both painfully ironic and borderline abusive.

“Thick black felt birds a-flying With capes of solid chrome With feathers of solid chrome And beaks of solid bone,”

Did these words mean anything when Beefy wrote them or were they always word salad?

“When Big Joan Sets Up” is the culmination of everything terrible about the album, with offbeat instrumentals and an extended goosaphone solo. I’m three minutes into this song and it sounds like the guitarist is just trying to end it already, but the bassist wants to keep playing for some reason. The geese are getting angry. I don’t like angry geese.

“Is she a boy?” No. Next question.

“What do you run on, Rocket Morton?” “I run on beans. I run on LASER beans.”

Sure you do.

I will not lie, the bassist on “Fallin’ Ditch” is actually making an effort to play something with a melody. If only the guitarist, drummer, and singer were on the same page. As it stands now, we have a decent bass line - not great, but something you might hear on People’s Instinctive Rhythms and the Paths of Melody - now being tortured by the strangling mess that is the rest of this album’s production.

“Sugar ‘n Spikes” again features an attempt at a hook. I think I know what Beefy’s game is, and why April thinks this is a good album. The first disc is so bad that no matter what they throw at me in the second half, it has to sound better by comparison. “Big Joan” and “Pena” notwithstanding, I must admit that I am much happier than I was half an hour ago.

But then I think about listening to “Ant Man Bee” on purpose. I think if I ever heard this by itself, on its own accord, I would have post-war flashbacks. The other albums I’ve listened to were bad, this is traumatic. This upsets my brain chemistry. When this album ends and I can see the world in color again, I’ll wonder how I ever smiled listening to the insane ramblings of a man with a terrible name. But even the saxophone has started to become a familiar edge to hang onto for me. Oh, saxophone that sounds like a deflated balloon, we’ve been through so much, you and I. Remember that time on “Hair Pie (Bake 1)” when you were the worst thing ever? Good times, good times.

If I listen to “Orange Claw Hammer,” enough, my vocabulary will become fast and bulbous. Havin’ t’ shine a wallet f’r a hamm’r, ‘llbe my career. Man with olives f’r eyes off’rs me a chicken f’r my troubles, but th’ chicken won’ stop singin’.

Hold on, you mean to say you can’t even pronounce the word “licorice?” No, no, no. I’ve still got one foot in reality, and I will stand my ground. I’ll not be pulled into the vortex that is the gibberish dream of Captain Beefheart. Remember “The Dust Blows Forward ‘n The Dust Blows Back” when this was the worst thing ever? Good times, good times.

No! Not good times. I will not have this aneurysm. Not today. Objectively, there is nothing good about any of this. I should never have started calling him “Beefy.” That’s where this all started. There is no difference between “Wild Life” and “Frownland” except that “Wild Life” has more geese. But it’s become familiar, now. I’ve been trapped here, listening to Trout Mask Replica for so long that it has become the only life I’ve ever known.

You know what, besides Captain Beefheart, is fast and bulbous? Cancerous tumors. That’s the best comparison.

“She’s Too Much For My Mirror,” is introduced as ‘famous,’ because at this point, had I not one foot in reality, I might actually believe that this song is well-known, well-liked, or well, anything. If April is trying to brainwash me, or hypnotize me, or I don’t know what, I swear to Beefy that I will put her in a chokehold and make her listen to an entire CD of me reciting Mad Libs over a Casio keyboard drum loop because only then will she understand the psychological torment that this album is putting on me.

hobo chang ba hobo chang ba hobo chang ba hobo chang ba hobo chang ba

“it’s the blimp, Frank! it’s the blimp!” Time is nothing. My room is nothing. There is no anything. All there is a trout, a mask, a replica, and a blimp. A mothership.

“Steal Softly thru Snow” and “Old Fart At Play” are the same sort of thing. It’s been almost eighty minutes and now I am craving to hear Beefheart talk about farts because it is the only remote pleasure I know in this torture chamber that is Trout Mask replica. When I am finally freed from this war camp, I will need to be entirely reeducated on proper human etiquette and civilization. How April manages to uphold herself as a functioning human being after listening to this, I don’t know.

