#its a whole long thing how he survived but it left him very deeply traumatized and resentful of elsweyr in general

[the-skooma-den]

Jo'thera meeting his bio family goes very very poorly

[ziracona]

So with my second read-through of my favorite chapters I think I finally figured out that Julie was essentially just dissassociating the whole time, or did I read that wrong? Also for the legion im curious if things will go differently than ILM did, speaking of which- Would Julie and Frank have caved and joined the survivors eventually? What do you think really would have convinced them?

More or less, although not like in a way where she doesn’t know what is going on. I think she just lightly dissociates constantly. She’s got a personality disorder, but she lies if I try to figure out which one. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So. I know how she behaves but not why. She’s very aware, she just…’unplugs’ as it were, from feeling it, so it’s easier to do, and has for years. Even the fun parts. That’s why she harps so much on things Frank says being nice because he talks about her like she’s a ‘real person’ or a ‘whole person.’ She’s very self aware. She knows she is not normal. She just chooses mostly not to think about that. Girl represses everything, always. Her brain is plugged in, her feelings are off, and so is any reasoning she doesn’t want to do.

Yes. Every timeline ends differently, especially for the realm killers and the Entity. NDF, ILM, FtEoNR, and HL (even ODE) would have some very significant changes. Some things always stay, the strongest ties as it were, like Nea and Min finding each other, but the ones more up to chance remain…butterfly effected.

But on to the exciting answer! (For me). A chance to talk about the chapter that never was for ILM! The answer is yes, they would have joined not long after the events of Oak, if the Entity hadn’t pushed a confrontation with Philip. I considered letting the story run longer to include the newest two releases (Yui and ST, I believe?). If I had, there would have been a chapter called Pheidippides that I was deeply fond of, and don’t think I’ve ever gotten to talk about before. Essentially, the short summary was the Clown ended up in an area beside Legion, and lured one of them (Julie) in with audio recorded bait. She got caught and tortured, with Joey swapping with her to protect her. The Clown tried to force him to switch back, because he prefers doing what he does to girls, and Joey refused. Using drugs on them to try and force him fucked them up, and made them temporarily lose the ability to switch back and forth, trapping Joey in the body. Jeff heard things going on, and attempted to help, and ended up trapped too, then got severely injured trying to draw fire off Joey. Eventually, drugs wear off enough Frank and Susie are able to swap and she (thin wrists) tag teams to get an arm free, and he stabs the Clown through the ear with a scalpel and kills him (outside a trial).

Frank immediately flips out and calls the Entity to be like “control your fucking killers what the hell?!? Two of us are in critical condition, and this survivor is one missed ER from dead!” But the Entity’s concern is immediately recovering its favorite killer, Kenneth, who was not insured at the moment, so it ejects them from Kenneth’s realm and makes it closed off while it tries to fix it. Frank keeps shouting about it needing to fix them them, which he can’t do because they’re in one body and thus can’t treat each other, so it just rips them back into four and basically tells him to fix it himself, and vanishes to rescue the Clown.

Frank and Susie are left mostly unharmed, with a traumatized and injured Julie, and a more severely injured and traumatized Joey, and an almost dead Jeff who has been getting tortured for them for the last hour. They have no medical supplies or experience, the Entity won’t come, everyone is going completely breakdown. The survivors have meds and expertise, and since Jeff entered Kenneth’s realm, while that’s impassible, it means the survivors /must/ be one away from them, with the ST Lab and Demogorgons, in the way.

Frank realizes Jeff’s only hope of survival is getting through the lab, to the survivors, and bringing them back. It’s the only way to help Joey and Julie either, who while not actively dying, are sincerely fucked. But they despise and won’t listen to him, so he can’t be the one to do it. He might get killed on sight. They’ll think it’s a trap. They won’t beleive. Which means Susie /has/ to. She’s the only one they’ll not hurt, and might believe. She’s terrified to do it, but going to, alone, but he tells her he’s not going to make her do it alone. He’ll go to protect her, and they’ll do it together.

They leave Julie and Joey to recuperate and try to care for Jeff best and long as they can, and then, knowing death outside a game is death for them (and this is a hell of a risk—they’re tough, but in the end they’re young adults with small knives, vs well, the destructive power of a demogorgon, and ILM verse while there’s only one demogorgon per trial, there are many in the Lab, so the lab is a death zone), and their odds are bad but there is just no other way, they together make a mad dash through the lab to the other side to get help.

And yeah I loved that idea it didn’t end up working for the over-arching narrative flow but maybe someday I’ll find a way to reuse it.

They would have become solid and continuing allies after the event, given the length of the Entity fucking them over, and survivors risking themselves to help. They’re flawed people, but they love their own deeply and sincerely. (Which is the exact situation the Entity is working to avoid during the events of NDF)

[pheonixfire4015]

Peace in the Midst of the Storm By Eowyn38

Note: I have not written in a very long time and I didn’t have time to have someone review any mistakes. Its not my best, I am tired, so please forgive any kinks I didn’t work out. I couldn’t focus on homework so instead I wrote this. These people are fictional but often times a person will see similarities in character or circumstances with their real life that makes the fictional real. Having Elliot back has given me something to look forward to every week again. At the end of the day I just want these two to find some peace. We always get to see the trauma that does happen, but we have yet to get resolution in how an individual even begins to unravel pain and trauma. I wrote this because I guess it’s what I hope a real conversation will be between Elliot and Olivia on their journey towards healing. Its a start in the right direction, as they both have been dealing with pain and trauma in the same way. Surviving trauma is easier than dealing with the devastation it leaves in its wake. I know that based on my own trauma. Hope you enjoy.

Elliot and Olivia Reunion Post Episodes:

Rated: PG

Its 3:35 on a Friday night. Olivia is staring at the white speckled ceiling as it changes shape and color before her eyes the longer she stares. The emotions and thoughts leaving her unable to do anything else but lay there still. No amount of thinking or feeling ever seems to lead to any resolution or relief.  There comes a point in life where the pain and emotions become too much and the human brain in its defense turns everything else to a numb gray haze just to continue to function and cope. It took years perfecting and working to keep her emotions in appropriate tightly locked boxes. For the job, for her mother, for the people who depend on her. Elliot was her partner and best friend, but somewhere down the line he became, well, everything. There was this sense of shame felt every time she allowed a trickle of vulnerability, need, love and longing to spill over. Elliot and all he meant was something she had wrestled with for longer than she can even recall anymore. She often would spend time thinking when and where it all began to unravel. Learning to live with the gaping hole his presence had left, comparing every man to his shadow had become an everyday battle. With each traumatic situation the desperate desire to see him come through the door to save and protect yet again was something she wished she could crush completely. But she had learned to live with it. Having him back, hearing his voice, holding him…. Had become a dream and a nightmare Liv was not prepared to deal with. Seeing him had been like a magnet snapping back to where it’s supposed to be, It was like feeling apart of herself breathe again, a part of herself she forced to become dorment.

Olivia rubbed her hands over her face to ease the dry ache of her eyes and turned on her side while letting out a sigh, longing for some relief from the weight of it all. The range of emotions she didn’t want to feel came in waves, all she wanted was to sleep to escape, but with each wave it left unending hopelessness in its wake as to how to navigate it all, wanting at times to sink into a numb haze instead. She spent her whole existence learning to live with these types of emotions. Seeing the look in her mother’s eyes knowing she was the product of rape. As one of very few females on the job seeing the male cops look at her with distrust and disrespect- having to constantly prove your worth. Coming home to an empty void of a home all thoughts of motherhood and family and connection a far-away dream. Trauma from the job, by this time... well... she had simply stopped counting the numbers of wounds left. Noah… had become the one touchstone, the one rock she could pour herself into. The one truly good thing in her life.

Elliot’s words rang in her head bringing with them questions she didn’t want to ask. He was in an emotional war desperately grasping onto any lifeline and madly pushing away at the same time. She knew and understood the signs.  Watching him navigate this made her flip flop from anger, to frustration, to desperation, to love, to guilt, and then sinking into numbness. While in the same breath realizing the irony in it all. She too was drowning and unsure how to navigate her way out. His letter was clear, there was something he needed to share but in the right moment. What could he share she didn’t know, or did she know? Could she trust him... his emotions, his words? Could she trust he would not push her away, walk away yet again, leaving her with less than she had before?

“I love you…. You mean the world to me….”

Rang over and over, threatening to undo the delicate balance she had created to manage the daily raging war of emotions and thoughts. She kept telling herself all the rationale reasons to keep the inappropriate emotions at bay. Inappropriate was the only word that could summarize the emotions she had shoved to the deepest part of herself, what other word was there for these emotions, for falling in love?  Elliot was her partner, a man who had been married, had a family, a wife who just recently died, a woman Liv loved and respected. She repeated the words over and over willing her rationale mind to win over irrational emotions. Elliot had called 4 times today. She should answer, she should call him, she should talk over what he found in Kathy’s investigation, but she feared if she did the delicate balance she was struggling to hold together would collapse. Was she really that close to the edge, all because of one person?

Knock… knock…

She turned her head to the noise she heard in the other room. Again… Knock…. After determining it was not the neighbors, Noah, or an intruder…  she collapsed into her pillow with a sigh…. Elliot. It took all she had left to walk to the door knowing who she would see on the other end of the peep hole. There he stood, head down, dejected, tired…. With a sigh, she batten-down the hatches within and opened the door.

“Elliot… its 3am…”

“I know…” he shook his head… she could see the motors working in his mind… but the words just fell flat to silence. For a few moments their eyes just did the talking and the communicating.

With a sign she stepped aside and let him in. She pointed to Noah’s room letting Elliot know they needed to remain quiet.  He nodded wordlessly. She stood watching as he paced… back and forth… back and forth… restless, rubbing his hands over his face and head. Olivia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and walked over, placing a hand on his forearm, blocking his restless movements.

“Elliot… sit… please.”

He looked at her with wild red eyes, hooded in darkness. He nodded. Liv sat on the couch. He sat on the edge of a chair on the other side of the room. His leg moving uncontrollably. For an uncomfortable amount of time there was just silence.

“Look… I know the last thing you want right now is me here. I feel like I keep saying I am sorry, like they are these empty words that don’t mean anything anymore. I keep letting all of you down. I also know you have your own battles Olivia” Elliot’s leg stops moving for a moment as she watched him try to find the words to articulate, trying to detangle the balled-up twine of emotions. She allowed the silence to stretch, allowing him the space and time. 

“I don’t know what to do with all of this Liv, and I don’t even know where to start unpacking this. I keep wanting to do what I have always done, what has always worked.”

At that she spoke… “Has it worked Elliot?” Her voice has a twinge of hardness she didn’t intend, or had she? Maybe the anger she felt was not just his struggle but her own inability to fix herself. 

Again, silence stretched.

He signed deeply…. “No… It hasn’t worked, but it’s what has been easier to manage to prevent from becoming a burden to all of you.”

She spoke again… “Have you managed it, has it been easier for everyone else around you to manage?”

With that she watched his face drop… confused and deflated. His head fell. His leg resumed their restless bounce. 

In that moment she regretted her questions and tone knowing her own struggled had tainted her emotions. She prepared for him to spring up red faced and leave.

“Well, I guess if I was better at this, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Olivia shook her head… “Look Elliot, I am sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I am exhausted. I am here if you need to talk. But you are pushing me away, your kids away, and right now more than anything they need you and you need them. You’re not the only one going through this... this hell.”

Elliot’s hands came up again, rugging his face, wishing… wishing this was easier.  

“You’re right. I don’t know what that means or what I am going to do… but you’re right.”

At this Liv’s face and body poster changed, relaxed. Some things had changed, evolved. 

“You read the letter?”

Liv shook her head… “Elliot, we don’t have to do this right now. There’s….Its not the right…” But the words were just lost.

“Look Liv, your right. The timing is off. It’s always been off. But I think it’s the only way we can move forward. You’re right, I need to make amends with my kids, to Kathy, but if I am to move on from all of this I need to make amends to you as well.”

At that Liv had no arguments left, 3 am or not, right time or not.

“I don’t even know how to start this….. You know the job is the job. It comes with its battles. Talking over things that we saw with Kathy was just never anything I ever considered. I did my job and I came home and dealt with it. I don’t know when it happened but a time came where I just wasn’t... managing anymore. All I wanted was solitude. Over time the connection I had with you Liv, what we went through, was unlike any relationship I had had before.”

Liv shook her head, understanding without needing anything more…

“Let’s face it, it was me shutting down and the repercussions, that caused me to lose my family the first time and I almost lost you. And it’s the same mistake I am making now…”

There was silent reflection for a good minute before he continued.

“When Kathy and I divorced. I failed in my marriage, I failed in caring for my kids who were a wreck, and I was unraveling. My feelings… for you…”

Elliot shook his head, unsure how to fully articulate.

“They went deeper than I really know how to express. I felt it was a weakness. You took up so much of my thoughts, so much of my world. The worry, the care, the guilt, wanting better for you…. I felt I was losing my ability to do the one thing I was good at and that was the job and having your back. I resented you for emotions I didn’t know what to do with. Those feelings then changed into something more, into something different…”

Elliot looked up, to scan Olivia’s brown eyes. She shook her head… the depth of her knowing exactly what he meant… while her brain remained a blank mess.

“Ok…. I loved you Liv. I fell... in love with you.” With that said Elliots heard dropped. “There was a part of me that wanted to reach out, wanted to be honest with you because I felt this shift. I felt like the same battle I was fighting; you were also fighting.”

He paused, letting the heaviness of that sink in. He watched as tears began to brim in those eyes he knew so well. His restlessness ceased, and with a new determination he stood. He sat down gingerly in front of her on the coffee table.

“I knew the implications if we were honest with each other, and all the risks we would be taking. The thought of losing you. I was drowning, as I am now, and I went back to what was comfortable. What was easier. Kathy got pregnant. I knew in that moment what I had done was unfair to her and unfair to you. It was selfish. I went back to my family, but it didn’t stop what I was feeling… from getting harder, harder to compartmentalize, harder to ignore.”  

The tears that had been pooling finally spilled in a steady stream onto Liv’s cheek. In an involuntary response he reached out, and stroked it away. Liv’s eyes widened. He pulled his hand away and lay them back in his lap, looking down at the damp of her tears on the tips of his fingers.

“The job had worn me down, I was scared of ruining… everything Liv… if I stayed. What type of man had I become? I knew there would be a time I would no longer be able to be who I should be to my wife and be who I wanted to be…. For you. So, instead of being honest, I was a coward Liv, I walked away. I justified in my head, I felt if I left it would give you the ability to move on and give me the ability to devote myself fully to my family…. And give me the time to work on becoming a better man, a better dad, a better husband.”

He ranched across the short divide to grab her hand, which were balled tightly together in her lap. She looked down at his outstretched hand, a peace offering. She undid her hands that had become white from the pressure, and rest her own in his. They were ice cold. For a moment they just looked down, at the connection between them. He began gently rubbing the life back into her cold hands. 

Without looking up she said, “If you had been honest with me, even if I told you I felt the same, I would have never allowed you to, I would never expect….”

Liv's head shook adamantly but not knowing how else to articulate her thoughts. 

He looked up, “I know Liv. Unfortunately, I can’t say...” Elliots head hung unsure if he should say what he really felt...”I can't say I would have been strong enough to be that honorable. I knew seeing you, hearing your voice, would knock down any resolve I had left….”

She looked up, realization rolling over her in waves. He loved her, she had not been alone in her slow descending battle of emotions. She shook her head, tears falling this time without stopping. All she had done to survive, all the emotions and battles, all the coping mechanisms, they were being undone.

“Funny thing is, I went to the other side of the world. And The first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing I thought about when I went to bed…. Was you. I loved my wife Liv please hear that, but I also loved you. Both of those loves were so vastly different.”

With that Liv groaned and the tears came stronger, she grasped tightly to his hand. Something in her that felt lost and abandoned desperately needed to hear… every… word… of this.

“Should I reach out, how would you react, had I destroyed everything, If I called would I cave and come home, what if you had been able to move on and I ruined that delicate balance? So, days just turned into years. But…. When I saw you that night Liv. I felt like a missing part of myself was found again. With all of this…. Seeing you again… Losing Kathy… I just don’t know what to do with…” He motioned with his hands… “all of this.”

With that silence filled the room once again. Liv had nothing… no words… nothing to give. His words hurt, they healed, they explained, they gave hope, they were the end of one journey and the beginning of a new one. They sat there, both hands now intertwined in her lap. She lifted his hand to her face, nuzzling into their warmth, and looked deeply into his eyes. She planted a small kiss to the inside of his palm. It’s all she had to give in that moment. He moved closer and stoked her cheek, trying to wipe dry every tear he may have caused, and shook his head. He understood. She had forgotten how easy it could be between them, this silent communication.

“Look, this is a lot.. too much… I don’t know how long this is going to take. I don’t know if I have ruined this. I just hope…. We can maybe start over, start clean. I’d love to get to know Noah. I’d love to get my best friend back. I just need… time.”

In that moment Liv felt lighter than she had in a long time, she shook her ahead again wordlessly.

Elliot’s hand dropped back down to her lap… “Can I stay?” She looked at him unsure. “I’m just… so tired Liv… so tired…” Without hesitation Liv moved over and Elliot crossed to sit on the couch next to her. He laid down allowing his head to rest in her lap. He let out a sigh he didn’t even realize he had been holding. Her arms came up around him, cradling his head.

“You have my word I’ll be gone before Noah wakes up.” She stared down at him, smiling, grateful for his understanding even in her need to protect her son, stroking the hair behind his neck.

“Thank you, now rest.”

In minutes, his beathing became long and even. His body relaxed and the restlessness ceased, the waging war stilled if only for a little while. She looked down taking in words she never thought she would hear. At some point she would have to unpack them, figure out what they meant, but for now, this was enough. They both had a long way to go and a lot of work to do. She leaned her head back to rest on the cushion of the couch, staring again at the white speckled ceiling, looking with new eyes, and soon sleep took over. In the eye of the storm, Silent, peaceful, still.

[surfalldaybaby]

”A Very Long and Comprehensive Analysis of Feyre’s Experience w/ Trauma and Abuse

- This is not a kind analysis of Nesta but please still read it if you want. It’s not in the wrong tags tho so please don’t rant about how much you love Nesta. I love that for you. Personally, I hate her. :)

Also- I use many of the quotes that @feysandlover and @dont-rattle-aelin used to prove her point that Nesta is abusive because she pulled many of the really jarring ones. 

I was looking through the Rhysand tag and for some reason someone posted something comparing Nesta and Feyre in terms of their trauma, and they said that Nesta had experienced way more trauma than Feyre and I-

That’s disgusting.

First - don’t compare trauma

Second- they were wrong and lacked critical thinking skills that left out Feyre’s full experience with abuse

Nesta was sexually assaulted ( which nobody talks about enough) and her family’s fortune flipped making them poor overnight. Because of this she fostered anger towards her father. I get that. I sympathize with that. She is then taken away from her life and forcefully changed into fae. I cannot imagine what that felt like for her. It must have been devastating. Her whole identity was shifted in one day and she went from hating fae to being fae. Confusing and overwhelming. She then goes into war and develops PTSD and depression from her experiences. She sees her father die and is unable to reconcile her anger and his death. It’s horrible and I cannot even begin to understand the depth of her emotions here. I have zero issue saying that about Nesta because it’s true she has gone through extaordinary trauma and I cannot imagine how she fully feels. She deals with this trauma in unhealthy ways because they only exacerbate her feelings of worthlessness. Not her fault. However, she also treats Mor and Feyre and Rhys in disrespectful ways and Cassian and her have an unhealthy dynamic where they insult each other. Her and Amren have a shaky and partner like relationship but it is by no means a sturdy one. Az and Nesta don’t seem to have a relationship at all. She has no true healthy relationship with anyone but Elain, and you could argue even that is not truly healthy.

Much of Nesta’s trauma is due to extraneous factors and a multitude or variables. It’s valid and it matters just as much as Feyres. They are both real. However the amount of traumatic experiences she has gone through does not come close to rivaling that of Feyre’s and to even try and compare them is disgusting. Trauma should never be compared but I want to show Feyre’s experience in a broader light to show her development from a scared girl to high lady

Feyre was never an active abuser in any relationship she was always the one being abused. Nesta was abused and she was also the abuser. It is important to point that out because it heavily impacts Feyre’s story.

Also, I believe the reason Feyre became so accustomed and slipped so easily into being a victim to Tamlins abuse is because Feyre was already the victim of emotional abuse from her sisters. We see this everyday, research shows that victims of abuse go back to abusive relationship and form new relationships that center around abuse because they are used to it and find it comforting. This is an extraneous point that you can agree with or can argue against it’s just a personal connection I made. However, it is very evident how Nesta and Elains treatment of Feyre affects her. She has no self confidence, she remains illiterate and with no real knowledge of polite manners ( something important in the real world, something that holds her back from being able to assimilate into the real world), her spirit is broken down at home because she knows  that verbal attacks are going to come and Nesta is going to lash out and say horrible disgusting things to her if she asks her to do something or holds her accountable for her lack of work. She is constantly degraded for everything that she does and it has a pronoucned effect on her psyche throughout the trilogy and novella. 

Like Nesta, Feyre also had to go through her family losing their fortune, she also had to bear the weight of her promise to her mother, she had to support her sisters financially going into the forest alone to hunt animals just as big as herself at 14. She never had money for herself because her sisters took it from her. Like they literally took all her money to buy things they did not need, leaving Feyre with basically nothing.

“I’d love a new cloak,” Elain said at last with a sigh, at the same moment Nesta rose and declared: “I need a new pair of boots.””“I kept quiet, knowing better than to get in the middle of one of their arguments, but I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces... I drowned them out as they began quarreling over who would get the money the hide would fetch tomorrow…”

 And Nesta complains and whines and doesn’t stop gaslighting Feyre because of her lack of hard work. But, she doesn’t want to do work herself because she thinks it’s beneath her. 

“I thought you were going to chop wood today. Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters. She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. Of all of us, Nesta looked the most like our mother—especially when she wanted something. “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.” My jaw clenched. “Please,” I asked, calming my breathing, knowing an argument was the last thing I needed or wanted. “Please get up at dawn to chop that wood.” I unbuttoned the top of my tunic. “Or we’ll be eating a cold breakfast.” Her brows narrowed. “I will do no such thing!”

She doesn’t care about Feyre or the fact that starving is their new reality. Poverty is what they live in. We all know if Feyre didn’t go hunting Nesta would be furious at Feyre and belittle her and make her feel small and responsible for their hunger.

“Take those disgusting clothes off.” 

“Any bit of praise for anyone—me, Elain, other villagers—usually resulted in her dismissal.”

“Is there a problem, Feyre?” She flung my name like an insult, and my jaw ached from clenching it so hard.”

“You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”c“Take those disgusting clothes off.” 

“What do you know?” Nesta breathed. “You’re just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up, and someday—someday, Feyre, you’ll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed.” She stormed off, Elain darting after her, cooing her sympathy. 

Then Tamlim comes and kidnaps her. More trauma. She falls in love with him, I think partly because of Stockholm Syndrome and also because he shows her a level of kindness that she was not given at home, and then he disappears so she has to go back to her life with her sisters. Her sisters have all the benefits of her being stolen away bcs Feyre was able to provide their old house and wealth back through Tamlin’s gift. Her sisters literally never did anything to provide for themselves or help their father or sister. If you really think about that situation as a whole it’s devastating. Then she goes to save Tamlin and finds that her home and her loved one was basically destroyed. She goes to save him.

While under the mountain Amarantha humiliates and tortures her for fun. She makes her run around trying to get away from a monster, her illiteracy is exploited for amusement while she is under pressure of death by fire, she is forced to kill fae in order to save her love, and she has to suffer with her injuries in a basement where everyone is rooting against her.

Then she fucking dies. And like Nesta she is forced to become fae in order to survive. Like she can’t catch a break. Her whole life has really just been horrible and so traumatic. A series of abuses.

That’s not even all! She goes home and is deeply depressed and struggling with PTSD and Tamlin, who she literally was tortured and died to save, takes advantage of her sexually because he is too scared to acknowledge that she is struggling. He uses her body for his pleasure while she throws up every night after he leaves her bedroom due to the nightmares she gets from saving hundreds of fae. She is also forced to fit into a box that she doesn’t want- wearing dresses, pretending to be happy, becoming a figurehead as Tamlins bride knowing that it means she will have to be submissive and have children. Lucien emotionally abused her and ignores her obvious depression because of his own fear of what Tamlin would say. He is a bystander. She is so broken that she stops caring about everything, even painting, the one thing she always loved. Then he traps her in his house which is traumatizing again because she was just trapped under the mountain! Even the people she loved, the people she trusted, continually can’t stop abusing her.

She finds happiness and stability later on after intensive work on herself, and months of building healthy relationships, but she is still troubled because of the guilt she feels from the townsfolks anger and their sense of righteousness for her actions even though she did the best she could in every circumstance. When she goes to try and save those townspeople it becomes clear that Nesta still hates her. She shows Feyre no kindness. The only reason she is allowed to use the house, the one that Feyre got for them, was because of Elain. Even after that Nesta insults her repeatedly for being fae. Those statments from the first book that I quoted higher up in this post are just a small part of how she speaks to Feyre in the following three books after she finds out that she is fae. Even after Feyre saves her and supports her she continues abusing and blaming Feyre. She continues to insult. degrade, shame, and humiliate her to uplift her own lack of self worth. Its a technique to stop her own insecurity and depression but it is in no way excusable. It’s no wonder Rhysand hates her. She abused his mate for years- something that he experienced under the mountain (shame, gaslighting, and humiliation). That is her life. She goes on to see her father murdered. She suffered so much in such a short amount of time is a wonder she wasn’t more broken.

Don’t come to me saying Nesta experienced more trauma to prove your point that Nesta is a good person and not responsible for her actions because she “feels to much” and is a woman that is cruel, and prideful, and unapologetic “bcs that’s who she is.” She has to be held accountable for her actions, her attitude, and her lack of words and apologies to everyone she wronged- especially her sister.

Feyre sacrifices her childhood, her body, her mental health, and her life in order to provide the stability that her sisters felt was their norm. They are inherently priviledged because of that sacrifice. They felt and still feel entitled to her money, and her loyalty, and that of her friends and mate. They survive because of Feyre. And Feyre never once called them out on their behavior, not even when they continually disrespected her after she provided them with a place to live and money to live off of. This was due to her feelings of guilt and the trauma that she had continually been victim to as a child and in Tamlins court.

Some of y’all use the excuse that they never asked Feyre to do any of that and I’m genuinely appalled that that is even a response to her genuine sacrifice. Her mother asked her to take care of them. Nobody was stepping up. Nesta was not going to go into the forest and neither was Elain, both for different but equally disappointing reasons. They both would have let the family starve. Also, Nesta and Elain were both older than her. Elain and Nesta as Feyre’s old sisters should have, and had a responsibility, to ensure that Feyre didn’t have to do what she did. Their apathy and ungrateful attitude is disgusting. Disgusting and unforgivable. Sure, Feyre may have been able to do it but she never should have had to. The three of them should have figured out a plan of equal work to give and take and survive. Y’all saying that Feyre never had to do that I- ... do you not have a family? Do you not have loved ones? You don’t have to do something to help your family, but you do it anyway because you love them and you hate to see them suffer. It’s just that usually you aren’t being exploited and taken advantage of at 14, for years on end, because the sentiment is usually reciprocated.

Perhaps if they had taken better care of their younger sister she would not have been in the woods and killed the fae. Perhaps all three of them would have bore the brunt of their fathers injury together and made a family. Perhaps if she hadn’t killed the fae in the forest when she was starving due to her sisters laziness, Elain and Nesta would never have been forced into being fae.

They neglected Feyre. They aren’t as responsible for her as their father ofc but they actively neglected her and Nesta even slut shamed her for her consensual sexual relationship with Isaac. The one thing she had that her sisters couldn’t take and Nesta called her filthy and disgusting for it.

“At least I don’t have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal.” 

Nesta remains unapologetic and to me she is not a feminist character. Sarah J Mass tried to use her as that trope to fulfill her idea of a “powerful woman” icon but she’s just a cruel and traumatized woman who people let off the hook. She gets away with it because she gaslights other characters while taking no responsibility for herself. She was abused and traumatized herself but that’s never an excuse for her in turn abusing someone else.

Now I don’t mean to say that Nesta or Elain are irredeemable. Frankly I think they both have potential to be good characters if they just apologized to Feyre in the next book, and really put those sentiments into actions. I do think Nesta is a bad person right now, I think she’s an abuser. And I think it’s hard for abusers to change their pattern of abuse. Elain is less of an outright abuser and more complicit in the abuse. I don’t know if either of them can change, but they definitely won’t if people keep letting them off the hook for their disgusting behavior. I am not impressed or charmed by either of them. Until they show a hint of gratitude and remorse to their sister because as y’all can tell she went through hell to make sure they were taken care of. Not to say that they didn’t do anything for Feyre. They both  had important roles to play in the war, and they do have their moments of kindness and bravery and showed they cared for Feyre but abusers can be kind and considerate and brave one minute and then switch up just as fast. It’s about showing a consistent pattern of respect and love. 

Just because Feyre took care of Elain and Nesta their whole damn life does not mean she has to be responsible for them as high lady. Also she is not responsible for knowing how to deal with their trauma. Her own abuse, and lack of real world experience- because Nesta and Elain never taught her to read, and Nesta continually degraded and made cruel remarks to Feyre about her lack of manners “ disgusting pig, take off your clothes didn’t anyone teach you ...” (manners she didn’t develop because she was in the forest)- means she is not perfect at confronting Nestas PTSD or depression. Feyre’s intention was always good, whereas you can’t tell me that Nestas was good and pure. She is not exempt from being respectful and kind because she is hurt and has mental illnesses. She is not exempt from apologizing because she “feels to much.”

This applies to all of the IC as well. They are all healing. They all experienced trauma that rivals what Feyre went through. It’s no wonder they built a family from that shared bond. They are healing together- not healed. Nesta is not entitled to Feyre’s care or her friends kindness. She is not entitled to be added into the group painting or their secret jokes or parties because she continues to push them all away. Then she insults them and disrespects them. The inner circle has already suffered so much they are not exactly going to be open to accepting Nesta knowing her history and her current actions and remarks, and the history of the IC. Do y’all not remember Mors family nailing a stake into her body for losing her virginity? Or Cassian, Az, and Rhys being forced to bond together to survive, being called bastards, and being ganged up on by all their peers? Rhys being sexually abused for 50 years and seeing his parents murdered? Az being stuck in a basement so long he became the shadows and his hands being burned so badly they were hard to look at? Or Amren being in the wrong body for centuries and still she and all of the IC remain a family because they try to understand each other and their experiences. Nesta was not only rude to them she was cruel and spiteful, especially to their high lady, and they don’t need an excuse, but especially as victims of abuse, they are not perfect, and they sure as hell are not obligated to embrace Nesta into their family. The IC and Feyre deserve better.

A lot of people have posed the argument that if Nesta was male everyone would love her but I disagree. If an older brother let his sister go hunting alone in the woods for years while sitting on his ass, slut shamed her and called her dirty and disgusting, blamed her for her family’s poverty and spoke to her like she was trash for years and years, verbally and emotionally belittled her, felt entitled to her possessions and her kindness while they were both struggling to heal from abuse, predisposes his sister to accepting abuse as a form of relationship, and then rather than apologize “steels [her] back” and says nothing-not even an apology or a thank you for saving their life tenfold- he would never even have gotten a redemption story, or a mate, let alone a 700 page book. He would be the most hated character in the series but because it’s Nesta and she’s a woman and y’all pose her as this feminist it’s okay that shes abusive all throughout the series.

[cajunquandary]

A Beacon to Beasts

A Beacon to Beasts

AO3 Link (in the works, check back later)

Summary: While Dean is in Purgatory, he comes across some interesting monsters who help him through.

Created for @spndarkbingo​

Square Filled: Fornication

Rating: R (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Benny

Warnings: Dark Fic. Canon level violence, SMUT (p in v, biting, anal, oral, dp, unprotected sex *dont be silly wrap the willy,* all the smut, also I might be developing a praise!kink here??), angst, traumatic memories. If you squint: suicide, Destiel, Denny

Word Count: 7600

A/N: Originally published in early 2017, this is a total rewrite with the tremendous help of @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ and @wonder-cole​. You talented bitches. I love you.

Lightning spider-webbed across the sky, for a brief moment illuminating every shadow across Purgatory. The forest practically hissed in the unwelcome brightness as the trees whispered amongst themselves. A crack of thunder caused a quake larger than you’d felt in the god forsaken land ever before. It cracked the sound barrier, bent the hellscape reality at all of its slithering edges, and sent a shockwave so powerful it nearly tore apart every cell in your body. With an eerie silence, darkness fell again, and as your eyes adjusted, you could see that the beast attacking you was fleeing the other direction from whence it’d come—no, not fleeing. It was chasing the impact. 

Something pulled in your chest like a red-hot meat hook, something that sent sparks of electricity straight into your brain and signaling an overwhelming raw need. You were familiar with such will-crushing lust. Your fangs were proof. But this… this was stronger than anything you’d ever felt before. It nearly drove you mad. You could feel your mind slipping, until you took a step forward, then another, and another. The more you walked towards the source of the prior disturbance, the more sated you felt. The more whole. 

It took weeks of fighting others like you and endless backtracking to find the source—a vampire and another beast. It was a bit like a human, but no humans could be in Purgatory. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating. 

Your body shuddered at the proximity of the delicious flesh. The warmth. You were merely a moth, drawn to a flame of your own destruction. Your head swam and you reached towards the man, but another fang sped from the shadows opposite you first. This was just enough of a distraction to pull you back from the brink. 

You crouched behind a half-rotten tree, only one eye peeking from behind your cover. The human barely had time to react before the fiend had him forced into the well-trodden packed earth. His fall was hard. Your mouth watered as his pulse quickened and echoed through your soul. 

The vampire accompanying the human sent the attacker’s head flying so closely that spattered monster blood landed on your hand. The foul stench drove you deeper into the safety of the trunk. You didn’t want to be next. 

In this land, the best way to survive was to stay hidden, quiet, so you decided to follow them for the first few weeks, being careful to keep to the shadows. The thirst for the human ebbed and swelled unpredictably. At times, it was all you could do to resist the pulse exposed on his neck, especially when the man slept. 

For days you tried to figure out what the other one was, who he was, but damn, was he a monster magnet. You’d been in pretty thick shit before, but never like this. Your cover was nearly blown a few times a day, but you were thankful the two were too busy fighting their own to notice you.

“Damn, man. You’re humanity is gon get us kilt.” The vampire wiped the rancid blood from his blade on the latest dead monster’s shirt.

“Yeah well, as soon as we find Cas, we’re getting the hell out of hell.” A human in Purgatory? How? No wonder there had been such a disturbance. He must have been pulled here by a great force--one that very nearly ripped the entire existence apart. 

“Hey brother, I’m startin to think the angel don’t wanna be found. Dean, think about it. Every time we get close, he disappears again.”

“Benny—don’t.” The human stormed away from the vampire. What was going on? A human and an angel? Things must be getting really messy up top.

The vampire, Benny, turned suddenly in your direction, and you closed your eyes, hoping the thick layer of leaves and thorny bushes camouflaged you well enough. It must have, because he merely shrugged and walked after Dean.

This night was the quietest it had been since The Event. It had been hours since the last monster attack and you were almost as exhausted as they looked. It wasn’t long before the men settled down into the dust and a pile of dry brush and began to lightly snore. Usually one stood guard as the other slept, but on this occasion, both must have been too far gone to care. 

You crept slowly forward, focused completely on the human. He was so beautiful. The creases of his forehead were reduced to fine lines as he slumbered, slow, tender breath fluttering across weary-pale swollen lips, freckles and mud mixed on his cheeks, hair tousled and bloodied, yet still so soft and shiny. His lashes twitched as he dreamed. You were only a few feet away now, beginning to feel lost in the warmth radiating from him, drunk in the light from his soul.

A sharp pain through your side interrupted your trance and you collapsed into a prickly shrub. Between gulps of agony, you could just make out that you were pinned to the ground with a rough makeshift javelin, reminiscent of a butterfly pinned to a shadow box as you’d owned as a human. You screamed in pain, and if you weren’t already twice dead, you’d worry about losing too much blood.

A pair of boots came into your view. “I smelled you days ago. I know you’ve been followin’ us. Why haven’t you attacked? You workin for someone?”

You looked from under your brows, straining to see if Dean was still where he had been, but found nothing. All you could do was gasp shallowly against the burning splinters. It had been years since anyone had gotten the jump on you like this. The bit of human that was left within you prayed that this was a bad dream, that you would wake in a moment in the gently swaying safety of the treetops.

The javelin was ripped from your aching side, and you screamed again as your organs smacked back together in the loss of pressure. The vampire threw you against the nearest tree. Through the pain that overwhelmed your ability to flee, you watched in utter captivation as the human secured you with heavy, rusted chains.

The latter bent close to your face, piercing green eyes a stark contrast to the caked mud and blood spattered across pale cheeks. “Now look, you piece of shit. I’m gonna waste you like I’ve wasted every damn thing in this place. But first, you’re gonna tell me where the angel is, and why you’ve been following us. If I like your answer, I’ll make it quick. If not… well, I don’t normally like the answers.” He smirked, tilting his head just slightly as if he was considering just how he was going to end you. 

You gulped hard knowing the human meant business. You’d seen him firsthand, the violence, the rage. All this man left behind him were wide trails of blood.

You were shaking now, feverish and confused. When had your fangs come out? You retracted them in an attempt to look less intimidating and more cooperative. Between gritted teeth and a gradual tunneling of vision, you managed to respond. “I’ve been tracking you since you arrived. There was this storm, and I’ve felt a pull towards you the whole time. I-I don’t work for anyone, I swear.” His gnarly blade pressed into the soft flesh of your throat now and panic was rising  and threatening to close off your throat if the blade didn’t do it first. “I didn’t even know about the angel until earlier today when I overheard you.”

“Well. I don’t think I like your answer.” Dean sliced deeply into your arm, which produced a guttural scream from deep within your core. The blade itself didn’t hurt that bad, but whatever was on it sure did. Benny walked away, knowing what was coming. Benny was a monster—Dean was worse.

“P-please I don’t know, I just know the light—your soul is like a candle in this endless darkness. I’ve been here for so, so long and you feel like home, like safety. I crave your closeness and I don’t know the details of why, but I couldn’t hurt you.”

Benny looked over his shoulder as Dean paused. Something struck a chord. Benny walked back over and pulled Dean slightly off to the side, almost out of earshot.

“Brother, I think she’s tellin’ the truth. We should give this one a chance to talk.”

“Why? She doesn’t know anything about Cas. She’s just another monster in my way.”

“And so was I. We were both human once. Let’s hear her out. She hasn’t even fought back.”

The fatigue and injuries caught up with you. Focusing on the thick red-black ooze streaming from your wounds, sleep was finding you swiftly with your head falling forward, blood-soaked hair in your eyes and chest pulled tight against the restraints.

Dean lifted your chin with the end of his blade, remnants of your internals still glistening on the edge. Your eyes followed the length of his arm to his face where he held you in an unwavering gaze. Those eyes were greener than anything in this world—more than the trees you hid in, the brush around you, or the sparse grass beneath your feet. 

You seized your breath and relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into those eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting. Your mortal soul had been tired in life, grown wearier after you were turned, another century had passed before you’d been sent here after a hunter took you out. The memory flashed by: how you sat there on your knees, glad to be facing the barrel of the gun after so long that you didn’t even fight. Had you known you’d end up here, you may have fought more to stay topside. But now, you faced oblivion, or so you hoped. This would finally be the end of the suffering, the fighting.

Dean must have read the all-too-familiar look of defeat and acceptance in your face. He lowered the knife, letting your head fall forward again, and caught you in his arms as the chains broke and clattered to the dust.

He leaned you against the base of the tree. You weakly gazed upward through hooded eyes, wanting to see past the leaves to the empty sky, but couldn’t. It was all grisly branches for a hundred feet up.

“Why were you creeping up on me?” Dean pulled your attention back to them.

Battling the unconsciousness that nipped unwaveringly at the corners of your mind, you whispered, “The ache in my chest… the closer I get to you, the easier it is to handle. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just needed to be... closer.”

“And is this better?” He motioned to the foot’s distance between you.

“Yeah,” You half-smiled through gritted teeth, the pain from your side still throbbing. It wouldn’t kill you. Nothing in Purgatory killed a monster except another monster—usually by beheading. It still hurt like a bitch, though, and left you exposed and vulnerable like a wounded animal.

He pursed his lips and shared a look with Benny, who shrugged. “I’ll stay up and watch, Dean. You get more rest before it starts again. And I’ll watch you, specifically.” The other vampire motioned at you, an intensity behind his blue eyes you could identify with. This human was meant to be protected, no matter the personal cost.

Dean was soon asleep again, his back turned to you.

The earth supporting your broken form was anything but forgiving. But still, you weren’t going to waste time whimpering to yourself now that you were a part of the misfit group. “Benny, where are you from? How long have you been here?” You wondered aloud.

He eyed you suspiciously, pausing before he answered. “I ran with a crew out of Louisiana, but we sailed all over the Americas. Been here a long time.”

You adjusted your position with a grunt. Benny’s hand was already on his weapon. “Calm down, sailor, just tryin to get comfortable... I’m from Shreveport. Been here a long time, too. Only did about two centuries up top, though.”