The only outcome I can imagine where this album does not cause a human to become a stark raving lunatic is one in which the hypnotic spell of the goosaphone does not affect the brain. And if the brain is not affected, how anyone could enjoy or recommend this advanced instrument of psychological warfare is beyond me.

“Veteran’s Day Poppy” slowly decays into a complete wall of noise, before the guitar and drums slow down, and then, if we weren’t hypnotized yet, play the same cacophonous riff over and over again, getting more and more aggressive until the end of the record. And just like that, it’s over. I’m done. I hear birds chirping outside my window.

Whew, boy. I don’t think April is getting this back. I think this is going straight into the shredder where it belongs.

Captain Beefheart died, tragically, in 2010. I’m gonna dig him up and kill him again. One death is not enough to suffer for this crime against humanity. While I’m out, I should probably give Travis his CD back, and apologize for the mean things I said about his music. I had no idea.

If you think music is good, send me music, and I will tell you why you are wrong!

#the music jerk #music jerk #music #review #album #trout mask replica #captain beefheart #captain beefheart and his magic band #humor #satire #music review

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seat-safety-switch · 7 years ago

Text

“Squids have been planning this all along,” I bellow as I roam the aisles at Superstore with widened eyes, arms outstretched in the classic pose of the Person Who Knows The Truth A Little Too Loudly In Public. “Repent before it is too late! The Calamari Catastrophe is upon us!”

It all started a few days ago, when I was at the aquarium. Normally, happy families toured the facility, hoping to get a peek at those cute little penguins and grapple with the challenge of coming face to face with the kind of deep ocean life that terrifies our mammalian hindbrains.

I, however, was there to complete a Craigslist deal for a sweet pile of stock DSM turbo parts. While message board junkies “in the know” such as my counterpart in the deal might believe these are completely worthless, I on the other hand am what they call a “prepper.” It is extremely important to keep teeny-tiny OEM turbos of all sizes in stock, you know, for emergencies. And funny choo-choo noises.

When I got there, I noticed that the loading dock was devoid of its usual support car, a 1983 Plymouth Champ. Although it had been rotting into the ground for years, I was still a little surprised to see it was gone. I calmed myself by repeating out loud that it had been saved by one of the interns and driven to the parts store to receive a full set of tune-up bits, but some part of my mind knew that it had been scrapped in order to appease the ever-gnashing maw of Modernity. It did not occur to me that perhaps I had been spending too much time at the loading docks of the aquarium if I was that familiar with the details of their maintenance staff’s parts-runner buggy, no. Why do you ask?

On the way home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the Champ. It’s not like a car thief would have driven it very far, what with its twin stick-shifts (ask your parents) and massive rust holes. The more I thought about it, the more it became obvious that the little hatchback had to be somewhere in the neighbourhood. Maybe if I saved it, they would let me keep it. I started to circle the aquarium, checking the alleys with the high-zoot lightbar strapped to the front of my humble ‘86 Riv. Sure, the touchscreen didn’t work, and without that, there was no heat or radio, but I had more important priorities when I took it into the garage. Light = safety, after all.

What I saw when I finally turned the corner in that dark alley will stick with me for the rest of my life. There, behind the old seafood supply place, laid the Plymouth Champ, surrounded by squids getting a lesson in driving stick for the first time. I stayed and watched for a few minutes, before realizing with a shock that not only could they effectively work the twin-stick transmission for maximum fuel economy, they had three feet for hill starts. The world had to know.

#squid #mitsubishi #plymouth #buick #buick riviera #plymouth champ #mitsubishi eclipse #dsm #aquariums

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lizuouou · 4 years ago

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11:29am

jan 21/21

Today I woke up with a half sunshine aiming straight for my eyes. The window on the building opposite ours was reflecting it in a way it was as if nature was playing a prank. But it felt beautiful, it was as if Helios came to say hello wake up!

I’m not anxious today morning, it feels nice. Maybe cause I finally took a lil piece of a pill again. Well I’m good for now, my dream was weird he was there again, my old room mate was there too. I can’t believe it’s been 5 years, and my dreams are still about him? 5 years, not even in a sad tone, in a an exciting starry tone. Almost as if I’m proud of my brain for still having it in it, one last dose of nostalgia coming right up. Thank you God, for giving me these dreams, maybe they are some sort of a message, maybe they’re not. Regardless, I’ve been to more places in my dreams with these people than I have with them in the realm we live in.

Yesterday was nice I got zooted and went to some island and stood on it and saw the bridge, basically standing on that island you can see all of NY, Manhattan on one side, Brooklyn, Soho, it was nice my friend introcuddd me to his friend, his girl. We got smacked went here, ran back to the car because it was freezing, picked up Thai food, ate basil friend rice with tofu, came back ordered orange juice and ate rafaello and an ice cream sandwich. Washed my face, fought the darkness trying to enter my mind and then I slept.

I miss hugs, I miss being young and carefree, lesser boundaries between my body and people, allowing myself to be comfortable in a crowd. Though I appreciate the recognition which came with creating these boundaries, it’s a reminder that self respect and peace of mind is more important than my desire of intimacy and warmth, it doesn’t have to mean sexual, it means just a human touch perhaps. I’ll take both with Large fries tho thanks

Sometimes I want to post pictures of my body, the ones I take if there’s a picturesque moment where either the light or the background look amazing. A little too much for the culture and society I’m coming from because they’ll probably make me regret buying Victoria secret let alone wearing it, but one day i will, will keep my username so vague even tumblr will refuse to find me. Mmm this is a tricky one, maybe I’ll post it, let’s see how I transform over the passage of time who knows I have a feeling I’ll post it.

I like this calmness I’m feeling. My feet aren’t tapping against one another but sliding onto one another like velvet against silk, making love as they celebrate their peace. I want to give myself a big hug and a kiss on my forehead.

Then I want to shower, massage and scrub my body, stimulate the blood flow, do the same with my face. Wear brand new clothes, apply lotion, perfume. Get a blow dry, have my nails done or do them myself and then head out to enjoy the views for the day. The views being any view.

(Secretly missing my partying self, she was fearless, so am I but she has some balls I lack. Plus she can dance. And feel no guilt, that’s a good and a bad one but she don’t feel no pain.)

She gets me in trouble sometimes.

But I get me in trouble too.

Trying to control the constant urge to drink for one mere reason and that is maybe God is testing my self control at this moment and mf sheytan will get such a good laugh by ruining my sobriety streak my ego can’t allow being roasted from the this dude for now.

Well I’m feeling beautiful

loved, precious, like a doughnut warm Cute, probably tastes good. A nice smelling cloud. I’m a lovely smelling cloud who wants to drink so much coffee wow, might just get myself some coffee today.

end

11:57am

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leucoray · 7 years ago

Text

Who Killed Markiplier: I have a theory.

Leucoray’s WKM Fan Theory #1: The Era it took place in, the 1920’s or 30’s

So warning, spoilers ahead?.... Yeah. And it’s gonna be LONG.

There are modern day references in regards toward the technology used in the WKM series; such as alarm clocks, Polaroid photographs, and colored photographs. My instincts say that a double garage wasn’t much of a thing in the yonder years, but I could be wrong. More so, I’m looking at the fashion choices in this series. Granted, there is a serious CLUE vibe going on in the series, which gives it a feeling of elegance. If my knowledge of silver screen fashions has taught me anything; that a chunk of the costumes used in Who Killed Markiplier were of the 1920’s and 30’s.

My biggest hint was from Mark’s robe ensemble with the robe and white scarf when we first see our host after we had entered the manor. Sure, he could have been modeled after the iconic Hugh Hefner, since that was his go-to look for decades, but again, how old was Hef? The guy was a little kid during the 30’s sure, but that time held a certain nostalgia, not just for Hefner but for America in general. The Robe look came to popularity in the 1920’s and has held its place as an iconic upper-class look.

Abe, The Detective’s look was likely the easiest to replicate. Granted, fedoras were more of a thing compared to deerstalker hats. But, we needed to know he was a detective at a glance, to reassure the solidity of the character; therefor, using a trademark garment for a detective inspired by Sherlock Holmes, which was quite the rage in the film industry during- da- da-da- the 20’s and onward! The Detective Noir that seems to designate around Abe, again, it fits the era.