“Well, I’ve got a few on you then, sister. Shreveport was nice. Rolled through there a few times.” The vampire chuckled at the memory.

Even still, your body had different plans for the evening, and if anything else was said afterwards, you wouldn’t remember. Rest was in the cards that evening, even if your mind protested. Between stretches of sweet nothing, nightmarish memories flashed by in haphazard, non-chronological snippets. 

There you stood, on the bridge above deep, twisting waters. Though the wind whipped your hair wildly, you could feel nothing. Not since the day you were bit.

Then you were in the shed on your grandfather’s land, centuries before, when you were young but still so old. Had you ever had a chance? And there were fires and anthills, guns and chains. 

Before that one could go where you knew it would, you shot awake. Benny raised a concerned brow in your direction, but you couldn’t face him. Not after that. Within moments, sleep took you once again. 

The butterfly pinned in the box. Such a stark contrast was that orange and red and blue against the green felt and the glint of silver pins. You would chuckle at the sight if you could. Tiny fingers traced the outline of the glass. 

Then you were on your knees. You didn’t even fight. This? This was the day you died… the second time. By the hands of an inexperienced young hunter who was too focused on fighting with his dad to even notice you there. I mean, he practically tripped over you. The boy looked tall for his age, hazel eyes partially obscured by choppy bangs and mouth pressed into a thin line. He hesitated too long. You’d cocked your head to the side, wondering if he even had it in him to off you, and you almost felt sorry for the kid. Especially when his dad saw. The old black-haired ass berated him, belittled him. Compared him to his older brother. A disgrace, he’d said. Nothing like him, nothing like Mary. When the boy could look you in the eyes, you gave a slight nod as if to say, “It’s okay, I forgive you.” Those bright hazel eyes morphed into the moon cast over a monster wasteland. 

By morning’s light, you felt better, somewhat healed, but mostly sore. You and Benny spoke all the while, learned your ins and outs, and caught up on the situation with Dean, the toothy leviathans, the apocalypse (again), the dick angels, and everything else Dean had filled him in on weeks ago. If you weren’t in Purgatory yourself, you never would’ve believed all this. I mean, angels? C’mon. 

Sure enough, Benny was right. Beasts continued to attack in waves. There were a few close calls, and not one would speak of the whereabouts of the angel Castiel, though a few tried to save themselves by spouting lies. Dean would see right through them. It only ever took one question. “What color are the angel’s eyes?” A few had gotten lucky and guessed blue, but Dean didn’t even accept that answer. You asked once, what answer he was hoping for. He only shook his head in response. 

There were times, though, when he would describe Cas to you in the quiet of night, and it was like listening to a lost lover. Dean gave in after some months and described the angel’s eyes as full of grace, blue, but slightly glowing. And not just any blue, no. The bluest blue you could ever imagine. The purest blue. He spoke longingly about things they’d done, things he wanted to do, wanted to say. Needed to say. You would close your eyes and drift off to him mumbling stories of Cas, the fondness softening his voice.

It was dark again and the almost empty end of a particularly difficult day. You’d all sustained serious injuries from the violent fray that only seemed to become more dense as of late. You and Benny would heal quickly, but Dean wouldn’t… and you worried for him, lingering protectively close.

The weary hunter screamed in time with the monster as he thrust his knife through its eye, his voice echoing long after the lifeless body crumpled in front of him. In a rage, he threw his weapon down, stalking over to a nearby tree. He punched, kicked and threw himself against the bark until he was nearly bloodied beyond recognition. Benny could only look down, powerless to help his friend. Unable to watch any longer, you forced yourself between Dean and the tree. His eyes were closed until his bruised fists struck soft skin stretched over bone, the unexpected change in texture catching him off guard. You winced against it but grabbed his jacket in both hands, balling your own fists into it to hold him firmly in place. Jerking him forward until you were nose to nose, breath and blood mixing, you growled, “We will find him, Dean. But not if you kill yourself first.”

“Y-you sound like him,” His voice cracked and his head fell to your shoulder. You could feel his tears, hot on your frozen skin. This world was so cold and it never ceased to amaze you how he kept his warmth. You held him tightly, even as his knees buckled and swayed. By the state of those green eyes, you could see resignation and defeat creeping up on him. 

You shared a look with Benny, and he knew, too. “I’ll keep watch. You make him rest, cher.” You’d come to learn that Benny preferred to keep watch from all the years he’d had to watch his own backside here. You’d survived in hiding, while he’d made a name for himself—a killer, like Dean (not that either of them ever wanted to be.) You had to give it to him, though. After all, you’d tried to fight off everything in the beginning, but it was too tiring, like living was. So instead, you learned to thrive in shadows and whispers, moving like a ghost through whispers of the trees.

You were grateful for the moment alone with the warm beacon of a man, though. If the electricity across your skin anytime you touched the human indicated anything, it was a confirmation of your heart’s longing. You kept him pulled flush against your chest, his heartbeat so strong that it reverberated through your body. You focused on the feeling. How many centuries had it been since you felt your own beating? Dean’s was so strong it could surely support you both, you thought.

With a groan, Dean pulled the two of you down into a horizontal heap. You couldn’t make out the details of his face in the dark abyss of night, but his heart rate had shifted notably, along with his breathing. His anguish was palpable and you couldn’t help but to take some of it on as your own. He exuded it, it leaked from every pore. 

Supple lips brushed against yours, and you closed your eyes, slowly guiding one hand to his back above you and the other through his hair. It was as soft and silky as you’d hoped it was. You pulled just slightly, allowing your nails to gently spread and retract in circular motions. Dean clenched, the softest sounds carrying on the thick night air. Smiling at the reaction, you carded through the messy spikes and repeated the measure for several moments before Dean crashed into you, with his sudden need matching yours. Every kiss grew deeper, longer, and your tongues began to wrestle gently but urgently between locked lips. He grabbed at you hungrily with a certain ease, unable to hold back anymore, with palms stroking openly up and down your torso, until they slipped below your core.

You both pushed and pulled, wallowed and rolled, careful of injuries but powerless to pull away, fighting to get closer. You helped him slip from his leather jacket, and he groaned into your mouth with a tantalising mixture of pain and pleasure. The sound made you shiver, and you hastily removed yourselves from worn and tattered pants, breaking only for a moment. 

“Shh, Dean,” you whispered next to his ear. He nodded, understanding that even in this embrace, you were exposed and hunted. But with skin on skin, it was difficult to keep logic and sanity at the forefront of your mind. 

Dean slowed his pace and shifted until you were straddling him. With a touch so light it tickled, he let his hands trace every angle of your body, until he felt the latest wound and drew back suddenly. 

“It’s okay,”  you breathed into his gaping mouth. 

“No, I-- I’m sorry.” His voice was feeble, desperate. 

Taking his hand in yours, you placed it back where it’d been. It was a small gesture, but the effect it had on Dean was profound. With both hands now, he clutched your sides so tightly, it sent swells of something delicious straight to your center, before rippling out to every nerve ending exposed to the cool air, and then some. 

Just as you began to give in, a rustle from only several feet away snapped you back to reality. You shot up upon bare feet, weapon already in your hand as you scanned the malevolent shadows for the source, listening and feeling for any shift in the air. Dean lay frozen by your feet, head still spinning in weakness and lust.

In a swift turn on the balls of your feet, you faced the intruder, ready for war. 

“It’s just me, cher. I heard something and wanted to make sure you two were okay.” As Benny took in the situation, he laughed softly. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll be over there…”

With an annoyed frown, you allowed your stance to go slack. “Thanks.”

Dean touched your leg, leaning in to kiss it lightly before planting a little nibble at your ankle. You slipped back down next to him, gasping when he quickly found your neck and nipped along your clavicle to the sweet spot in the hollow of your neck.

He was shaking slightly under the strain, but lifted himself atop you. To help keep him steady, you placed your hands on his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his torso. With a grateful kiss, he traced his tongue across your bottom lips as he lined himself at your entrance. 

His tip sank into your soaked folds and his resulting keen made you tremble beneath him, itching for more. “Dean, p-please…”

“What do you want?”

You rotated your hips against his, fighting to make him move. “Please, fuck… Dean I need you. Need more.”

Your begging tore his resolve to shreds and he sunk into you, stretching and filling you like nothing ever before. Your back arched at the sensations as they nearly overwhelmed you, drowning out the hell around you and leaving only Dean. Your heavy breathing barely registered as you whined his name. A shallow shriek betrayed you. Dean placed a calloused hand over your mouth, and it only drove you more mad. 

As he bottomed out and began short but powerful thrusts, tears gathered at the edges of your eyes. Everytime, he hit that sweet spot. Everytime, you whimpered into his hand and dug your fingers into his flesh tighter. Everytime, he moaned in response. 

It wasn’t long before those slow, drawn out jolts coiled you so tight you could barely contain yourself. Dean could sense the change as you began to rub against him, allowing the friction to take you over the edge. Right as you fell off into a fierce and roiling sea of ecstasy, Dean replaced his hand over your mouth with his own, swallowing your choppy breaths as you twitched and spasmed beneath him. 

Still lost in the swell, you felt the hunter release and fall, spent, onto your chest. You managed to wrap your arms around him and held him steadfastly, not ready to let go. It was incredible to watch Dean unravel and relax for the first time. In fact, it’d just become your favorite drug. 

Unknown to the broken lovers, a pair of “gorilla-wolves” attempted to interrupt throughout the steamy romp in the leaves, but Benny quickly took care of them. The nasty things wouldn’t have gotten as close as they had, but the vampire had been distracted by the sinfully delicious sounds coming from the far side of the tree. He’d tried to ignore it at first but found his mind wandering. It’d been ages since he’d felt the touch of another being, and the want rose up in him, a fire in his stomach.

You panted next to Dean when he rolled to the side, your injuries far from mind in the lasting rapture from being one with the human. His breathing was still ragged, but slowing. The wound on the back of his shoulder had reopened. Begrudgingly , he let you patch it again. Once dressed, you fell back to the sorry bed of leaves. Dean nuzzled into your side and let out a pained sigh as sleep found him. You could’ve sworn you heard the faintest “Don’t let me die here…” fall from his lips. Your grip on him tightened. You’d get him out if it killed you. But first, you had to find that elusive angel.

It was another month of the same routine. Days and nights ran together. The closer you got to the angel, the denser the swarm of monsters was. Even Benny seemed to be on his last leg. You offered to keep watch this time. At first Benny protested, but you shut him down.

“It’s broad daylight out here. I can see them coming from far enough off, I can give you plenty of time to wake up and fight if I can’t handle it. Don’t worry.”

He didn’t feel like protesting too much, and finally nodded, sad blue eyes locking on yours in a silent promise of trust in comradery.

A few hours passed, and you stood to stretch. A twig snapped behind you, and you twirled quickly, your knife to Benny’s throat. His hands raised. “Sorry cher, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nearly lost your fool head. Why aren’t you resting?” You dropped your arms and stood next to the vampire, staring out through the forest again, scanning. Listening.

“I rested enough.”

“Right, that’s why you have to use that tree to support yourself.” His lips pressed into a hard smile, electric eyes dropping to the ground. When he looked back up, something in them had changed. He reached towards you, hesitant, and brushed the wavy mess of hair from your face behind your ear, hand gently gliding across your jaw until his thumb rested on your lip.

You closed your eyes and shuddered under the vampire’s touch. It was more familiar than Dean’s. You leaned into it, following as it guided you into his embrace. He was larger than Dean and still smelled of the swamp and sea. The scent was intoxicating, dragging all of your attention to Benny. 

He pulled back for a moment and cradled your face in the large, thick hands of a sailor. “You okay with this? Don’t want you to feel pressured, darlin’.”

“Mm not pressured,” you smiled up into those spirited sharp blue eyes. You lost yourself in them, completely ensnared. You could see past them, to cerulean glittering waters, could feel the lapping of them against your old boat, hear the seagulls and crows chattering as they glided on heatwaves, taste the salt on your tongue. 

You stretched up on your tiptoes, craning to taste the salt on his lips, feel the waves in the way his tongue twists. Benny must have felt the same, as he met your parted lips in a feverish kiss, maneuvering you effortlessly between himself and the tree for support until he was rutting into you.

The touch was bittersweet and starved, driving both of you as you stripped away layers. Benny pressed into you until the bark bit into your back and arms. You knocked the hat from atop his head to get closer, to guide him in, and he responded by taking the thin flesh of your neck into his mouth. Fangs drug thin scratch lines over your chest and shoulders, followed by sucking kisses. Benny grunted as he settled next to your ear, the growing bulge in his remaining trousers becoming almost painful in the restriction. 

Sensing this, you moved to loosen the last piece of his clothing until it slumped to his ankles, all the while raw, needy noises spilled from your mouth. If only you’d found each other topside, things would have been better. You wouldn’t have let that young, long-haired hunter boy and his grumpy father kill you.

In one smooth move, Benny hooked his fingers into your jeans and slid them off, until you were completely free of them. With lust in your eyes, you found his full lips once more. You bit and sucked at his bottom lip until he was throbbing against you and whispering your name in short breaths in desperation. 

With a slight adjustment in position, he grabbed your ribcage and lifted you just enough to line himself at your entrance. Hungrily, you raised your knees and rested them on his sides. You dug your nails into his shoulders in anticipation, but he didn’t keep you waiting long. With a final shift of his angle, Benny slid into you unrestrained.

His pace was unforgiving. He was rougher, more desperate, yet somehow more controlled than Dean. Pain was something you both knew too well, and found pleasure in at this moment. Neither of you had to hold back in fear of hurting the other. 

Benny muttered a long string of praises as he placed his cheek on yours and relished in the fragmented breaths and mewls leaking from your gaping mouth.

Between the friction to your front and the sharp ache in your back, the intense set of his pace brought unwanted tears to the corners of your eyes. Before you knew it, he had you biting back a scream as you came in his arms, your back digging into the tree as he held you through it. You sank your teeth into his neck, drawing blood and pushing back the sharper set as they threatened to emerge. He snarled into your ear and released, standing for a moment, relishing in your closeness.

For a time, you just remained in that position as he softened inside you, foreheads resting fondly on each other.

Dean stirred, grumbling as he woke. With a silently shared promise to continue the embrace another day, the two of you straightened yourselves back out and rounded the tree to greet the sleep-starved human.

Over the next two weeks, the three of you grew much closer. Sometimes in between attacks, you took solace in each other. Most times it was talk, but when words were too difficult and your bodies needed to feel something… else, something primal and good and pure, they would pass you between them, never straying too far.

Benny's eyes would always drift and land upon Deans. It intoxicated him, pulled at his heart in ways that tore him apart. Deep green eyes, full of hope and goodness and humanity… something fragile yet unbreakable, much like what he once saw in Andrea’s. Just like Andrea’s. As much as he tried to put her memory to rest, Dean’s gaze would always take his breath, whether they were fighting or fucking, and the feelings that washed over Benny were wild and raw.

You ventured off to scout ahead one day, leaving Benny to help Dean walk after a surprise run in with a gorilla wolf didn’t fare so well. Those things sure liked Dean. Could you blame them? As you cleared the spaces ahead, you reminisced on the first time it happened. 

It’d started innocently enough, some kissing and tender touches traded between you and Dean. You craved comfort, and his touch never disappointed. The fading daylight illuminated something… different, something new in his eyes. There was a spark of acceptance? Resignation? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but for some reason the usually tightly wound hunter was relaxed. His movements were delicate and slow, a stark contrast to the usual quickie on the run. 

You nearly lost your balance when he stripped your pants away and traced deliberate sucking kisses down to your sweet spot. You’d had to catch yourself from falling over at the heady sensations, threading your hands into his hair and holding on for dear life (or death.) Within moments, Benny swooped in to support you from behind, snaking a strong arm around your stomach as Dean began to lick and hum and stroke you in ways you’d never felt. Your blood burned like fire, causing every inch of your skin to become more sensitive. 

Benny brushed the hair from your shoulder with his free hand, then took a fistful of it and guided your head back. With a contented sigh, he took your exposed neck into his mouth and you twitched violently between the shivers running down and the heat rising up. The contrast of Dean’s soft lips to the burn of his stubble mirrored that of the rough, blood soaked fabric of Benny’s jacket against the smooth of your skin… and it drove you mad. Your vision swelled with every wave and the sounds of the cursed world around you faded as if cotton had been shoved in your ears. 

Your legs gave way and you fell into Dean’s lap as he chuckled, watching you come undone. The orgasm hit you somewhere along the way down, untouched but wound so tightly that you couldn’t hold out another moment.

While you writhed against him, Dean held you securely to his chest with arms that crushed into your ribs and pinned your arms to your sides. Your head finally came to rest upon his shoulder, and as your senses eased back into focus, you realized that you were completely laid down upon his bare chest. Still buzzing from the high, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck and laid a small peck. Dean’s resulting smile stretched wide, and you could feel it there without even needing to see it. 

“You okay, baby?” Dean gently stroked your back up and down with one hand, and moved to tangle strong fingers in your hair to hold the base of your head tenderly with the other. 

When you found your voice, you muttered a small, “yeah, thank you.”

Benny kneeled beside you and lowered his face until your foreheads met, the three of you so impossibly close. “You up for some more, sugar?”

You smiled wryly and closed your eyes. “Yeah, I’m all yours.”

Though your limbs were but heavy gelatin, you managed to lift out of your shirt as the men undressed. Pulling Dean’s discarded coat over you like a blanket, you rested against a fallen tree and admired them. Dean was more slender, but faster and stronger. The way his muscles rippled and creased beneath pale, freckled skin reminded you of a swimmer--all lean and mean. He was graceful in every movement, like a dancer. Benny was a little more solid, built like a tank. Maybe he wasn’t as fast, but there was no going through him. You’d seen beasts hit him straight on with full power, and the vampire had barely flinched. Those fists could break anything, but his face was always… soft. Kind. Dean’s was hardened, but you couldn’t blame him. And yes, there were moments, like this, where the lines of his face smoothed, and some color returned to his cheeks. 

How you’d ever found Heaven in this Hell, you’d never come to understand. But you were ever grateful. Hopeful for a future with them topside, however it may go. 

Dean’s outstretched hand pulled you from your daydream. You took it, letting the jacket go as he helped you stand. As you stood, he continued to pull you forward until you were flush with him. He pressed a firm kiss to your scalp and rubbed his palms up and down your body. His cock twitched against your belly, and you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing just a little tighter at the new flood of arousal. 

Benny snaked his arms around you from behind, until his hands rested on your neck, not gripping, but just *there.* The weight of them naturally guided your head to fall back against his chest. He growled into your ear, “You’re so fucking beautiful. So good for us, cher.”

Your mouth fell agape and released a strangled moan as Dean kissed along your exposed neck and mumbled a steady stream of “You’re such a good girl for us, such a good fighter, a great companion.” 

With every word, a new fire raged through your veins. Your face burned hot. Dean’s hands wandered south, caressing every inch passionately. One hand found its home grasping your thigh right under your ass, and the other came to rest in your dripping folds. You bucked against the touch and right into Benny’s length resting between your cheeks. 

You whimpered, needing more, needing release. “D-Dean please, fuck. I need you. I want you inside me, please--unnghh.”

Dean teased your entrance for a moment more before the wrecked look on your face and the subtle, high pitched sounds spilling from you completely enraptured him. Benny nodded, moving his hands to steady your sides as you squirmed uncontrollably. With a swift movement, you were raised up with both of Dean’s hands cupping and spreading your ass until he lined up at your folds and let you sink down much too slowly. 

Pathetic cries filled the air as you struggled to maintain control, the stretch of him almost too much to handle and not nearly enough all at once. You shook and grabbed at anything you could hold with a flutter in your chest that threatened to make you implode. And yet, the intense feelings only grew. Benny planted himself and anchored with a strong arm outstretched and clutching to Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean bit his lip fiercely and let out a pained groan at the other man’s unyielding hold on him. His cock twitched again as he bottomed out deep inside you. The depth burned and ached, and with it your eyes came to focus on Dean’s. 

The emerald green was more prominent now, outlined by the hot blush beneath a spray of freckles. His brows were drawn tightly and jaw slack, full, pink lips parted in bliss. His breathing was erratic, and with every intake of cool evening air, Dean trembled. 

You mewled and whined, shifted against them, desperate for friction. The slightest broken smile graced the hunter’s face and he nodded, knowing but not yet ready. 

Tears already began to gather as you fought the urge to physically fight the men into submission, to finally scratch that itch. Benny didn’t leave you waiting much longer though, before he was slipping and pushing into place in your ass. The deliberate burn of him spreading you open opposite Dean left you thrashing between them. 

Dean took a deep breath in as a reminder for you to do the same. If it weren’t for him grounding you and helping you through, the black void would’ve already sucked you in as another victim. You did your best to relax and bore down, allowing Benny to fill your other hole completely to his base. 