Damien, the Mayor’s look is clean and sharp, a standard and well-tailored suit were well associated with political figures. Again, pretty easy, being as how a nice suit is pretty much timeless. Unless you have a Zoot Suit, which made their statement during the same era, were baggier and seemingly oversized for their wearer, often times associated with mobsters or other gangs. An official of the state or country wouldn’t be caught dead in such a thing.

And either he needed it or not, canes could have been considered as a fashion accessory, especially for upper-class men.

William, The Colonel’s look, admittedly a bit tricky. Thankfully, he’s eccentric!

It seems this particular uniform was one of British descent in the 1900’s. All things considered, it wouldn’t be uncommon for a veteran to wear their old uniform. Especially if it gives him solidarity when occasionally delusional.

As a bonus, there’s an apparent Teddy Roosevelt air about the guy too.

With the bold mustache and the catchphrase “Bully!” and all that. Teddy Roosevelt was in office from 1901-1909, died in 1919. He was rather iconic, and seemed to be the man’s man as it were; someone the Colonel very likely idolized. Which can still be within the parameters of the 1920’s theory?

And finally Celine, the Seer’s look, modest yet elegant, but also to show off that fiery personality.

This is where the fashion theory may be strained a bit.

Celine seems to be wearing a pillbox hat with a veil. Pillbox hats came to fruition in the 1930’s, as cited here http://www.fashionencyclopedia.com/fashion_costume_culture/Modern-World-1946-1960/Pillbox-Hats.html. It still has that bubble of being between the 20’s and 30’s, but just barely so.

If this series did take place in the glamorous years of the 30’s or 20’s, it might be safe to say that these past events happened in a previous life for the Markiplier universe.

Consider this: Warfstache and Darkiplier both seem to ignore the rules of physics, right? Normal humans can’t do that. What if Warfstache died sometime after Darkiplier came back? Darki’s already dead technically, so he’s more or less a phantom fueled by the ever eternal rage and resentment. Colonel William is not sane by the end of the series, in fact, he’s in a delusional denial that anything bad really happened. He could have accidentally killed himself, or intentionally when he started to put some truths together and no longer had the willpower to endure the reality. William becomes Wilford as he exists in a sort of Mad-Hatter state of existence. Wilford is always smiling, he is blissfully ignorant of the laws around himself and has no morality what so ever; he is absolutely chaotic. Meanwhile, Darkiplier is cold, resigned and speaks calmly when he can help it, but you know he’s boiling on the inside.

But what about Mark? He ran off with Damien’s real body didn’t he? Supposedly, yes, I’d agree with that. However! Let’s consider the personality that the Mark has expressed in this series. This Mark is charismatic and easy to like, sure, but through the verbal testimonies of some of the characters, he’s not the best friend or boss to have. He took the Mayor’s identity, through some black-magical means, then supposedly gets away scot-free? Perhaps. But that’s a theory for another time. Getting back on track, saying that Mark got away with Damien’s life but still fell into old habits. After all, he took what he wanted, why would there be a lesson to learn? Likely he crashed and burned again as Damien, maybe via consumption and died unremarkably. He reincarnates into the lovable boi we know today to make up for his outrageous behavior in his past life, rather he’s aware of it or not. Darkiplier and Warfstache are drawn to him like a magnet to iron shavings; they know him and have the instinct to torment him in some way. Either it’s stabbing him for no reason during an interview or simply looming over him to hijack the life that was taken away.

By all means, I am open to having discussions over this, it has been such a muse for me lately.

#wkm #who killed markiplier #fan theory #Damien #Celine #the Colonel #Markiplier #Darkiplier #wilford warfstache #abe detective #might be obsessing a little...