The vampire grimaced through his own keening, the tightness of you nearly sending him over the edge right there and then. You stilled between them, already on the verge of destruction as the three of you adjusted to the new feelings washing over you in waves. 

Dean’s lips found yours, open and wanting. Taking his tongue hungrily into your mouth, you sucked and fell absolutely limp as he sucked your lower lip between his. The scent of him was utterly intoxicating, and you were ready once more. 

Benny began to move in tandem with Dean. With every movement of the both of them against your thin membrane, a wailing cry seeped between your clenched teeth. Benny was now clutching both of Dean’s shoulders so tightly that were white bloodless patches beneath each of his fingertips. This made Dean buck harder until the hunter’s eyes shut tightly and left his head bobbing backwards in lust. 

The symphony of your cries was lost beneath those of the two men, who shuddered and swayed. The sweet, sinful music flooded your mind and sent you reeling over the edge once more, clenching and swearing and falling against Benny’s outstretched arm. 

Dean’s thrusts faltered as his stuttered, “I’m.. I’m about to--”

“Just let go, brother,” Benny encouraged. 

It was the only confirmation Dean needed before his load spilled into you, sending renewed longing to your stomach as he pulsed inside you. “Fuck Dean,.. You feel so good,” you managed.

Benny came seconds later, and you relished in the full warmth of them. 

You smiled to yourself as the familiar electricity flooded your veins and leaked to your core. It may have been the first time, but every time since had only been… better. Impossibly, incredibly better. 

Upon your return, you noticed that Dean had found new strength.

“We’re closer than ever to Cas, he’s three days away by the river. We’re almost done! We can go home!” Dean was grinning widely, a spark finally back in his tired eyes.

You smiled, scooping him into a rough embrace. If Dean was happy, you were happy. Benny joined you in the bear hug. You were so ready to be topside again, and now, it was so close you could just taste it.

Your second chance.

With a start, Benny hollered and let go, leaving Dean tense and alert in your arms. Then, he threw you to the side as a beast attacked. Its whole face morphed into a shark-tooth ringed mouth, and you grimaced.

Leviathan. You must’ve been really close to that angel.

You drew your weapon as one engaged you, swung and lopped its head off easily after years of practice, until something glinting and sharp emerged where it should not have been.

You looked down, the blade bloodied and protruding through your chest, through your lungs. Unable to draw a breath, you fell to your knees.

“No!” Both Benny and Dean were yelling, voices echoing through the hostile forest. Black ooze covered them from the slain monsters. You looked up as your assailant withdrew the sizable knife from your back and placed it against your neck. It was another vampire. You looked back to the boys.

“You killed our sister, so now we’re gonna kill yours,” the voice behind you teased in a sing-songy tone. More boots shuffled into your line of view.

Benny looked absolutely broken as he charged, extra teeth bared sharply in defiance. Dean bounded to you, holding your gaze with those emerald green eyes as he expertly dodged the advances of his adversaries.

Once again, your breath was seized and you relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into the comforting depths of that hunter’s eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting…This would finally be the end of the suffering. To oblivion. The warmth from Dean’s soul flooded over you as he got closer, but it was too late.

Your head rolled from your body. 

Dean decimated the group of vampires in record time, the rage fully restored and urging his body forward against all odds. Once again, the hunter had become more vicious than any monster in the land. In two days, he would limp to the river and find his angel.

You, however, woke on the other side of Purgatory. Oblivion was not something that would ever come for you. There would never be a release. Despair, overcoming any hope you ever had, creeped its dark tendrils through your entire being and swiped your feet from underneath you. So that’s what happens to monsters who die in monster heaven… they get respawned and zapped to another part. Great. You were stuck in hell, too far away now to reach them in time. One day you would find a way out. You had to. But first, you would have to find the strength. Strength you may never have again. You curled into a ball, mind silent as you gave into the feeling, a single, small tear streaking a thin line from your eye into the dust. 

You were alone. Again. 

Your second chance gone along with the human and his friends.

 This was my second attempt at writing smut and maybe I got carried away??

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles​ @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch​ @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog​ @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @inmysparetime0​ @impala-dreamer​ @arryn-nyxx​ @idk-life01 @attorneyl​ @deathtonormalcy56​ @xwing-baby​ @wonder-cole​ @itsangelpie-supports​ @thinkinghardhardlythinkingogblog​@icecream-and-gadreel

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling​ @abbessolute @emptywithout​

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278​ @will-winchester

[diavolodigitale]

L’appel Du Vide: 01 What a Way to Start

Not that anybody is really reading it here, but I decided to follow through with this story no matter what.

All chapters: 00 - 01 - All stories in PDF

Rhys is the CEO of Atlas and Jack’s AI is back, surprise, surprise! Now Rhys is dismayed, Jack doesn’t care much, and the events of Borderlands 3 are just beginning to unravel. Is there any way to fix the plot of this game? Would it be any better if Rhys had to cooperate with Jack this whole time? Well, this is your chance to find out!

Spoiler: yes, dammit, it would. Everything’s better with a bit of Handsome Jack in it.

Genres: Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Alternate Canon, POV Third Person, Humor, Drama, Plot-driven (kind of? well, it has plot)

Pairing: Handsome Jack’s AI/Rhys (they’re still just talking, dammit)

Characters: Handsome Jack’s AI, Rhys

Rating: M for Mature but not in this chapter lol

Size: around 3000 words (chapter 2/11)

Sun set and rose, another day began. Rhys shaved off his moustache.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” said Jack, who was sitting in Rhys’ chair when the latter one entered his office wearing only red bathrobe and home slippers.

“Morning,” replied Rhys, eying Jack wearily. Jack almost expected him to be surprised by his presence all over again, but it seemed like Rhys did not, after all, convince himself that the events of the previous day were just a dream, which, depending on how one looks at it, might even be considered personal growth. “Let me say how much I appreciate you not stalking me while I sleep. Just so you knew,” he said, painfully aware of Jack’s realness and determination to stay.

“Actually,” began Jack, idly following Rhys’s movements around the room with his gaze, “I watched you for some time, but your face looked so stupid that I started having these fits of hysterical laughter, so I left not to wake you up accidentally. I care for you so much, after all, and… Hey!”–he suddenly sat upright in the chair and pointed at Rhys’s hunched miserable figure–“that thing from your face disappeared! I could’ve sworn I saw it yesterday...”

“And now it’s gone,” concluded Rhys with a sigh.

“Phew, great job, pal. It was so awful, I cannot even begin to describe.”

“What? I thought you liked it,” said Rhys, nonplussed.

“Yeah, about that… I lied. Didn’t want to tell you this, but with that moustache, I wouldn’t let my kids anywhere near you,” said Jack and cackled.

Rhys scowled. He got rid of his moustache precisely because Jack told him he liked it, even despite the fact that it was particularly hard for him, considering the meaning it supposedly held. Since the day before he had this strange desire to do everything in opposition to Jack. Perhaps, it was deeply rooted in his former traumatic experience with the AI. Or in the fact that he had always been kind of mischievous, either one of those two.

“I see you’re in a good mood today,” said Rhys, making himself a morning coffee. He couldn’t say the same thing about himself – half of the night he spent persuading himself not to bang his head on the wall until Jack left for good. As a temporary means, it was as good as anything, but certainly wouldn’t be a reliable way to get rid of the AI forever. In any case, it seems not to have worked for Rhys previously, so he had to come up with something else. Changing the prosthetics took time, and he didn’t have that precious resource at his disposal in the needed amount.

In the end, when he finally managed to fall asleep, it was at the thought that he was actually a little sorry for what happened with Jack’s hologram during their last confrontation. Despite all the evil Jack had done, he used to be a significant part of Rhys’s life and helped shape him into what he was now. Most importantly, he taught him not to trust anybody and to always swing for the fences. Now, being the CEO of Atlas, Rhys could clearly see that this strategy worked perfectly.

“Oh, by the by, I took some time to look through your files and check out this Kawatagi guy we talked about yesterday. Must say, he’s a very promising candidate. Maybe, I should’ve chosen him as my successor instead of you-know-who,” said Jack in a conspiratorial tone, stroking his chin and narrowing his eyes. “Instead of you, I’m talking about you,” he added in a normal voice.

Rhys sighed, gently lowering two sugar cubes into his coffee. Here we go again.

“First, why the heck did you rummage in my computers without my permission? Second, his name’s Katagawa, more precisely – Katagawa Junior. And a candidate for what? Wait, don’t say anything, I don’t even want to know. Now get out of my chair,” said Rhys and proceeded to try and shoo Jack away with a few careless waves of his hand.

“It’s not like you can’t sit here. I’m just a hologram, you know.”

Jack was grinning, of course. Rhys looked down at him with his tired sleepless eyes and sighed the fortieth time this morning.

“Remember when we first met, you called me weird? Now you’re the one being weird, congratulations.”

“Oh, come o-o-on, don’t be so bo-o-oring.” Jack disappeared from the chair and reappeared on the sofa, lying on his side with his head resting on his hand. “You know, I think I’ve now seen enough of you to bet with confidence that you don’t have any friends. I bet I was your closest friend (and don’t forget that I was your imaginary closest friend), ‘cause I don’t see how someone can tolerate that attitude for long.”

Don’t worry, Rhys, he won’t get to you, you’re thick-skinned now, you know that, thought Rhys and put his mug on the table. He sunk into his chair and turned on the ECHO device to check for any new messages.

“Actually, I do have friends,” he said in his best I-am-not-offended tone.

“Yeah? Anybody in particular?”

“Zer0, for example. I am proud to call him my friend and I’m sure he’s proud to be called mine.”

“Zer0, yeah… wait, who’s that again?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. Some things just never changed.

“One of the vault hunters who… took part in your elimination, so to put it,” he answered carefully.

“Oh, yeah, that filthy bandit, I remember him! Well, not him killing me, of course, but I think I saw him somewhere. Didn’t he have that mental condition? I remember him saying some gibberish instead of speaking like normal people do. Yeah, right,”–Jack laughed–“I can see you two dorks being friends.”

“How could I have survived this long without you trying to offend me all the time? Unbelievable.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! Or was that still your thought? I always forget I’m in your head. Anyway, to summarize our conversation so far, we’ve established that you’re a pathetic loner with only one creature in the whole world you can call a friend of sorts. You never seize to amaze me, Rhys.”

“There’s also Vaughn,” said Rhys through his teeth, beginning to lose his patience.

“And that is…?”

“You remember Vaughn, don’t you?”

“If I’m asking who that is, then, apparently, I don’t,” answered Jack, making the irritation in his voice sound as blatant as possible. “Why do you carry around that thing people call a head, huh?”

“He used to work for Hyperion with me.” Rhys threw a quick glance at Jack, looking for any sign of recognition on his face, but there was none. “Is short, wears glasses?” Still no signs. “Has a six-pack?” he said in his last desperate attempt to make Jack’s memory serve its purpose.

To his surprise, it actually worked. Jack snapped his fingers and rolled over on the sofa.

“Oh, that ne-erd, yeah, I remember him. Where’s he now?” he asked, not even trying to pretend that he really cared about the answer.

“He’s on Pandora, doing some bandit stuff. Guess he is working for the…” Rhys suddenly stopped, hastily thinking about what he had almost let out.

“For whom?” asked Jack indifferently. The answer still didn’t matter much to him, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of Rhys keeping something hidden from him.

“For the… err… for, well, you know… coughmson coughders,” replied Rhys, sounding like he was choking on something, and started loudly typing on the table, pretending that he was incredibly busy with his emails.

“What? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Rimzon raide-ez,” indistinctly said Rhys into his fist and cleared his throat.”

“God dammit, Rhys, what the fuck are you saying there?” shouted Jack with annoyance and jerked up from the sofa. “Should I stand right behind you all the time to know what comes out of your mouth? Even your thoughts are more distinct than that.”

Perhaps, scared by the prospect of Jack constantly following him closely, even closer than he already did, Rhys gave in.

“It’s the Crimson Raiders, for god’s sake!” he yelled and landed his fist heavily on the table. He then took a deep breath to calm down and added, “He works for the Crimson Raiders. I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“O-oh. O-o-o-oh, I see how it is. He’s with team idiots now, isn’t he? Well, good to know. Now we’ve proven that all your friends are either stupid or nonexistent. Great.”

Rhys’s left eye was glowing as he was interfacing with the devices in his office. He took a sip of his coffee, scrolled down the list of new casualties reports and tried not to take what he had heard close to his heart.

“Now that I got my daily dose of humiliating you, let’s talk business,” said Jack and laced his fingers together as if he had a very profitable offer for his interlocutor. “I think we can squeeze something out of this Katamaga,” he began, and Rhys immediately exerted himself. He did not like the sound of that. “I think there’s more to him than you see. He doesn’t just want Atlas, you see, he very obviously wants you to work with him. What a fool! That’s a perfect opportunity for us to rob him of everything he has, including his pathetic corporation. I mean, I never liked Maliwan, but if it’s a gift horse… Who am I not to take it on your behalf, right?”

“I appreciate the thought you put into it, but I already have another plan, and it definitely isn’t allying with Katagawa Jr. He’s an obsessed psychopath and I don’t want anything to do with him,” replied Rhys confidently. He shivered even at the possibility of having another Jack-like associate.

“Enlighten me then. What genius idea has your corporate mind produced?”

“First, you have to promise not to yell at me. My head aches and I won’t endure any more than you already being here and talking to me,” said Rhys patiently, already predicting Jack’s reaction to what he intended to share. There was no way to keep it a secret, so he wanted to at least soften the blow.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Jack and yawned.

Rhys braced himself. Discussing this would surely be no easy matter.

“I want to make a deal with Lilith. She helps me defeat maliwans, and I give her something she wants in return.”

There was silence. Then there was a snarl and a nondescript squeal.

“WHAT. THE FUCK. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! MM, RHYSIE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN?” Jack appeared standing on Rhys’s table right before him. The sight made Rhys spit out a bunch of his coffee. “You’re joking, right?” Jack squatted down to see Rhys’s face when he spoke. “Out of a-a-all people in these 6 goddamn galaxies you choose her? I see you’ve been a very bad boy in daddy’s absence, completely out of your mind!”

Rhys raised his index finger and burbled, “You told me you won’t yell. I specifically asked you not to yell, Jack.”

“What am I supposed to do then, huh?!” Jack disappeared and in the next second was already standing at the window with his arms crossed, thoughtfully observing the Atlas soldiers running around outside. “I thought you can’t disappoint me more than you already have, but it seems like you always manage to conquer new heights.”

“Look, there’s really no point in talking about this. I’m my own boss now and this is my decision. I was the one to rebuild Atlas from ruins, so I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of it. Please, Jack, I’m tired and sick and I don’t want all this.” Rhys sighed wearily and rubbed a coffee stain on the table with the sleeve of his bathrobe.

“Okay. Okay-okay-okay-okay, hear me out. Just this one time, just once, let me tell you something.” Jack turned to Rhys and Rhys gave him a little nod after considering for a few seconds. It’s not like he really had a choice, he just liked to think he had a firm grip on the situation. “Tell me, do you remember Lilith doing something, anything for the sake of somebody else?”

“Um, yeah, she killed you, actually,” replied Rhys confidently.

“No-no-no, honey, she didn’t do it for somebody, she just wanted to have her revenge on me,” said Jack, stressing what he viewed as essential pieces of information to make sure Rhys REALLY got what he wanted to say. Were he not a hologram, he would probably be shaking with rage as he did it. “She wanted to destroy me, because I destroyed her boyfriend who just wouldn’t let me wipe those bandit asses, which, by the way, included his, off my planet. She couldn’t care less about all those people that died, about Crimson Raiders, about her other “friends”. She is a murderer, just like you, me, like any other person on that goddamn planet. The only difference is that she, unlike us, didn’t have ANY good will.”

Jack’s intense stare made Rhys turn away. AI’s words made him consider what he knew of Lilith, but he felt almost wrong when doing so. He shook his head, trying to scare the thoughts away.

“You just hate her, that’s all. She may not be the best option, but when choosing between her and Maliwan, I believe, the choice is obvious.

“Is it? Is it, though?” asked Jack furiously with his eyes almost bulging out. “Let me tell you one thing. Two things, actually. Despite how surprising it might sound to you, I’m actually happy that she killed me. You know why? Of course, you don’t, otherwise we wouldn’t have this conversation now, dummy. So, I’ll be kind enough to explain. Even after her betrayal, I didn’t finish her off, which means I am better than her. “What is the second thing, Jack?” you might ask. Well, here goes: she is a stinking bandit. A bandit, and the only thing you should do with bandits is kill them, but I’m sure this much you should know by now.” After finishing his rant, Jack exhaled loudly and adjusted his unmoving hair with a swift motion of his hand. To top his speech off, he asked, “Still better than Katagawa?”

Rhys, however, still remained unimpressed.

“Jack, he killed his entire family to become the CEO of Maliwan. I imagine you would think it’s a reasonable thing to do when you want to run the corporation so bad, but I’m sure you know I disagree with that.”

“And what do YOU know about his family?” asked Jack, clearly upset by the lack of expected reaction. “Do you even know anything about the way he runs Maliwan? The only thing I know is that now they are more successful than ever (even though I hate to say it). Use your brains, kid, and you’ll go further than you could’ve hoped. One of these two alliances will bestow endless opportunities upon you while the other one will almost certainly get you stabbed in the back.”

“I hear you. I hear you and I disagree. I’m sorry, Jack,” said Rhys and shook his head apologetically. He was already imagining what would such a start of his day lead to.

“Oh my god, how can you not see that you have more in common with him than a skag and a grinder! He sees something in you, and that something makes him crave for your favor with such persistence. Just imagine how much you can squeeze out of him if you give him the tiniest thing in return. It’s simply a gold mine!”

“He wants us to merge, that’s enough of a reason for me to refuse him,” said Rhys with utter disgust.  

“So what? Don’t worry about that, cupcake, you’ve got me, and I’m here to help. Who says we’re gonna merge?” Noticing how Rhys was shaking his head again, Jack leaned closer, trying to make the atmosphere more… companionable, and continued in a calmer voice.  “Believe me, I know that Atlas is your child and you would never sacrifice it. We’re gonna… adjust the conditions a little, little tiny bit. No merge, only the alliance. How does that sound?”

Rhys thought that Jack was once again confirming what a masterful negotiator he was. No matter what objections Rhys had, he always did his homework and learned his weaknesses. The long-forgotten feeling of a threat sitting right at his side returned to Rhys as he caught himself thinking over the possibility of allying with Maliwan. Don’t budge, Rhys, don’t let him see that you have second thoughts, he’ll eat you alive.

“Completely unachievable,” he was only able to utter.

“Come on, stop screwing around, will you? You’re wasting time with your fidelity to stupid principles. Have I ever given you any bad advice?”

Rhys chose not to say anything. It was as good an answer as any other. The leftover coffee in his mug already went cold and he frowned in disgust when sipping on it.

“Okay then, I’m beginning to grow real tired of this, so you better listen here, you little dipshit, and listen carefully…” Jack’s tone was once again peremptory and his eyes were drilling into Rhys’s soul. “I’m tryna help here, so stop pretending you’re a princess who lives in a tower filled with her little cute ponies and chooses to believe there’s no filth around her. Just do what I say and you’ll be on your road trip to success. And you’ll thank me later, believe me. If you choose not to do this, however, I’ll follow you around all the time, saying what a sore loser you are. All day, all night, Rhysie. You know me, I’m restless, and I can come up with millions of ways to make you hate your life. You won’t sleep, you won’t talk to anybody, you won’t eat your fucking lunch without me standing one centimeter away from your ear, whispering how much you suck. Now let that sink in. Once it has, give me your final answer.”

Jack’s eyes were glowing. His whole body was glowing because he was a hologram, that’s just what holograms do. Yet even though it was his permanent state, an unchangeable condition, his eyes looked different.

He really is serious, thought Rhys to himself. Well then, guess I’m going to die of starvation, sleep deprivation, and lack of human contact.

“Fuck you, Jack. Fuck. You.”

“Is that a yes?”

[allyvampirelass29]

Murder at Cripple Creek

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A boomtown swimming with ghosts Dead eyes can't hide Their hedonist living Drinking, debauchery and sinning Scarlet ladies having babies But a whorehouse is not a home Trading flesh for coin Tempting patrons, at the sacrifice of your boy Little Charlie grew up in the hellish dark The sins of the mother Scarring the son's heart Murder brewing in this simmering fleshpot Oh Hateful Harlot, Mother Manx Is is to your neglect and bitter thanks Your baby boy, molested, and you can't protect Your little dreamer from the wicked world you wrought for him Blood on a beautiful boy's hands But the only thing murdered here Is his innocence. Sending his rapist and that lustful bitch Back to hell Charlie, Charlie you're not a villain You had to save yourself.......