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230east · 8 years ago

Text

sinking silently in my submarine

peeking up my periscope

periodically perusing the passing

photosynthesizing plankton

pulsating plasma membranes

eight legged tentacular suction cup

Pill popping percolating

positive vibrations

shaking up foundations

rock rolling down

to the bottom again.

just out of reach

water will recede

Cyclone circling the drain

so thirsty

get thee

to a nunnery

habit forming

thot-like behavior

instant gratification

think in new ways

get in formation

Shakespeare compares thee to Beyonce

woke up flawless like a diamond

dumber we round down

to the lowest denomination

algorithm assisted living

marketing machines

suggestively shaping

what you see

programming your point of view

the screen you pass through

is a filtration system

profile picture profiles you

feed back looping

it's the sine of the times

like a wave crashing systems

conversations conspiratorial in tone

the sinking suspicion that not so fresh feeling

and douching in general is a maladaptive marketing

mechanism to make you insecure and unsure.

they planted the product in your periphery

you think its your own idea

evolutions going backwards

survival of the photoshopped.

I’d rather be a monkey.

but ive evolved past tense

see triple in 3D

I trace your trajectory

parabolic path leading back

tragic swag. so sad these days.

no surface only substrate

sound of echoing rippling water

then a gasp for air breaks the waves

reverberating ringing tingling

beat tympanic tamborine man

oscillting ossicles translate

fluent French kiss my derriere

rare special edition

one of a kind its just like mine

same old samo

saying the same thing

eat your drugs

don't do school

stay in vegetables

various variations on the theme

every verse a throw back

vintage vino veritas

theres truth in that

cliche et tu brute

wino forever never left me

so retro back in style again

stranger things have happened

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees

still singing that song flowing through me

swinging in the breeze in fields elysian

exceptional on a hill past daffodils

narcissistic point of view image conscious

selfish gene pool self interested kin selection

consciousness superficial

on the surface floating

like a glacier melting

oblivious to the tension growing

till it bursts through the glass mirror ceiling

distorting the image in circular ripples of pixels

impressionistic audience

glitch in the system program

its all conditioned

when i ring the bell

cerberus salivates

it is fate

three bitches barking

measuring me out by string

theoretically

three weird sisters

by the cauldron bubbling

on the lyre

lyrically i am lilting

you can’t stop me

you can’t stilt me

im always growing

exponentially

Fibonacci flow

spiraling out of control

fractals follow golden ratio

chaos creating destruction

entropy at equilibrium

Here we meet

Apollo and Dionysus

combined in catharsis

pupils open to see pathways

parallel past the point

of no return to normal vision

vanishing point out of view

past pluto out the solar system

on my way to cross the river

styx

REFERENCES IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER

STRANGE FRUIT Southern trees bear a strange fruit Blood on the leaves and blood at the root Black body swinging in the southern breeze Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees Pastoral scene of the gallant south The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh And the sudden smell of burning flesh! Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop Here is a strange and bitter crop. -- Music and lyrics by Lewis Allan, copyright 1940

HAMLET

I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God has given you one face and you make yourselves another. You jig and amble, and you lisp, you nickname God’s creatures and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I’ll no more on ’t. It hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are married already, all but one, shall live. The rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go. -Shakespear

I AM A STRANGE LOOP

In the end, we are self-perceiving, self-inventing, locked-in mirages that are little miracles of self-reference.

— Douglas Hofstadter,P363

And there he, on the the stark, dark marker Atop his parents' graves, shed tears, And praised their ashes — darker, starker. Alas, life reaps too fast its years; All flesh is grass. Each generation, At heaven's hidden motivation, Arises, blooms, and falls from grace; Another quickly takes its place. And thus our race, rash and impetuous, Ascends and has its day, then raves And hastens toward ancestral graves. All too soon, death's sting will get to us; Aye, how our children's children rush And push us from this world's sweet crus

And then with verse of quickened sadness He honored too, in tears and pain, His parents' dust... their memory's gladness... Alas! Upon life's furrowed plain — A harvest brief, each generation, By fate's mysterious dispensation, Arises, ripens, and must fall; Then others too must heed the call. For thus our giddy race gains power: It waxes, stirs, turns seething wave, Then crowds its forebears toward the grave. And we as well shall face that hour When one fine day our grandsons true Straight out of life will crowd us too!

let me sing a tune up tempo to the groove in the recording turn up the gramaphone and listen bro I am the best alive aliviate the symptoms but wont cure the pain killers murdering meat cleaver cut you into filet a deux lets dosey do lets hula hoop lets lasso the moon for you betty boop bop dop dap zap zippy zippering witty whimpering sassy syllables trashy talkative locomotive combusting and composting reusing and recycling reducing so compact disc DVD player ipod 3D glasses pixilation pointelissm glitching itching for a scratched surface scar face so Miami mami papi chulo lean low dow ho and hit the floor on your knees looking up at me like asking will you marry me run away with the beat and drop it down sinking silently in my submarine peering through my periscope periodically perusing the passing photosynthesizing plankton pulsating plasma membranes eight legged tentacular suction cup overfloweth with the fluid flow so Fibonacci spiralizing spiritual feeling so free too carefule calculated in the risky behaviors bitch yap yaw yippy yay you only live uno dos tres stress the alliterative alternative alternating current events talking heads heaven is a place where nothing happens above us only sky and satelittes revolving evolving electrical signal transduction travertine stone up your nose rock the boat overboard emotional so emo what she yelling for in such a monotone drone dramatically durgical and clinically clergical sentences so sequence shimmering laser bean landing site fly a kite thunder and lightning bug chirp

on the path charted through the sky

chariots of fire Apollo s

in pediatricians

we all follow direction and its counting down from ten to scale model student pupils open to see pathways parallel past the point of no return to normal vision vanishing point of view on point the point is people like you postulate pictorially snap back to reality whomp there goes gravity I am above it all I see through all it. i saw the signs of the times so many signals overstimulating the market so similar to something the remix of ignition is cool again until its overplayed out of style so retro im coming back like vintage vines wino forever in vino veritas theres truth in that touché et tu brute brutalist

zoot suited tooted and boot leg boozer buzzer

cycle seasons

tick flick off

membrance awesome oscicles oscilation

it's the sine of the times cant you see it pay attention

double visionary view from above

The next thing I woke up still singing that song the one you hear flowing river styx Cerberus salivating salty seas soylent green is algae plants are people im a dafodill on a hill let me sing a tune up tempo to the groove in the recording turn up the gramaphone and listen bro I am the best alive aliviate the symptoms but wont cure the pain killers murdering meat cleaver cut you into filet a deux lets dosey do lets hula hoop lets lasso the moon for you betty boop bop dop dap zap zippy zippering witty whimpering sassy syllables trashy talkative locomotive combusting and composting reusing and recycling reducing so compact disc DVD player ipod 3D glasses pixilation pointelissm glitching itching for a scratched surface scar face so Miami mami papi chulo lean low dow ho and hit the floor on your knees looking up at me like asking will you marry me run away with the beat and drop it down sinking silently in my submarine peering through my periscope periodically perusing the passing photosynthesizing plankton pulsating plasma membranes eight legged tentacular suction cup overfloweth with the fluid flow so Fibonacci spiralizing spiritual feeling so free too carefule calculated in the risky behaviors bitch yap yaw yippy yay you only live uno dos tres stress the alliterative alternative alternating current events talking heads heaven is a place where nothing happens above us only sky and satelittes revolving evolving electrical signal transduction travertine stone up your nose rock the boat overboard emotional so emo what she yelling for in such a monotone drone dramatically durgical and clinically clergical sentences so sequence shimmering laser bean landing site fly a kite thunder and lightning bug chirp

The American Dream is a product.

Lassoing up that freedom and mass producing it in metal.

I grabbed the reins and hoisted up on the saddle.

Perhaps he was too dumb to run.

Perhaps he was trying to protect me.

Graffiti on the door to the private room.

He shaved his face with a hatchet.

They placed bocce on the boat

Dressed in white.

Looking up at the billboard by the highway

Trying to communicate

He ran with a baguette]

I aint going outside. she said to the dead air left lingering in the cigarette soaked airwaves still circulating

The smoky air swam circular warning skylarks illuminated by a stray sunbeam. light littered in lateral patterns.

lyrically i am lilting you can’t stop me you can’t stilt me

well I’m majoring in business administration and I’m thinking of minoring in communications

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