Is...... anyone alive out there? It's been days, and I'm still sobbing, my heart desolated by the roiling emotional turmoil, my ignited rage murderous. I don't know about you guys, but...... I'm an absolute wreck. WHY are you DOING this to me, NOS4A2!?!? After the brilliant turn of last week, the sleek sophistication, and glamourous entrapment, "Cripple Creek," was a backhand strike, a blatant violation that I never saw coming, and I spent the entire episode, quivering, sobbing, pleading desperately behind my hands plastered over my face, watching between my fingers, helpless to stop the punishing abuse My Charlie suffers in two different timelines, his bruises of an abused childhood mingling with the fresh wounds of now, as he is tortured, beaten and berated by Bing Partridge!!!

I hated this episode. I HATED it. There, I said it. But I think you're supposed to, I think that was the sole purpose of this traumatizing ordeal. However, as far as Bing (GO TO HELL YOU FILTHY BASTARD) is concerned, the writer's motivation seems drastically convoluted. If this was supposed to be Bing's Big Epiphany, his "redemption," (Ughhh seriously?) This episode fails miserably in accomplishing that. And if this episode was meant to do, what I had predicted back in Season One, cement him as the actual villain of NOS4A2, making him the more immoral evil, be his rise in notoriety, his coming of age as it were, into the monster he was always going to be, giving Charlie and Vic someone to unite their hatred against, it fails to do that too. The biggest misstep of the series, after so elegant a triumph, I'm going to drown my sorrows in ice cream, and try to forget that any of it ever happened. Close your eyes, and think of Christmasland........

I audibly groaned when we opened onto Bing at the Lake House. After so much needless repetition in an otherwise FLAWLESS episode, I REALLY did not want to relive Bing's point of view of the siege, unless it was him getting shot by white knight Chris McQueen over, and over, and over........ Thankfully, the rewind didn't last too long, but I was having NONE of his, "Are you there, God, it's me, Bing Partridge," moment!!! On his knees in the graveyard, (Why...... why are we in a graveyard?) Bing appeals to the heavens, proclaiming his own innocence, asking God to show him what he should do next. I snickered coldly, the whole thing melodramatic, and absurd, as he cries, "I've been so good!!!" Secretly, I was fantasizing about Buffy SLAYING his creepster ass in the graveyard, beating him bloody, before staking him in the heart with a witty saying like, "It's been a gas, Bing, but I get the last laugh!!!" Alas, alack, no such luck. His appeal to the heavens was answered not in divine intervention, but with bird droppings splattering in his mouth, which of course, translated in Bing-A-Ling Logic to, "Kill the FIRST person that tries to help you, bury him in the freshly dug grave, and take his keys!!!" It's PRAYING Bing, you dolt, not preying!!!

While the side quest FINALLY explains how Bing was able to catch up to Charlie and Wayne, after previously believed to be on foot, not to mention shot, which would have been IMPOSSIBLE, supernatural car not withstanding, it's altogether unnecessary. It was the less than scenic route to get to last week's blood-curdling cliff hanger, and I really think we could have done without all the maudlin hullaballoo, and picked right up from there. Also, it creeped me out BIG TIME hearing Bing Partridge say, "Hidey holes," because that's what I called them last week, when Charlie was adorably telling Wayne about his hiding places. "Look at you with your hidey holes, Babe!!!" Needless to say, Bing has ruined that phrase for me FOREVER!!!

"Charlie, Charlie, telling lies, soon he will be crying cries......" A chilling foreboding that was like ice in my veins........ I was definitely crying cries...... I literally WEPT with this horrid little rhyme, and even still I was so naïve, unprepared, for the gut-churning horror that waited in the shadows of a broken little boy's murdered childhood, and the degradation of the beautiful soul that survived it. It's one of the most grueling, and disturbing things, I've ever watched, and like my Darling Boy, strapped to the chair, enduring forced interrogation by gassing, brutal beatings by Bing's homicidal, ham-fisted punches, and some....... deeply unsettling sexual innuendo, I felt like I was the one getting tortured.........

I did utterly enjoy Charlie's feigned relief, as he uses that silver tongue, in valiant effort, to slip his way out of this sickening predicament. "Bing, My Dear Fellow, thank the stars! I thought you had been done in by those wretched McQueens!!" Charlie gasps, thankfully, knowing full well he'd left Bing behind to die, and for good reason. Any other time, this would have worked, Charlie would have used his coaxing charm, and Bing's oafish gullibility, twisted them into a breathtaking manipulation, weaving the lie that he had no choice but to leave him behind, and Bing would have eaten it out of the palm of his hand, because he wants that badly for it to be true. But Bing watched it happen, his face falling, as Charlie sped off without him, and he's DONE playing. Charlie's pleas fall on deaf ears, as Bing drugs him for answers, revealing the fatalities of every single one of Charlie's former accomplices, and with the finality of one apocalyptic truth....... Bing descends into a frenzied, foaming madness.

"Cripple Creek," is the double edged sword that none of us were meant to survive. Switching between the stabbing scenes of Charlie's withering assault, his lifeline to The Wraith, cruelly severed, and the slicing violation of his childhood self, his innocence massacred before our very eyes, our bleeding hearts never stood a chance. I always knew that Charlie's childhood was going to be horrid, downright Dickensian, devoid of magic and light, unloved by his drunk, whore mother, but I had no idea the HELL this beautiful boy endured at so tender an age, forever scarred, betrayed by the one person he trusted, respected, desperately in need of a father figure, only to be exploited in the most heinous way. It's a MIRACLE My Precious Love can even function as an adult, much less still manage to find wonder and beauty in the world, clinging, clawing to hold onto his ember, his remnant of pure light that persevered in a life of darkness.

The inexplicable joy at seeing a young Charlie Manx, aged 11 or 12, tapdancing on stage, along with the giddy marvel that this young actor looks just like our leading man in miniature, is short-lived, as a stranger takes an uncomfortable interest in him....... I don't know how, maybe it was the intent way he watched him dance, or the way he touched his shoulder a little too long, but I knew........ I KNEW this man was going to sexually abuse Charles, I felt it gnawing in my stomach, instantly unnerved, and I hoped with all my heart, my first instinct was wrong....... I'm devastated to say........ it was not.

Not only does this manipulative pedophile Son of a BITCH molest my baby, he first uses him to persuade other boys to flock to his house, knowing full well how much the young ones look up to Charlie, as their leader. He wins Charlie's favour and trust by befriending him, and giving our little darling the one thing he wants more than anything else. Escape. Escape from the vulgar, gratuitously sexual environment, that no young boy should have to endure, a chance to make money, have an honest, respectable living. A chance to have a father figure, a man to look up to, learn from, and take him under his wing. The shop owner offers all of that, with a crooked smile, the charade falling dangerously away, as he knocks back a shot glass, eying our boy, and then says in the cruelest, most chilling voice. "You've earned yourself some fun........"

Thankfully, NOS4A2 was not overly graphic in this lewd portrayal, but the innuendo was enough to make me ugly cry, and seethe, as this sweet child is violated by someone he admires so much, realizing in horror, that he led all of his friends to be mishandled in this same disgusting manner, like lambs to the slaughter. But our brave little Manx was NOT going to let this sin go unpunished, and I clapped, cheering him on, as he uses his sled, now tainted by its means of acquisition, to kill the shopkeeper, dark fire flashing in his eyes, blood splattering on the shot glass, and I've never been so happy, or nervously relieved to see someone die.

His mother comes to him, and instead of crying, and taking her boy in her arms, stroking his dark curls, soothing his fear, and assuaging his guilt, she just scoffs at his accusation, the picture of apathy, and places the blame back on him. "You knew too, Charlie!!!" You WHORE-ABLE Mother!!! Your son was just sexually ASSAULTED, and YOU DARE make it his own fault, like he'd turned a blind eye, and therefore deserved to get raped!?!? Charlie might not have killed her, if she'd actually had a maternal bone in her body, if she'd done SOMETHING, shown any sign of regret or compassion, but she doesn't, and I feel nothing but proud as he finishes her off too. Her death was surprising, given the admonishing way Charlie talks about his mother, creating the impression that she'd been a bane on his existence his entire life, and yes, as a writer, I wanted to see more of a direct conflict between them to make that defining moment that much more satisfying, but as a viewer, I was just grateful she was dead, and Charlie was free. The only murder perpetrated, the only death I mourned at Cripple Creek, was that of Charlie's innocence, his childhood slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Bing continues to torture Charlie in the present day, my chest shuddering with every thrown punch, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. What was the deafening truth spoken that sends Bing Partridge into a flailing rage, you ask?

"Christmasland is for children. We are special...... That's why we can't go......."

Charlie was never going to take Bing to Christmasland. All that this poor dope had lived for, dreamed of, for eight years, amidst his conning his way into dentists' offices, and offing mothers, and it was always a lie. I had suspected it the entire time, especially after the mention of a, "special feast," but what SHOCKED me the most, was the unimaginable heartbreak of Charlie's own deepest secret coming to light, and as Bing draws it forth, it's like drawing blood. In spite of being the architect of his lifelong dream, and greatest solace from a life full of abject misery, Charlie doesn't think he deserves Christmasland, because he sees himself as ruined........

I broke down sobbing, that pain, that anguish, that he's so long carried with him, ripping through me, and I'm tearing up even as I write this, remembering....... Charlie denying himself his own dream, seeing himself as a ruined article that might profane its pure vision, is a tragedy that I can't come back from. It's a sorrowful, aching confession, and yet somehow it explains so much, and in this, his greatest pain, his darkest secret, I felt intimately closer to him. At last........ we see why Charlie never stays long in his Christmas kingdom, why he's so focused on the next child, and the next, sacrificing time with his own daughter, because they deserve Christmasland, and he doesn't. Always the courier, never the partaker. Christmasland is for children, and Charlie Manx never got the chance to be one.

The searing pains of his past still guide so much of who he is today, placing a strict emphasis on propriety in every aspect of his person, in manner, speech, and dress, because he was robbed of his dignity as a child. I also, FINALLY, after two seasons, understand why he turns the children into vampires, a contradiction to his love of them, that has remained frustratingly elusive to my grasp. Charlie's childhood was taken from him, brought to a vulnerable, violent end, and by turning the Lost Children, theirs becomes eternal. They never have to grow up, and lose that purity, that innocence. I also realized, that by giving them their bite back, they are able to defend themselves, meaning no one can ever hurt them again.......

There was so much awful going on, so much inflicted misery, and disorienting chaos, that I was sure I'd heard wrong when Bing decides on an even more dehumanizing method of torture. Did Bing just...... call Charlie a BITCH!? I shook my head, but there it was again, and at this point I'd HAD it. Somebody give me a GUN, I will WASTE this SICK BASTARD myself!!! The skeevy sexual threat against Charlie felt like overkill to me, utterly ridiculous, a cheap shot at adding dramatic effect, especially in the face of his childhood shame. Bing has exhibited absolutely no inclination of...... swinging that way, as it were, before, and yeah they kind of threw in last minute that he'd done this to Mike's father, offscreen, but I don't know WHY he would do that, especially given his particular affinity for Mike. Charlie, himself, pointed out that there was no indication in the Graveyard of What Might Be that Mike needed saving, or that his father deserved punishing. It's awkward, and disturbing, and there seemed to me no method in this madness.

"If I'm a monster....... who deserves to die....... You deserve so much worse." BAM. Hell yeah, Babe!!! Thank GOD, Charlie's quick enough to convince Bing that he too is a monster, and we are spared any further asinine innuendo. Bing, after these series of unfortunate events, beating, berating, and threatening Charlie with rape, suddenly, deus ex machina-esque has a change of heart, and an epiphany that comes a LOT TOO LATE!!! We're both monsters, we BOTH deserve to die....... What we're doing is WRONG. Was I happy when Bing urged Wayne to go, and tell a police officer that his mom is Vic McQueen? Yes. Do I believe he did it out of the goodness of his heart, and has finally seen the light? Freaking HELL NO!!! Bing, after losing Christmasland, has nothing left to live for, and this is his way of giving up. If I can't go to Christmasland, Wayne can't go...... and he decides a bizarre murder/suicide in The Wraith is his final act of redemption.

Before they even showed the car crusher, I was already sobbing profusely, losing my freaking mind, because I had figured out exactly where Bing had taken Charlie.

"There's going to be two less monsters in the world........"

Meaning to crush them both, and kill the Wraith irrevocably, Bing puts on his mask, and presses the button. At first Wayne laughs, and thinks it's a game, his inner vampire child coming out, but when it hits him that Charlie's in actual danger, he realizes he has a choice to make....... Save Charlie Manx, or let him die, and go home safe to his Mom and Lou.

"No, My Boy, this isn't a game, it's time to play, Save Father Christmas!!!"

Charlie calls out frantically, coaxingly to his young charge, and I loved that so much, my heart overwhelmed with emotion. Yes, Wayne, PRETTY PLEASE save Father Christmas!!! A lot of people despised him for what happened next, screaming at Wayne for his choice, even calling him a stupid kid, but I, myself, felt even more love in my heart for that already dearly cherished little lad, as he smiles, and slams down on the button, halting the crusher, and saving Charlie from imminent death.

It's a profound moment, the abductee choosing to save his kidnapper's life, and many cried out strongly against it, but you have to understand....... Charlie Manx has become so much more to Wayne than the scary face in his mother's paintings. Here is a man that has shown genuine interest in his life, his hopes, his dreams, who has treated him gently, fussed over him, concerned, and who has come to love him like a father. Couple that with The Wraith's effects on Wayne, slowly tying the two of them together, it makes perfect sense to me, how this unexpected bond has formed. Yes, had Vic been there, herself, he would have chosen her over Charlie in a second, but when faced with the reality of letting Charlie die, our tender-hearted Bats just couldn't do it.

"Do think of me at Christmastime, won't you?"

CHARLIE. LIKE. A. BOSS!!!! The single greatest moment, and brightest scene in an hour of plunging darkness, is definitely Charlie, snapping back into his delectably dark, unrivaled perfection (although, I must say I still found him incredibly dashing in his distinguished grays) charging Bing Partridge, murder striking in his wild, smouldering eyes, stabbing him, with a reveling whisper, twisting the knife, with this most PERFECT line, that gave me wonderous, reverberating chills!!! I also LOVED how Charlie glowers in his lumpy face and says, "You were never special." DAMN that's HOT!!! My only grievance with an otherwise ENTHRALLING moment, was that inexplicably, yet again, CHARLIE DIDN'T KILL BING!!! Charlie has KILLED for so much less, and while he did offer a vague explanation about prison being so much worse for Bing than hell, it felt like hell frozen over that Charlie would ever let Bing live. I know this is the writers wanting to keep Bing around to creep another day, but MY GOD, hang that Partridge from a pear tree, and HAVE DONE already!!!!!

This was an especially dark episode, but there were flashes of some really beautiful, albeit fleeting moments, first with Wayne and Craig, and then with Millie and Cassie, though the reoccurring theme, the common thread, did seem to be Innocence Lost. I was startled with the The Wraith's sneaky trick of causing a child to forget their parents the longer they are in the car, and BLESS YOU, Craig for helping your son remember his mother, and fight the transformation!!! He tells Wayne that Vic's favourite movie was Jaws, and Wayne tells him that her favourite holiday is the 4th of July. (Which is really cool, because it's my favourite too!!!) This slows the Wraith's effects on Wayne, and becomes a very special moment between father and son, as they fight to keep Vic's memory alive.

"How do you know my mom?"

"She was my best friend."

More overwhelmed sobs, because apparently I haven't cried enough this episode!!! Craig decides not to tell Wayne that he's his father, but our little Bats is ingeniously clever, and I think he's going to figure it out before long!!! Another mini heart attack comes with a second lost tooth. The suspense of Wayne's slow turning, mirroring the tender emotion in this scene was fantastic.

Millie and her mother have a similar moment, and I thought that was BRILLIANT of her to introduce Vampire Millie to her former human self. The two play with dolls, and human Millie talks about how she can't wait to go on a date, and have adventures when she grows up! It's such an endearing scene, and also incredibly sad, as the pale, gaunt shell of Vampire Millie envies her bright, and bubbly human counterpart, seeing the hope and innocence that she's so long been bereft of. "She's me...... Who I'm supposed to be." Cassie explains that her father's sad fantasy is depriving Millie of the gift of growing up, and explains that there's nothing Charlie Manx fears more than a woman with her own mind, and that's the LAST thing he wants his beloved daughter to become. A woman that would eventually leave him. More tears. Poor Millie. Poor Charlie!! Can I just give everybody a hug!?

"Cripple Creek," lingers like BAD Dream, and all I want to do right now, is curl up with Charlie Manx, hold him in my arms, stroke his cheek, soothe him with the tenderest hands, and softest words, tell him he's beautiful, and that he deserves Christmasland, and the world, that he's not ruined, but PURE!!! This was my least favourite episode in the entire series, and just like, "The Gas Mask Man," will be skipped indefinitely in the re-watch, but like I said, it endeared Charlie even more to my heart, and I feel fiercely protective over him, over that goodness that still glows in his dark eyes, despite lifetimes of feeling unloved, and in ever-present pain. All I ever wanted in Season One, was a glimpse into the past that crafted my mysterious and refined vampire chauffeur, and this entire experience, My Darlings, is an exercise in, "Be Careful What You Wish For..........."

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #292

“dear god, let’s make this fucking clear: dear god, there’s nothing that i fear”

What internet browser do you use? Chrome. What brand water do you drink? (Smart Water, Dasani, etc) Mom just grabs the Great Value jugs. Do you have a job? No. Are you full-time or part-time? N/A Are you watching TV right now? No. Or are you listening to music? Yeah, "Mr. Crowley" by Ozzy. Such a great song. Would you go to jail for 3 years for $1,000,000? No. I would NOT survive in jail. When's your birthday? February 5th. I cannot fucking believe I'm almost 25. Thoughts on kids? Too impressionable for me. Even with my niece and nephew, I feel like every single word I say just like... stamps into their brains, and what if I say something that negatively affects them? I feel like it's my responsibility as an aunt to be a fountain of wisdom when I'm definitely not. I just get nervous around kids. Worst punishment you've ever received by your parents? I wouldn't call it a "punishment," but when I skinned the everliving fuck out of my knees and Mom was patching me up while I was just sobbing away, my dad literally roared "SHUT UP!" from my parents' bedroom, and it's stuck with me forever. Honestly, I think it may be a root in my extreme fear of men yelling. Worst punishment from Mom, probably this time where she smacked the shit outta my arm as a kid and left a clear handprint for a while. Are you the type who is completely against abortion? Why? No, I am firmly pro-choice, despite being pro-life most of my life. I don't feel like writing a moral essay, but basically, I absolutely cannot agree with forcing a woman to carry a human they don't want for whatever reason for nine fucking months, endure one of the most traumatically painful things known to man, and then properly and adequately care for that child. That is such a huge fucking responsibility that should be forced upon *nobody*. "But adoption!" Yeah, go tell that to the thousands of children waiting on you. This is leaning on exactly what I said I wouldn't do, so moving along. Have you ever read a book that actually changed your outlook on life? "I’ve read some books that were phenomenal, but I wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to say that they 'changed my outlook on life'." <<<< This was Johnny Got His Gun for me. Does your favorite flower hold any meaning to you? No. What would you do if your favorite animal became endangered? I would fucking freak. Have you ever owned an expensive eyeshadow palette? No, but I honestly do want at least one, primarily with a deep black and then some nice grays and neutral colors. Do you own a tripod for your camera? Yes. Are your nails always painted? Quite the opposite. What's one thing you've had a toxic reaction to? A breakup. Which holiday is your favorite to decorate for? I honestly don't really decorate because I just don't have the motivation, but Halloween is the best. Were you popular in school? Nope. Are there any foods that often give you heartburn or indigestion? BANANAS, dark sodas (like Coke or Dr. Pepper), peanut butter can... It's hard for me to tell much now because I have chronic heartburn and am medicated for it. Works great, so I don't experience this much. Is there something you intend to buy in the near future? Yes. Once my tattoo is done (I'm setting the appointment the next time we leave the house, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH), what I have left is going towards Venus' new terrarium. She really needs a 40 gallon. Is anyone in your family artistically talented? What about musically? I was the art kid, and family still insist I should be an artist. What cute behaviors or characteristics does/do your pet(s) have? Omg, Roman has so many. He nuzzles me all the time, will collapse into my hand to pet him, he insists on being the little spoon at bedtime (no, really), he literally tries to groom me with his teeth, licks my face... He is just a doll. My little buddy for sure. Now onto Venus. She loves to chill next to me in bed or find a cozy place under the covers, and omgggg does she love to slither around the bed doing the periscope thing. So curious. What's the screensaver on your computer? I don't have one. What’s the sexiest thing about a guy? I am WEAK for nice shoulderblades/muscular shoulders ok. What’s the sexiest thing about a girl? I am an ass bitch and I will not hesitate to admit it ayyyyyeeeee. Who were you with at midnight on January 1, 2021? Nobody. Who was the last person to send you a message on social media? My sister Misty. She's planning to surprise Mom (her stepmom, anyway) by showing up in a few weeks with her fiance and all her kids she's never met but desperately wants to. My mom is the only "real mom" she's ever had, and she just feels so bad that she has a by now teenage daughter (among three other younger ones) that has never met her "grandmother." It's just an expensive and long trip, but Misty's finally called it enough and is just driving down here with everyone. Mom is going to fucking sob. ^ What qualities does this person have, that you appreciate? Nice timing for this, since her fiercely anti-mask bullshit is all I can focus on about her lately... but there are good things about her. She truly is a very loving, passionate woman that, just like me, feels deeply and expresses it. What was the last thing that caused you to scowl, or frown? Does grimacing count from a sudden bodily pain? Have you smiled at any point during the last hour? Yeah. I'm watching the VOD of Arin Hanson playing Kingdom Hearts 2 for charity, and he went on a total fucking laughing fit. His laugh is so precious, so I just couldn't stop grinning. What was the last thing you consulted Google for? Ensuring "grimace" was the right word for my former expression, even though I was pretty positive it was correct... I don't know if anyone's noticed, but my English skills are degrading, particularly in spelling. It's concerning me. I was an English whiz my whole life up to now. My only guess is it's related to how godawful my memory is also declining. So, did anyone send you a "Happy New Year" message when midnight hit? No. When was the last time you were on a carousel? Probably not since I was a teenager being goofy with Jason or somebody. What is the closest you have ever been to an elephant? I have a picture on my dA of a beautiful elephant walking RIGHT by its fence at the zoo. It was pretty amazing, considering just how incredibly immense their enclosure is. Have you ever played Halo? No, it's not my kinda game. Have you ever read a National Geographic magazine? Oh, I'm positive I've read sections while in waiting rooms of various places. When was the last time you had a pillow fight? I have no idea. Realistically it was probably w/ Jason since that sounds like some cute playfighting thing we'd do, but I don't remember a particular instance. Name somebody who you think deserves more respect: "Retail works. The horror stories my mom has on the daily is absolutely ridiculous. People can be so incredibly rude." <<<< I absolutely agree with this; what friends and strangers alike rant about is just depressing. Nobody, especially those working through a goddamn pandemic that's killing thousands, deserves the disrespect that comes their way. Have some goddamn decency and know half the issues you bring up to retail workers isn't even their damn fault. Ohhhh, I could rant about this. In your own words, define what the word sexy means. So you mean like, what I think is considered sexy, not just the general definition? If that's the case, uhhh. Self-confidence (but absolutely not arrogance) is very attractive to me as a bitch who lacks it entirely, as well as good manners, being outgoing, and just... charm. I don't quite know how to describe that "charm" other than I'm really drawn to people who are unique and happy with it and just seem to have an aura about them that feels good to be in. What is the most popular tourist attraction where you live? I'm going to look at this question as if you're asking about my state and not general location because 1.) there ain't shit here and 2.) I'd prefer to keep relatively where I live quiet on the Internet. Looked it up and apparently NC's biggest tourist bait is the Biltmore Estate. Never been there myself, but it'd be pretty dope. Without looking - do you know what brand your underwear is? I'm in my own home and pjs, who the fuck wears underwear with that criteria lmao. Are you any good at volleyball? NOOOOOOOOO. I went to a volleyball camp thing once when I was younger and that shit hurts the hell outta your hands. I didn't stay long. Have you ever had a water balloon fight? Why of course. Do you think some babies are ugly? Quite honestly, probably most, especially newborns. Don’t you miss Chuck E. Cheese? I do; going there was one of the most exciting possible things to me as a kiddo. Do you think Fall Out Boy is gonna be a classic band, like Queen or AC/DC? Possibly. I mean they sure are pretty successful and well-known. Do you love stuff-crusted pizza? Eh, it's not my preference, but I'll eat it. Do you apply lotion after you bathe? No, but I really should, given how dry my skin is. What’s your favorite color? Pastel pink. Who did you have your most amazing kiss with? I'd like to not think about this. Has a YouTube video of yours ever gotten over 10,000 views? Lol definitely not. I think at least one on my older channel hit 1k somehow???? It was a birthday gift I made for someone. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? lol I already have one there. At some point I'm getting it covered, though. Do you like Robert Frost poems? I do! Do you go to church every Sunday? I never do. Have you ever been in a relationship on-and-off for more than a year? No, I don't play that game. You want me or you don't, so I'm not wasting my time on your uncertainty or just our lack of stability for whatever reason. If you had to get famous for one of the following, which would you choose: music, acting, writing, modeling? Absolutely writing. What do you think of girls with huge boobs that don’t wear bras in public? ?????????????????? i don't?????????????? care???????????????? they're not my tits??????????????? What is the last thing you tried on in a store? I don't know. I avoid trying shit on like the plague. And then it ends up being too big/small. I wonder why. Is sleeping naked more comfortable than in clothes? I've only ever fallen asleep naked once, and accidentally at that, so I really don't remember how I felt about it? Consciously though, I would feel very, very vulnerable so don't have plans to when I have my own place. Have you ever had a dream in which you were making out, or more, with someone? HAHAHA Y'AAAAAALLLLLLL THIS WAS DEADASS THE ONLY LUCID DREAM I'VE EVER HAD LMAOOOOO Do you feel as though you have a good memory, or are you forgetful at times? Do you feel that your short-term memory or long-term memory is better? My short-term memory is absolutely atrocious, like to the point it seriously affects my ability to get shit done. You can give me something that needs to be done and I will forget in a heartbeat. Now, my long-term memory is astonishing. I can remember many things from my childhood in incredible detail. Have you ever had a concussion or some other sort of brain injury before? Did you need to have surgery for it? I've had a concussion or two. I can't remember which. I didn't need surgery. Do you have any sort of mental illnesses or disorders? What do they involve? Yeah: chronic depression, crippling social anxiety, generalized anxiety, avoidant personality disorder (AvPD), obsessive compulsive disorder, PTSD, bipolar II, and I think that's it. My head's a mess and a half. What’s the longest that your hair has ever been? How about the shortest? When is the last time that you got it cut? About to the small of my back; how it is now, which is pretty much shaved on the left and fades to near my chin on the right. I actually got it cut last month; we've gone to a family friend for years whose shop is just an extra building by her house and very rarely has more than two clients in it. We had masks on, of course. At what age did you start getting gray hairs, if you happen to have any? I don't have any. Somehow, given my stress level at all times, haha. What are some ways that you style your hair? Do you use any sorts of products in it? It's too short to style. I don't use any products in it but obviously shampoo. Who was the last person to truly get on your nerves? What do you think caused you to feel that way? Probably my mom. I think she was in a rotten mood for one reason or another and just being snappy and generally rude. Do you recycle? Is this through choice or do you live somewhere where it’s compulsory? We do; it's by choice, and it'd be immensely ignorant not to where we live considering it literally gets picked up with the other garbage. Do you prefer plain, carbonated, or flavored water? Do you think you drink enough water throughout the day? I've never tried carbonated water, and flavored water rarely works for me due to artificial sweeteners giving me beastly headaches. So I'll just take really cold, filtered water. Have you ever needed to call the police, ambulance, or fire department? I had to call the ambulance for my mom right before her cancer was discovered because she was literally immobile and in ungodly pain. When was the last time you visited the library? What was the purpose of your visit? At my old college, as the newspaper photographer, I took some artsy pics up there. I will probably forever worry that leaving school resulted in the biggest career opportunity slipping through my fingers through that newspaper. Do you see a lot of wild animals where you live? Are any of them dangerous? I guess about the normal amount you'd see in the country. Some dangerous animals live here, sure, that's probably everywhere, but you very rarely see any. Aside from when you were born, have you ever had to stay the night in the hospital? For suicidal thoughts and one attempt, yes. Have you ever experienced a panic attack? Ahhhh, do I know those well. Thankfully, it's been a long time since I had an all-out panic attack. Would you ever want to go into the medical profession? Was your answer different pre-COVID? Nope. Well, besides being a vet, which I haven't wanted to be since I was a kid. Where you live, are people paying attention to whatever restrictions are in place to help control COVID? Many? No. Because it's apparently a fuckin hoax or not as bad as the government wants us to think. Fucking cretins. Do you get a real or artificial Christmas tree? Artificial. Real ones aren't worth the money nor mess. What’s your favourite type/flavor of popcorn? Caramel corn. Do you drink oat milk? No, but I'm interested in at least trying it. The dairy industry is absolutely repulsive if you look into it, and I'd love to do what I can to take as little part in it as possible... even though I am a dairy fiend. I seriously wish I could go vegan, I am just WAY too picky for it. Do you love thrifting? Oh fuck yes. I've been very few times in my life, but I'mm all about it. Do you consider using only lowercase letters your aesthetic? I do find it visually appealing; I like the flow of similar letter height. I never do it for "serious" things, but on places where it's "for the aesthetic," it's likely that's how I'll write something. Do you say “mood?” Way too much lmao. Do you own fairy lights? No, though I would like them if it wouldn't look stupid in my room. Do you own glass straws because the metal ones kind of gross you out because you can’t tell if they are clean or not? ... I didn't know glass straws were a thing. I have a handful of metal ones though, but I always forget I have one in my purse when I go out... Have you made a TikTok? No. Do you own airpods? No. Are you afraid of Mercury in retrograde? I don't believe in a planet's position or whatever having any effect on people. Do you make life choices based on astrology? Definitely not, considering I don't believe in it to begin with. How many pairs of converse shoes do you own? Maybe like, five? Number of jeans in your closet: Zero. What accent do you have? Not really any, but sometimes I sound kinda southern with specific words. Do you have a big butt? Yo I got a Hank Hill ass, so no. Do you count how long you and your gf/bf have been together? In my past relationships, yes, I assigned our anniversary to memory. I don't really... know why, like it doesn't really matter how long you've been together, I just do. Have you graduated? From HS, yes. I dropped out of college three times lmao. Rihanna or Lady GaGa? Ohhh, not sure. Maybe GaGa, but both ladies have songs I love. "Disturbia" doess beat all of her songs, tho. The fuckin BEAT. Do you use fake eyelashes? Never tried 'em. Which was the last book that really captivated you? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. What makeup brands do you use? I'm not loyal to any, really. I would be if I could afford expensive shit, but yeah, that ain't my life.

[nitewrighter]

can you write smth /w zenyatta and baby rei? maybe he's babysitting? that'd be so cute! uvu

Mercy looked over the Shambali preschool as various toddlers babbled and chatted and tumbled over each other while a handful of human and Omnic nursemaids walked around. Rei, about 7 months old then, was making soft noises from the sling across Mercy’s torso, eyes wide, taking in everything.

“We do have a section for younger infants,” said a human nursemaid as Mercy glanced doubtfully between Rei and the group of toddlers, “There’s only about… 2 others around her age range. We assure you she’ll be well-cared for.”

“I’m sure–” said Mercy, readjusting Rei in her sling.

“We’ll only be gone a few hours, anyway,” said Genji.

“And it is the safest option for her, as you stated we don’t really know the status on the other villages’ medical supplies,” said Zenyatta.

“I know…” said Mercy. She huffed and held up Rei. “You’ll be good without me, won’t you, Sunneschii?”

Rei blew a raspberry and kicked her chubby little legs in response.

“I thought so,” said Mercy, smiling before handing Rei off to Zenyatta, before turning her eyes to him, “We’ll be back–”

“In a couple hours, you’ve said,” said Zenyatta.

“Uh… here,” said Genji, shouldering Rei’s diaper bag into the arms of one of the nursemaids.

“Genji–we brought the B-O-O-K, right?” said Mercy.

“It’s in the bag,” said Genji.

“…book?” said Zenyatta and Rei suddenly chirped in response to the word.

“Board book. Again, in the bag. If she gets inconsolable, just read it to her,” said Mercy.

“I see,” said Zenyatta.

“We’ll be back soon, Sunneschii,” said Mercy, kissing Rei’s forehead. Rei cooed and grabbed for Mercy’s fluffy bangs but was thankfully distracted as Genji wiped a little drool away from Rei’s mouth.

“Back before you know it,” said Genji, giving Rei an affectionate tap on the nose as they both broke away from Zenyatta and the group of Shambali nursemaids.

“Give my best to the other villages,” said Zenyatta, waving them off as they walked away. He looked down at Rei in his arms.

“Master Zenyatta, I can direct you to the nursery, they’re all down for a nap right now so–” one of the nursemaids started.

“That will not be necessary,” said Zenyatta, looking down at Rei.

“Master Zenyatta?” the nursemaid said his title in question.

“Years ago I left the Shambali because I believed our message must be shared on an individual level,” said Zenyatta, “While it gives me joy that the Shambali as it stands trusts my leadership, I cannot, in good conscience, forget my beliefs which lead me here,” he readjusted Rei in his arms so that he was holding her at arm’s length, “You are the child of my brightest pupil during that time. It would be remiss if I were to simply hand you off.” 

“Afabamla,” Rei responded before blowing spit bubbles.

“Indeed,” said Zenyatta, “You are right. It will be good for both of us to show you the monastery.”

“…she didn’t say that,” said the Shambali nursemaid.

“Come along, little one,” said Zenyatta, floating off with Rei in his arms.

—-

Zenyatta floated at the outermost balcony of the Shambali’s biggest shrine, looking out over the mountains.

“During the Omnic Crisis, the omniums polluted the skies and the waters with smoke, chemicals, and radiation,” said Zenyatta, “But we Shambali have made a point of harnessing the wind and the sun here and the mountains so that we might better find our place in nature,” he looked down at Rei, in the crook of his arm, currently concerned with grabbing her wool-lined booties, “What is our place in nature, I wonder? Is it every species’ fate to create another intelligence in its image? I do believe the need to see oneself beyond oneself exists in this world… that is why you exist.”

“Aga?” Rei was pressing her feet together with her hands.

“It is not your purpose, little one, but the force that brings us into existence is one beyond our control. You couldn’t very well tell your parents to have you, but you are here, and make no mistake, that is a wonderful thing.”

“Mabla,” Rei responded in a tone that almost seemed like ‘Yes, I already knew that.’

“You will find your purpose in this world, I have no doubt of that,” said Zenyatta, “And I think that is the most remarkable thing about any organic–to arrive somewhere, not knowing who you are, or what you’re meant to do, but still making a place for yourself. It’s easier for some than others, but it is there.” Zenyatta looked out over the mountains, “Do you see the turbines?” he asked, pointing to a handful of windmills on a ridge.

“Eh,” said Rei.

“I don’t think anyone comes into this world wanting to cause harm–Perhaps for Omnics it is different–especially if you were a mech built to fight….but wanton cruelty, wanton destruction is not in anyone’s programming. What’s in everyone’s programming is survival. And fear and anger corrupt that,” he looked down at Rei, “Your purpose is your own to decide, little one. And I have no doubt that you will bring wonderful things into this world simply by virtue of your presence. Perhaps not all at once, but in your own way and in your own time.” He brushed a bit of her dark hair before floating off.

—-

“This,” said Zenyatta, floating down some stairs, “Is the inner sanctum.”

He was looking out over the edge of the interior platform with Rei in his arms. Rei made a cooing “Woo-ooh!” noise that echoed down the abyss of the processors.

“Do you know why we call it the Iris, little one?” said Zenyatta, pulling away from the edge so they could both look at the column of data streaming upward from the center of the platform

“Nah?” Rei smacked a tiny palm against Zenyatta’s faceplate, “Natta.” 

“In the human eye, the iris responds automatically to the intake of light–expanding and contracting as needed. When an Omnic is destroyed, its memory returns to an unconscious collective shared by all omnics. This… is happening all over the world, as we speak. The Iris is, like an iris in an eye, the gatekeeper of our experiences. If an omnic is made to dig a ditch, not much memory is required of ditch-digging. If 47 omnics are digging the same ditch in the same town, they are sharing the same experience. The Iris decides which experiences are individual and which are that of a group. But there is nuance, in this–whose previous experiences have shifted their perspective of their current experience.”

“Geh,” Rei responded sagely.

“It can be difficult to think of gods as benevolent if they are simply reflections of those who worshipped them,” said Zenyatta, “But… the Iris is not a god. It may be easier for organics to act like it is, and perhaps in some distant authoritative sense it is… but it is no more a god than gravity or electricity is your god. When you are an omnic, you are very lucky to have your memory be your own.” Zenyatta gestured toward the data stream, “Let me show you.”

The holographic column at the center of the platform suddenly warped and shifted, expanding and sending out lines and shapes in every direction. Rei cooed in response as several star-like lights shot out from the column. “It responds to my memories, you understand?” he said, plucking up a single star-like light. Suddenly all the lights dissolved and a hologram of two figures appeared at the center of the inner sanctum. Rei suddenly chirped and bounced up and down in Zenyatta’s arms at the sight of a hologram of Genji getting down on his knees before a hologram of Zenyatta, laying down his sword before him.

“Tekharta Zenyatta,” said the hologram Genji, “I accept you as my teacher, so that I might make peace with my state of being.”

“Agafla! Da! Natta!” Rei was scrambling in Zenyatta’s arms and Zenyatta brought her closer to the hologram so that she could phase her little fingers through it.

“Yes, this was a long time ago,” said Zenyatta, “But it means a lot to me, and thus, it means a lot to the Iris.”

“Natta,” said Rei, waving a little arm at the hologram of Zenyatta.

“Yes, not terribly interesting if—” Zenyatta cut himself off as Rei grunted and furrowed her brow in his arms. “Is something wrong?” said Zenyatta.

Rei had another long, drawn out grunt and then seemed deeply upset.

“What?” said Zenyatta, “What is–” he noticed Rei’s pants weren’t hanging on her in quite the same way and immediately understood. “Ah. I see,” said Zenyatta, quickly hovering away.

—-

“…I can do it, you know,” said the Shambali nursemaid, leaning over Zenyatta’s shoulder as Zenyatta looked at Rei lying down on a blanket with the diaper bag right next to him.

“No. This is necessary to understanding the organic experience,” said Zenyatta, shimmying Rei out of her little pants. Rei was kicking her legs up in her diaper, whining as Zenyatta tried to figure out the next step.

“Those little blue tabs on the sides of the diaper–” said the nursemaid.

“Ah. Yes. I knew that. I was aware of that,” said Zenyatta, undoing the tabs on the side of Rei’s diaper.

“Oh Iris–” said the nursemaid, rearing back at the sight of the interior of the diaper.

“What? Is something wrong?” said Zenyatta, alarmed.

“No that is… that’s just… definitely full…” said the nursemaid, “I’d ask how you didn’t notice earlier but… you don’t have a nose.” 

“I do not,” said Zenyatta.

“Ehhhhhhhhhh!” Rei’s voice was a drawn out whine, “Nattaaaaa!”

“What is ‘Natta?” said Zenyatta.

“I don’t know!” said the nursemaid.

“Please stop crying,” said Zenyatta, feverishly trying to calm Rei down, “Please stop crying—”

The nursemaid pretty much backseat drove Zenyatta through the whole process. “Okay–get the dirty diaper out of there–but wait you still have to wipe! Okay now just–wait–Don’t let her turn on her side! Well now she’s upset! You can’t traumatize the kid over a routine diaper change–”

Zenyatta now had three transcendence arms out, one securing Rei by her feet, one holding Rei’s dirty diaper, and one twiddling its fingers in Rei’s face to keep her distracted while Zenyatta positioned a new clean diaper under Rei with his two normal arms.

“Is there anything else?” said Zenyatta.

“Well… some people are big on lotion to prevent chafing…” said the nursemaid but Zenyatta looked helplessly between Rei and her and the Nursemaid said, “You know what? It’s probably fine.”

Zenyatta quickly wrapped Rei up in the new diaper with help from his three transcendence arms before shimmying Rei’s pants back onto her. “There!” said Zenyatta, holding Rei at arm’s length, “I can do organic things!”

“Excellent diapering, Master Zenyatta,” said the nursemaid with a bow of her head.

“I believe you can take things from here–” said Zenyatta, moving to hand Rei over.

Rei suddenly started wailing. “NATTAAAA!” she howled, balling her hands into fists, “NATTAAAA!”

“What did I do?” said Zenyatta, bouncing Rei a little in his arms to try and soothe her. 

“I mean at this point it could be anything: tired, gassy, misses her parents…” the nursemaid trailed off, “Probably a combination of all three for her.”

“I see,” said Zenyatta, holding Rei at arm’s length, “Little one, we are going to breathe deep and–”

Rei just wailed louder.

“The book!” said Zenyatta.

“What?” said the nursemaid.

“The book they said to read! There’s a book in the bag!”

The nursemaid rifled through a diaper bag. “Little Lamby Lambkins?” said the nursemaid.

“I don’t know, is it a book?” said Zenyatta.

“It’s the only one in here,” said the nursemaid, tossing Zenyatta a book.

“Please work,” said Zenyatta, flipping the little board book open to the first page.

—-

“I still don’t know–what if I give her measles?” said Mercy as she and Genji were walking back into the Shambali temple.

“She’s vaccinated, you showered, and no one in that village had measles, Angela,” said Genji.

“Right,” said Mercy, “Right.”

The two of them turned around a column to see Zenyatta on a pile of red pillows with Rei asleep in his lap as he read.

“And so, Little Lamby Lambkins and her new bestest best friend, Wolfypoo, played in the meadow all day. The end,” Zenyatta glanced up from the board book to Genji and Mercy, “Ah–Hello. how were the villages?”

“They…” Genji started, stunned, “They were…”

“You got her to fall asleep?!” said Mercy, incredulously.

“Is it difficult to make her fall asleep?” said Zenyatta.

Mercy was slack-jawed as Zenyatta took Rei up in his arms and floated over to them. “She is quite remarkable, my student,” said Zenyatta, handing Rei over to Genji.

“Yeah… we… we think so too,” said Genji, taking Rei from him.

Rei’s eyes opened blearily in Genji’s arms and she curled against him.

“Hello, sunshine,” said Genji, cuddling her close.

“And she… wasn’t any trouble?” said Mercy.

“She is incredibly receptive,” said Zenyatta.

Rei’s eyes flicked from Genji to Zenyatta. 

“Natta!” she said, reaching her chubby little hands toward Zenyatta.

“’Natta’ indeed, little one,” said Zenyatta, extending a transcendance hand and wiggling his fingers in her face and letting her grab them.

“Master, I think you’re Natta,” said Genji.

“I am?” said Zenyatta before clearing his throat, “Yes. I’m Natta. I knew that.” 

[partsofthemachine]

For the meta memes: one of the Umbrella Academy kids + your saddest Thought about them.

 I feel like you know me well enough to know that this was going to be just a big wall of sad that I’m mostly putting under the cut.

The Hargreeves in General: Empathy is a learned behavior and it’s not one that Reggie the Dick put a lot (or any) time and effort into teaching his children. So for the most part they learned how to be empathetic and how to communicate with other people from TV It’s the primary reason their communication with each other is so strained and assholeish; because no one TV cares about real emotions. And you just have theses seven people who barely know how to name their own emotions much less deal with each other’s emotions.

Also, the fact they learned communication from TV is a large part of the reason they refer to each other by nicknames like “bro” and “sis.” It’s very common on TV, and decidedly less so in the real world where you’re not constantly establishing your relationship for an audience. The even sadder part of that is that they just didn’t have names until they were 13, and then it was only on the advice of a PR team. In a lot of ways, their numbers feel like their actual names and their names feel like affectionate nicknames which is also why they never shorten them. (For example, it’s always Allison and never Ally.)

Luther: Honestly? Luther has always known on some level that everything Reggie put him through was complete and total bullshit. There’s really no way around it. He knows what he went through, he saw what his siblings went through. And all of it is bullshit. But Luther has to psych himself up and convince himself that it’s for the greater good, that there is a reason for all of this because otherwise it’s just his father wasting his entire life. And it’s him being too afraid to ever step out that door without a mission, without a plan and start any sort of life.

Naturally, his depression from this sort of isolation and arrested development was at its worst on the moon. It started very early when he could no longer convince himself that the “care” packages coming late or short on food wasn’t a simple mistake but a sign of how little Reginald actually cared about Luther or the “mission.” In order to convince himself that it mattered, that he had to get out of bed every morning, Luther named the plant he was studying Ben because he just fucking misses his dead brother and because he has a lot of guilt over how Ben died. Ben the plant didn’t survive the trip back to earth and, in a lot of ways, neither did Luther’s motivation to keep going. If he hadn’t been thrown immediately into mission mode (the funeral, the murder mystery, the Apocalypse), there’s a good chance he just would’ve stopped doing anything.

Diego: The deep, dark truth is that Diego feels like he’s the least essential person in the Academy. Throwing knives and holding his breath are not particularly useful powers. No one needs him in a fight, and certainly not as much as he needs to be in the fight. As much as he thrives on fighting, on being constantly in motion, on moving towards some nebulous something. Honestly, he genuinely believes that if he stops moving, stops fighting, he’ll just break.

That’s also why, even if he’s not the best at showing it, Diego is the one most concerned with his other siblings’ mental health. He’s aggressive and loud and even violent about it, but he is doing is level best to try and check in with Luther and Klaus (and Vanya that one time but he made her cry and run away). Because his brothers stopped and it broke them. And maybe he can fuel all that driving and fight from feeling inessential into something that’s truly useful for them as a family if they’re not a team anymore.

Allison: Real talk, Allison never actually got her way with her father. That was a story her siblings concocted due to her powers: her ability to get anyone to do anything she wanted as easy as breathing. And because there was perception that Reggie went easy on her in training, that he was more lax with the rules when it came to her. From the outside looking in, with all the dark thoughts they had about each other and Allison’s casual callousness, it was easy to be convinced that she somehow got special treatment.

The painful truth, however, is that Reggie had little to no use for daughters. Allison got off better than Vanya because her power was useful and she was a more focused toddler. Because Allison has always been focused. Ambitious. She saw what she want and she went after it. And what she wanted more than anything was to be Number One. Was to come out on top. Nothing she could do, though, could dislodge Luther and Diego from their places, and she knew that her place was only safe as long as Klaus was popping pills or Five was being defiant or Ben was too soft. So Allison took that pain and frustration and disappointment out on her brothers and let them just believe she was cold and heartless and that she got whatever she wanted.

Klaus: The reason that Klaus is significantly more tactile than his siblings is because he’s genuinely not sure if they’re ghosts or not. With the sole exception of Allison, Klaus has seen every single one of his siblings as a ghost. Klaus tried opening up to Diego once and only once. But because Klaus has been consistently lying about being able to see Ben’s ghost and none of their other siblings have died, Diego convinced Klaus to check himself into a psychiatric hospital for the first time. So Klaus is just torn between thinking his siblings might be ghosts and thinking he is genuinely crazy.

For a kicker, the fact he’s never seen Allison’s ghost makes it even harder on Klaus. Of all their siblings, Allison has come the closest to actually dying in front of him. Klaus has held her while she bled out from losing her arm and from having her throat slit. And he’s never seen her ghost. Not once. When he’s most cogent about it, he thinks that it’s because Allison is a miracle, she came to the edge of death and pulled herself back. But, sometimes, Klaus convinces himself she was never real at all and that’s why she can never be a ghost, why she can never stay wit him.

Five: Okay. There’s nothing really sadder about Five’s life than what’s already explicitly canon. But, listen. I think a lot about the fact that he isn’t really a person anymore. Five has spent so many years in isolation and sacrificed so many pieces of his soul to save his siblings that he doesn’t really actually know how to function in society. And it was fine when there was an actual mission he was working towards: stopping the Apocalypse.

The real problem is when there’s no long an apocalypse to think about. He spent so many decades trying to save his siblings that he has no idea how to actually live with them. They are entirely different people than the people he left and he doesn’t know how to function living with them in the mansion. And it’s not like any of them ever learned how to meet people or make friends. So it’s just this really painful thing that everything he worked for feels futile because the people he was trying to save were gone as soon as he was. But they’re also still there in a way if he can just figure it out.

Ben: Extremely unpopular opinion time. I think Ben deeply resents Klaus. It doesn’t bubble up very often because, on the whole, he’s trying to let that stuff go. An eternity is a long time to hold onto the grudges and petty bullshit that so plague the Hargreeves’ existence. So he taught himself how to let go of hurt feelings, mostly by attending rehab and support group meetings with Klaus.

But the thing that’s hardest to let go of is the fact that Klaus lied to their siblings. For five years. Years where the only thing Ben wanted was to be able to communicate with his siblings, to check up on them, to make sure they were okay. And instead of doing this one little thing for him, Klaus tried to drug him away with all the rest of the ghosts. Klaus openly and blatantly lied to his siblings for years that he couldn’t see ghosts anymore. That he couldn’t see Ben’s ghost. It kills Ben to be so close and so far at the same time and he has a hard time forgiving Klaus for the lastest and sustained bullshit.

Vanya: I want to bring in a piece of comics canon that didn’t traumatize me as much as what Allison went through, but is still something I think about a lot. When Vanya was seventeen, she was sent to a music conservatory in Paris on her own. This was only weeks after Allison left and basically came across as Reggie was just done trying to deal with his daughters at all. Because Reggie was just trying to wash his hands of daughters.

It’s honestly a very bittersweet time for Vanya. On the one hand, she was fully immersed in the one thing she’s passionate about and actually feels good doing. But, on the other hand, it was the first time Vanya ever truly felt lonely. Because she had six siblings on top of her growing up and even though they weren’t close to her, it didn’t feel hollow and empty and painful. Her time at the conservatory was definitely the darkest her depression has ever gotten and she actually felt better just being back in the same city as most of her siblings made her feel so much better and safe in a strange way, even if they’re still separated.

[letterboxd]

Icon.

Our world was calm, well ordered, exemplary. Then we met the stars and director of the new sequel Mary Poppins Returns to discuss the legacy of the original, how to follow in Julie Andrews’ footsteps and rapping in a Disney movie.

Even in an era when seemingly every single film exploits something we cherish from childhood, it still feels brazenly sacrilegious to even attempt to sequel-ize Mary Poppins (1964), the iconic and timeless Disney movie.

One of the most universally beloved children’s films of all time, Mary Poppins is deeply imprinted on multiple generations of movie-goers, many of whom spent much of their childhood wishing (or indeed, believing) that Mary Poppins was their nanny.

To tread on such hallowed movie ground is risky indeed, but everyone involved in Mary Poppins Returns seems to realize that, and a great deal of care and attention has been applied to the new film to ensure it honors the original while captivating contemporary audiences.

The film gained a huge amount of instant goodwill from the casting of its title character. Few would argue that there’s anybody better suited to follow in Julie Andrews’ footsteps than Emily Blunt, who is an utter delight in the role. She doesn’t simply “do” Andrews, instead bringing her own flavor to the character, who returns to London to assist in the grown-up lives of her charges from the first film: Michael and Jane Banks, now played by Ben “voice of Paddington” Whishaw and Emily Mortimer, both also fantastic.

The film was directed by Rob Marshall, who in addition to helming 2003 Best Picture Oscar winner Chicago, also previously worked with Blunt on the 2014 adaptation of Stephen Sondheim’s Into The Woods.

Emily Blunt as Mary Poppins.

Joining Blunt in Mary Poppins Returns is musical man of the moment Lin-Manuel Miranda, making his first major big-screen appearance since the phenomenal success of his Broadway smash Hamilton. Miranda is a great student and practitioner of musicals. He wrote many of the beloved songs from the Moana soundtrack, and you can check out his five favorite movie musicals here.

In Mary Poppins Returns, Miranda plays a cockney lamplighter named Jack, revealed to be an apprentice of Bert, Dick Van Dyke’s character from the first film. Well, one of them. In one of many winsome musical numbers, Miranda performs in the the rap-meets-Broadway style he popularized with Hamilton. Rapping. In a Disney movie. Try not to faint.

All the songs are pretty fantastic. They were written by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, whose most famous collaboration was the hit Broadway musical Hairspray. Richard B. Sherman, the surviving half of iconic songwriting team the Sherman Brothers (who wrote the songs for Mary Poppins, among other iconic films), is a musical consultant on the film.

The result? Mary Poppins Returns won’t be destined for The Place Where Lost Things Go.

A man has dreams, and Letterboxd’s Dominic Corry had one of his come true when he got in a room in Beverly Hills with Blunt, Miranda and Marshall (and some other press) to discuss the film.

On the pressure of following up such a beloved movie: Rob Marshall: I thought to myself when this came my way, “if anybody is gonna do it, I would like to do it”. It was incredibly daunting at first of course, but I wanted to be able to, in an odd way, protect the first film and treat this film with great care and love. Musicals are very difficult to do, an original musical, there are so many layers to it, but with this one, creating an original musical from scratch was actually for me a dream, and I’ve never done it before and to be able to create it with this beautiful company was exactly what I was hoping for. The guiding message of this film about finding light in the darkness is honestly what drew me to it and kept guiding me throughout the whole process including until this very moment, when people are actually now seeing the film. And I’m just speaking for myself, but I feel people need this film now. I knew that I wanted to live in that world and be part of sending that message out into the world now of looking for hope and light in a dark time.

On how Emily Blunt came to the role: Emily Blunt: I got a voicemail from Rob, who is my dear friend and we have known each other a long time, and the voice mail certainly had a sort of charged energy to it. I was like, “Oh my God, what is it? What is this project?” And when he called me, he said, “We’ve been digging through the Disney archives and by far their most prized possession.” And I was like “What, what is that?” And when he said Mary Poppins, I thought the air changed in the room.

It was so extraordinary, such an extraordinary, rather unparalleled moment for me because I was filled with an instantaneous “yes”, but also with some trepidation, all happening simultaneously in that moment because she is so iconic. She had such a big imprint on my life and on everyone’s lives, you know? People hold this character so close to their hearts. And so how do I create my version of her? What will my version of her be? No one wants to see me do a sort of cheap impersonation of Julie Andrews because no one is Julie Andrews. And so she should be preserved and treasured in her own way for what she did. I knew this was going to be something that I wanted to take a big swing with and I knew I could do it with this man who is the most emboldening, meticulous, brilliant director in the world and I was in safe hands with him. However much I knew I had my work cut out for me.

Rob Marshall and Emily Blunt on set.

On how Blunt sought to differentiate her Mary Poppins from Julie Andrews’ take on the character in the 1964 film: EB: What I decided to do, even though I’d seen it as a child, was not watch the original so close to shooting our version, I think probably because she is so beautiful and so extraordinary, I would have maybe tried to accommodate in some way, and let that sort of bleed into what I wanted to do. So I just decided to go on my gut instinct from the book because she is rather different in all of the books [by P.L. Travers].

If I’m going to carve out new space for myself, it was gonna have to be without watching the details of what Julie did so close to shooting. I have this searing memory of Mary Poppins, but not of all of the tiny details of how she played the character. And so as soon as we wrapped I watched the original. I was just floored by it, and probably relieved that I hadn’t watched it because I was all, “My god, she’s amazing!”.

On how Lin-Manuel Miranda came to be involved in the project: Lin-Manuel Miranda: I remember going to the midnight premiere screening of Chicago at the Ziegfeld Theater [in New York], and seeing the greatest modern movie musical I’d ever seen in my life. So when I got a call from Rob Marshall, and [choreographer] John DeLuca saying, “We’d like to talk to you about something,” that became an immediate priority.

They came to buy me a drink between shows. I was still in Hamilton at the time and I had a two-show day. So I finished the matinee, rolled across the street to the Paramount Hotel and I met them for a drink and they said, “Sequel to Mary Poppins,” and I said, “Who’s playing Mary Poppins?” And they said, “Emily Blunt,” and I said “Oh, that’s good”.

I can’t give them enough credit for seeing this role in me because there is no childlike wonder in Alexander Hamilton. He has a very traumatic early life. He goes on that stage and he wants to devour the world and he wants to move so fast and he wants to do everything, whereas Jack in this movie, as they pitched him to me, has this childlike sense of wonder. He’s in touch with that imagination you all see in your kids when they can sort of play in their own imagination for hours. Jack never lost that and that was I feel so humbled that [Rob] saw that in me. From that moment, from that drink, I was in. It came along at the perfect time for my family too, you know. We had finished a year of performing Hamilton and then I chopped my hair off and left the country and jumped into Mary Poppins’ universe. It was like, beautiful. On rapping in a Disney movie: LM: I would urge you to re-watch the first film. Because everyone who is like, “Wow, there’s rapping in Mary Poppins Returns,” forgets that Bert has a 30-second rap about all the women he dated before Mary Poppins. You’ve forgotten it, but Jolly Holiday is one big flirt between Mary and Bert.

Lin-Manuel Miranda (top center) as Jack.

On balancing reverence with innovation: RM: I really felt that everyone who was a part of this needed to have the first film in their blood in some way because that’s what we were following. I use myself as a barometer because I thought well, what would I want to see? If I came to a sequel to Mary Poppins I would want to see an animation sequence with live action and I would want it to be hand drawn in a 2D world. I would want Cherry Tree Lane to have a curve to it because that’s the Cherry Tree Lane we all know. It was as simple as that, although we were finding our new way. There were sort of goal posts or sign posts throughout that we needed to hold on to because it’s in the DNA of the material.

I knew there needed to be a big huge production number with athletic dancers with Mary and Jack, Jack leading the entire piece. That needed to be in there in some way. I would feel that if it wasn’t there we’ve gone off track. It was this insane balancing act of honoring the first film, but at the same time forging our own way. Marc and Scott were incredibly careful about making sure that we didn’t abuse using [musical] themes from the first film. It’s so easy to use. We used it in very strategic places throughout the film. Most of it actually very much at the end where we feel we’d earned it by then. And that’s what Marc was very careful about doing. I did feel that we were coming from the right place and that was the key.

‘Mary Poppins Returns’ is in cinemas from December 19.

[touchmyspinebookreviews]

As the janitor in a haunted house, single mom Abby Jenkins has many contacts with the living and the dead in the small Pacific Northwest town of Sunset Cove, which puts her in a perfect position to solve local mysteries. Or so she thinks. Hired to find diamonds hidden in a haunted manor she gets help from a Viking ghost with existential issues. Will she survive? This book contains bad-boy ghosts, mischievous magic, and a woman who knows what she wants in a Viking hayloft.

A fun and spooky novel that will make you laugh and have you staying up late! I thoroughly enjoyed this novel and am anxious to see what the author has in store for us next!💜

Quinn Bellandini loves her life in Savannah, Georgia, where she runs her grandfather’s B&B with her sister, Delilah. From baking fresh scones and serving up grits every morning to ensuring the guests see the best of their historic city, Quinn can’t imagine doing anything else—even if it means dealing with nuisances like the occasional malfunctioning commode. But when Quinn drops by the local restaurant owned by her friend Drew Green, and stumbles upon a murder, her whole world comes crashing down.

Drew’s brother was always a little surly, but Quinn can’t imagine that someone disliked the prickly chef enough to kill him. The police, on the other hand, don’t believe that Quinn was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Before her guests can even digest the next morning’s gourmet breakfast, Quinn learns that she and Drew are suspects.

Drew thinks they should do some investigating of their own. Quinn is pretty sure she’s better suited to playing hostess than amateur sleuth. But with Delilah as her cynical sidekick, Quinn starts looking for the real killer—before she gets put away faster than you can say “sugar.”

Don’t miss Caroline Fardig’s thrilling Java Jive mysteries, which can be read together or separately: DEATH BEFORE DECAF | MUG SHOT | A WHOLE LATTE MURDER | BREW OR DIE | MURDER OVER MOCHAS

  I just loved this cozy mystery!!! This was a fantastic start to an enjoyable series that many will love! I love stories that are based in the south.! Living in Charleston, SC, I am an hour from Savannah and have visited often! I love the descriptions of the setting in this story, the fun characters and steady paced plot! When I read the Java Jive series, I just knew this would become an instant favorite! Caroline Fardig is an author that should not be missed! I want to thank the publishers and NetGalley for providing me with an eARC I exchange for an honest review. I appreciate this opportunity and all views expressed are my own.

Tucson, Arizona is a place for runaways. Everyone came from somewhere else and has a story about what they left behind.

Delilah arrives on her brother’s doorstep with a secret. She hasn’t seen him in five years. He ran away from their family long ago for reasons no one talks about and she still doesn’t understand. The stress of raising his teenage daughter alone sometimes makes David envious of his deliberately childless friends, Tim and Sara, but they’re runaways too, harboring secrets of their own. Blood & Water tells their stories and traces the deep connections between this unlikely group of friends.

This novel is about family, in its various manifestations: the one you’re born into, the one you choose and the one you create.

Wow! This book was absolutely sensational! With coming from a troubled and traumatic past and my current situation, I could relate to this story in many ways. This story was very well written with a fast paced plot that many would enjoy. So many of the books I read from this genre end up being the same thing, different people in the jist of it all but this story is a custom told tale that will surely win the hearts of many! I highly recommend this book.

Linda Curtis was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness and is an unquestioning true believer who has knocked on doors from the time she was nine years old. Like other Witnesses, she has been discouraged from pursuing a career, higher education, or even voting, and her friendships are limited to the Witness community.

Then one day, at age thirty-three, she knocks on a door—and a coworker she deeply respects answers the door. To their mutual consternation she launches into her usual spiel, but this time, for the first time ever, the message sounds hollow. In the months that follow, Curtis tries hard to overcome the doubts that spring from that doorstep encounter, knowing they could upend her “safe” existence. But ultimately, unable to reconcile her incredulity, she leaves her religion and divorces her Witness husband—a choice for which she is shunned by the entire community, including all members of her immediate family.

Shunned follows Linda as she steps into a world she was taught to fear and discovers what is possible when we stay true to our hearts, even when it means disappointing those we love.

This book was fantastic!!!😍 It was beautifully written and powerful! As someone who lost themselves and was hurt because of being kicked out of my church, I could relate in some ways to this book. I loved and appreciated the honesty this book had to offer and I highly recommend this book to others!

She’s more modest than Ms. Blaise, but peels more than Ms. Emma. She out-vamps Vampirella, but she’s sweeter than Honey West. She put the mod in model, and the bangs in bang-bang. Now the world can know the truth: her classified adventures back in 1951 Hollywood have been declassified. Dynamite, David Avallone and Colton Worley are proud to present The Secret Diary of Bettie Page, in handy comic book form. This volume collects Issues 1-4 of Bettie Page and an exclusive short story illustrated by Joseph Michael Linsner, originally published in Playboy Magazine, with an introduction by writer David Avallone.

A Fantastic and fun graphic novel featuring the one and only Bettie Page! I thought this book was fun and made me laugh on a few occasions. I definitely recommend this to those who love Bettie Page!💜

It’s love that makes a family

When a boy confides in his friend about bullies saying he doesn’t have a real family, he discovers that his friend’s parents—a mom and a dad—and his two dads are actually very much alike.

Dr. Michael Genhart’s debut story is the perfect resource to gently discuss discrimination with kids. This sweet and straightforward story shows that gay families and straight families and everything in between are all different kinds of normal. What makes a family real is the love that is shared.

A conversation between two kids at school uses real-life examples, like how their parents got married, to show readers that gay is another kind of normal and that same-sex parents are just like other parents when it comes to loving each other and loving their kids.

This was a fantastic book and many can learn from this read. Either children or adults can benefit from this story. As a woman in a diverse family where my children have two dads and two moms, I think books like this are important for us to learn that ‘Love is Love’.

Thanks so much for visiting my blog, my Loves! I can’t wait until I get to spam  visit all of your amazing blogs! I have missed you so much, my amazing and talented friends. I feel the blogosphere is more like family. You guys are amazing!! Xoxox Yay for trying to catch up on my backlist! *hides in shame* Please Lord, help me catch up. My ass is so far behind, I almost forgot I had one!

  Book Buffet, All You Can Read Part 3 As the janitor in a haunted house, single mom Abby Jenkins has many contacts with the living and the dead in the small Pacific Northwest town of Sunset Cove, which puts her in a perfect position to solve local mysteries.

[dsudis]

writing meme

I was tagged by @silentwalrus1 approximately one internet lifetime ago.

+Where do you publish your work?

AO3 and also my own website (dira.ficlaundering.com) though I am beginning to think that... you know. Personal fic author archive-websites are a thing of the past and it’s not like I don’t keep local copies of everything in case the AO3 should up and disappear somehow, and also it looks... reasonably likely that the AO3 will not up and disappear anytime soon, so... maybe I will let the website go? idk. 

+What medium/application/etc. you use? 

Good old Microsoft Word, since I was dragged kicking and screaming to it from WordPerfect ten years ago. I trust The Cloud even less than I trust the AO3 to go on existing and also I do not actually want to share my actual working files in real time with absolutely anyone ever.

+Do you collaborate with others?

Nnnno. I am not good at relinquishing control over the story to anyone else--I mean, I will take someone else’s story and write fanfiction of it all day long, obviously, but sharing the actual story-making with someone else, no.

OTOH I love betas, and I more or less have to workshop an idea in chat--telling out the whole arc and sometimes individual scenes--before I can write it. Like, if you want to know what I’m going to write next the trick is to be in a chat room with me and ask a leading question and then make encouraging noises occasionally because BOY HOWDY DO I WANT TO TELL YOU AND HEAR WHETHER YOU THINK THAT WORKS.

+How much editing do you do before you publish?

It varies, depending on the story, how long it is, how many fucks I give about it by the time I’m done with it, etc. But I definitely like to have it betaed and go over the final story for proofreading type stuff. There have been stories I wrote that in the beta process wound up getting fairly massive rewrites--the middle story in the “Just Stay Alive” trilogy, “Seek Out the Hidden Places” is the one that springs to mind right now; I wrote that story, sent it to beta, and then realized that I had basically left out a huge amount of what the story should really be about, and rewrote a lot to make that work.

+Do you listen to music while you write?

I listen to music almost constantly--silence is slightly unnerving and makes every little other sound much more distracting, plus I have a bit of tinnitus so once I start noticing that I have to drown it out. (Thanks, ADHD, on probably both counts.) So, yes, I listen to music while I write, but it’s very very rare that I have any special playlist or anything relevant to the story itself--sometimes I’ll have some kind of RAR GET THE WORK DONE playlist for generally motivating myself to stay awake and on task, but that’s about it.

+How do you decide what to write about?

See above, re: workshopping ideas. I am a pretty much perpetual-motion idea generator, but I also have been doing this long enough to have some sense of how much of a hassle a story is going to be to write (in terms of how long it will be, how much thinking and planning and research it might require, how much shame I will feel about posting it, etc.) and how much I will love creating and posting it (how much of a target audience it has, how personally enchanting I find the idea) and kind of keep those things in proportion. One of the ways I gauge that is by, as I said above, basically workshopping the idea with friends and in chat--there are lots of ideas that I’ve talked out to the point where I can recognize that if I write it I’m committing to 200k, and back-burnered it until I forgot about it completely. 

(I rarely actually utterly fail to sell an idea to anyone, but there are definitely times when other people’s reactions make me reconsider how a story would need to work to survive outside my head. So that is also a factor.)

...Also once it gets past the idea stage and into the stable of WIPs, random number generators help a lot.

+When do you write?

Well, not damn much for the last week or so, and before that writing was my dayjob so I scheduled periods of fic-writing in between periods of original-romance-writing to break things up and avoid feeling too all-work-and-no-play about writing. Before that, I tended to sneak in writing at work and also write in the evenings, especially while chatting with my alpha/beta readers. So... could be pretty much anytime I’m in front of a computer, which is... most of my waking hours, most of the time.

+How often do you write?

Once again: not damn much lately because things have been a bit. wild. But prior to The Upheaval, pretty much five or six days a week (I would do five-ish days a week Going To Work to write, plus a semi-regular evening meetup one night on the weekend to sit in a coffeeshop and write with other writers). 

I always always wanted to be a professional writer, so I was reading writing-advice books of the variety written by working SF/Fantasy writers when I was 10 or 11 and internalized all their advice, which certainly included the “if you want to write, write every day” chestnut, and so I knew that and could have repeated it with great assurance of its validity anytime since I was in middle school, but it was only maybe five or six years ago that I actually seriously connected that to my own writing practice, particularly in the sense of--whether you feel inspired or not, whether you want to or not, get some words out as regularly as you can.

+Do you take requests?

Only after we reach friendship level 7. Or if I have specifically opened myself up for requests for some very specific reason like a charity auction or something, and even then I will reserve the right to be really wary of your requests.

+Is there a genre or type of story you want to write but are hesitant to?

I avoid writing historically-set stuff because I know Just Enough to know how much research I would want to do to Get Things Right and that is a rabbit hole I don’t need to send myself down when I have so many modern-set ideas where I can just roll with it and put down any goofs to “well it’s like that in the Marvel universe” or “well it’s like that in the universe where werewolves became widely known about fifteen years ago in a lengthy revelation that was traumatic in various ways for basically all werewolves alive at the time, especially the children and teens who had to deal with this happening but had no control over how it affected them.”

For instance.

+Any inspirational quotes, videos, tricks, articles, etc that help you stay motivated?

...Prescription amphetamines mostly? I have the ADHD, so “staying motivated” to do literally anything is a deeply questionable proposition. What works a lot better is to have a pretty reliable schedule where there is a time, or multiple times, in the day when it is Time To Work On The Thing. And if I’m particularly stuck, such that I arrive at Time To Work On The Thing and just go blank, that is usually time to show the most recent bit of the story to someone and talk with them about what I’m doing next, because actually talking about it with another person tends to jump-start my brain into focusing on the thing and working out what’s next and sometimes does in fact stir up enough enthusiasm to get me going without it having to be Time To Make The Donuts.

+Go to page 7 of your WIP, skip to the 7th line, and share 7 sentences:

I have lots of things in progress but only one that is more than 7 pages long where the seventh page isn’t in a chapter already posted, which I have also worked on this month, SO. From the Ace!Bitty epic, slightly more than seven very long and winding sentences:

“I thought he was asking because it was how he felt, and I was trying to be a... good teammate, a friend--I was older, I was trying to look out for him. So I kept saying, oh, that doesn't seem so weird, and I think everyone feels like that sometimes..." 

Bitty laughed, and Jack grinned and pressed on, watching Bitty's face to see if he was properly lightening the mood.  

"He wound up taking me to the ace spectrum group on campus--oh, hey, Bits, there's a group for this, when you get back to campus, I know I still see their flyers around all the time, because it reminds me of that time. They're really friendly, they didn't even get mad at me and Shitty for showing up and being idiots at each other and everyone else."  

Jack paused, considering what would be an added selling point for anyone else, and added cautiously, "I think the cake at the meetings is from the grocery store, though." 

"From the--!" Bitty looked horrified. "But--what if there are little frogs just figuring this out, and they--"  

Jack did not point out that, in this department, Bitty himself was the frog just figuring this out.

Annnnd lazytagging whoever wants to do the meme! Say I tagged you, it’s cool, you’re allowed! :D

[neoduskcomics]

Samurai Jack Season 5 Review - Part 1 (SPOILERS)

So, for those of you not in the know, Samurai Jack had a final, conclusive fifth season this year that aired on Toonami/Adult Swim. It consisted of ten episodes which ran successively over 11 weeks (one episode being displaced by a Rick and Morty surprise season premiere). This is going to be a review of that season, with one section dedicated to each episode, and then a “closing thoughts” segment. This review will also be split into two parts since it’s so damn long, so hopefully that will allow more people to actually read it. The second part will go up tomorrow.

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

SPOILERS

XCII

This episode was loads of fun and set a high standard for what was to come. While not a whole lot happens in terms of advancing the plot, this definitely felt more like an episode that sets the stage for the following nine. It allows us to see what sort of a state both Jack and the world around him are in. The world itself seems very unchanged, but Jack has changed a lot, and we can understand a sort of causality between the two.

We see how fifty years of status quo has left Jack in a torn and jaded state, haunted by hallucinations that chide him over his failure. A Jack tormented by shame, frustration, and survivor’s guilt really gives you a compelling gateway into this new story arc for the character—not to mention the fact that he’s lost his sword. But, we also see that the old Jack is still in there somewhere, as he’s still not willing to back down from a fight or run away from innocents in peril (at least, when he’s not being overwhelmed by tree leaves carrying the visages of his dead parents).

Ashi, our deuteragonist, is also introduced in this episode, and we can see through the circumstances of her birth and upbringing just how deeply Aku’s shit storm has seeped into the earth. We get some really dark and intense imagery in this episode that is unlike anything we’ve seen in the series thus far, and it really serves as a great starting point, pulling the audience in to wonder if and how things could ever go right again. Aku’s got cult followers birthing and torturously training assassins to kill Jack, Jack has lost his sword and nearly his mind, and Aku is no closer to releasing his dark hold on the world at large.

When Jack says in the opening “hope is lost”, these first couple episodes really make you feel it. And yet, again, we can still see glimmers of humanity and hope in our central characters to keep us connected. Jack still fights to survive and to help survivors. Ashi, despite her horrendous upbringing, shows glimmers of a soft side and curiosity in the beauty of the world beyond her underground den. The episode does a great job of balancing out its darkness and light. It lets things get intense, but also remembers to keep a bit of warmth and sentiment, however subtle, to keep the emotional stakes from getting out of hand.

And with that in mind, this brings me to Scaramouche, who is, to me, the absolute best part of this episode, and maybe one of the best parts of this whole series. After such carnage and emotional distress, we get introduced to a scene that reminds us “Hey, guys. This is still Samurai Jack. We can still have fun.” And “fun” is definitely a fitting descriptor for this character. Apparently he was modeled after a real actor and singer, Sammy Davis Jr., and while I’m not personally familiar with his work, I’m sure he was a great entertainer if Scaramouche is anything like him. The way this robot assassin talks, moves, dresses, and fights are all wildly stylish and amusing. Moving mindless puppets with a magic flute did give me Naruto flashbacks, but telekinetically manipulating his sword through scatting and his kickass tuning fork blade that blows up shit with residual vibrations were crazy creative and fun.

Overall, this was a great episode. It wasn’t mind-blowing, but it definitely hooked me in to see what came next.

 XCIII

This is probably my favorite episode of the entire season or, hell, the entire series. Not only does Jack have seven highly trained and highly deadly assassins chasing after him, not only is he in the most mortal peril he’s ever been in in his entire life, not only is it fantastically animated, not only are the pacing, music, and atmosphere drenched with the most palpable tension and adrenaline…but—BUT—it completely removed all of my hang-ups about Aku having a replacement voice actor.

And I don’t want to make this out to be like it was the highlight of the episode. Because it wasn’t. There was way more stuff to like in this episode. But goddamn, man. In the middle of all this horrible, super dark, super serious and traumatic shit, what is the first scene we get reintroducing the show’s main antagonist and the literal sole cause of all this horrific chaos and torment?

We get Aku waking up to an alarm clock, smashing it, opening his nightstand drawer, pulling out two flaming eyebrows, and then placing them on top of his eyes as though they were miniature eye-hats.

That was it. I was on board.

And let me emphasize the fact that I don’t think this scene was comedic genius for the fact that it had some of the absolute most clever visual or scripted humor ever in an animated series. But for me, especially in a show such as this, comedy works best when it is used to break up tension. A lot of comedy comes from surprise—seeing something somewhere or in such a way that you weren’t expecting. When you use comedy to unexpectedly break a pattern of darkness and desolation, it becomes that much funnier simply because of that contrast. Aku could’ve been reworked to be a much more serious and diabolical threat in this season, sort of like how he was in the “Birth of Evil” prequels, but they did not go that route, and I was super happy that they didn’t when this scene happened.

Giving Aku such a comical introductory scene not only provided much needed levity to the opening of this season, but it also reaffirmed to the audience that we weren’t just getting some post-apocalyptic nightmare-scape. We were going to get a story with a widely varied tone which, for me, is my favorite type of story. I enjoy narratives that let you gasp, cry, clench your teeth, and laugh. Hideo Kojima, the creator and overseer of the Metal Gear franchise (before leaving Konami) said something similar about how he thinks all stories, no matter how serious, require levity. This was a primo example of that.

But, okay, on with the actual bulk of the episode. Whatever that initial Aku scene did for giving the show brightness and levity, the main Jack plot did for reinforcing the show’s drama, atmosphere, and tension. This episode is so beautifully paced, scored, and animated that I honestly don’t even know where to begin in extolling it. Keeping Jack’s humanity in tact from the first episode proves to be an incredibly essential calculation on the part of the writers here, because without it, all we would’ve been seeing is a man who has given up on life and success, following his animal instincts to survive.

But this is Jack. Even without his sword and without his ability to look at anything without it turning into an emaciated victim of war, he still wants to live and fight another day. We remain invested in Jack as a character, and so we are completely and absolutely terrified for him as we see him go up against an enemy the likes of which we have never seen before. Jack is completely outnumbered and seemingly outmatched, and the episode plays this out with masterful execution. Jack tries to fight at first of course, and we get not a fight where Jack is just mowing down baddies effortlessly, but where he’s in a real, life-threatening struggle. It’s packed with adrenaline. And then, when he’s quickly cornered, we shift into a state of survival horror. Where are they? What will Jack do? How will he survive? Can he survive?

The colors, the lighting, the environments, the slow pacing of the events punctuated by huge rushes of intense action—it all plays out beautifully and made me feel like I was watching a segment of a foreign animated film. We also get a deeper look into Jack’s heavily weighted psyche as he converses with an illusory version of himself. We see all of his shame, frustration, and even suicidal notions given a voice—and not just any voice, but his own. It works very well to show us the struggle going on within him, even if it is a bit played out as a plot device.

The ending sequence where he slits that girl’s throat, while we all knew it had to happen eventually, is still a bit of a shock both for us and Jack. And even with this pyrrhic victory, Jack is not only now at death’s door, but he’s still being pursued by the seven (now six) still-deadly and still-threatening assassins. It’s a grim ending to the episode, and it really leaves the mind to wonder just what could possibly happen next.

 XCIV

This episode basically marks the end to the new season’s opening act. It’s where Jack pulls his shit together, is reawakened with a new resolve to fight and survive, and (mostly) puts an end to his deadly pursuers. While it didn’t give me the same highs as the previous episode might’ve, it still worked quite well to give this segment of the story some closure and have Jack undergo some real growth as a character (something that’s almost a bit of a stranger to the Samurai Jack series as a whole).

Seeing Jack in such dire straits, bleeding out into the river, still running for his life, struggling to remain conscious and yet still vigilant and on guard, keeps us on our toes as we know he’s not out of the woods yet (literally). But we are allowed to ease off a bit once the wolf from the previous episode returns (who we may have thought was just a thinly veiled symbol) He meets Jack and we see the healing process that Jack undergoes. While this part of the episode may come across a bit as padding, I think it was important for us to see Jack recuperate and see him form a connection to something—in this case, the wolf. Again, it’s a reminder that humanity still dwells in that guilt-ridden mind, and it makes the process of Jack’s both physical and mental healing seem natural, so that he is prepared for the climactic fight at the end of the episode.

It is also in this time that Jack is able to recall a vital lesson from his childhood. It was nice to see Jack when he was a child living with his family—a good reminder of the time before; what it was that Jack lost and once sought to reclaim. And, more importantly to the plot, it provided Jack with some much needed guidance. Jack understands from this memory that he is responsible for his actions, but his actions are also what define him as a person. It was a succinct if a bit simplistic way of getting Jack through the guilt of killing another human being. To me, this also helped absolve Jack of some of his other guilt as well—the guilt of never having returned home to save his people. The flashback itself is well-told, giving us just enough to understand what Jack experienced, what he and his father were feeling, and why it was such an important lesson for Jack to learn.

The resolving fight that follows is of course greatly animated and a lot of fun. The tides have turned, and Jack is now ready and capable to take his assailants down. This turning of the tide is also reflected in the background. In the previous episode, the landscape was always dark, foggy, and obfuscated in one way or another, complementing and enshrouding his black-clad enemies. Here, the land is so pristinely white that the only thing you can actually see is Jack and his opponents. It harkens back to the “Samurai vs Ninja” episode wherein while the Ninja uses the darkness as his domain, Jack uses the light to combat the darkness.

We also get a tiny bit more of Ashi’s humanity working its way to the surface in this episode. We see her volunteer for guard duty and then use the opportunity to gaze at the starry sky. It’s not a lot, but it communicates to us that there’s something more to her than there is to her sisters, and that we can probably expect more to be explored.

Jack, of course, beats all the bad guys as the episode leaves us on an almost literal cliffhanger, as Jack and Ashi are dropped from a towering precipice to the ground far below. It’s not quite as intense or exciting a cliffhanger as the last couple episodes, but the show at this point has demonstrated enough quality and gotten us invested enough in the characters and events that we’ll definitely tune in again anyway. Overall, a well-told story and a pretty fitting end to the season’s first act.

 XCV

This is probably what you could consider to be the first “comedy” episode of the season, and it actually comes at a good time. Jack has just dealt with probably the shittiest situation in his life (maybe short of the time he realized that he was sent thousands of years into the future, that his whole family and nation were dead, and that Aku essentially had taken over the world). If there was a time for some levity, it was probably now.

Here is where we first see Jack and Ashi directly interact outside of combat, and we really get a sense of just how thorough her brainwashing is, in spite of her glimmers of humanity. What results from these interactions varies a bit. We get some genuinely funny exchanges, but we also get a lot of Ashi consistently and unyieldingly berating Jack and praising Aku. While I still welcomed the episode at the time despite it not being my favorite, and while I do still think it was a nice change of pace for the season, I now kind of recognize that it wasn’t just a break from the incredibly tense first several episodes. It was actually more of an indication of the general direction the show would now move in, and this has caused me to revise my initial opinion of it.

This is getting ahead of the episode, but a lot of the story that follows relies heavily on Jack’s relationship with Ashi. In fact, their relationship is kind of the emotional backbone for the final act of the whole season, and for that to work, we really needed something skillfully and gracefully defined. This episode, if you ask me, was a bit of a missed opportunity—in retrospect, at least.

This was basically 20 minutes of us having nothing but Ashi and Jack alone together, but instead of learning more about them and them learning more about one another, we spend most of it just repeating the same motions over and over again, either to play up the pointlessness of Jack trying to reach Ashi, or for the sake of escalating the absurd comicality of it all. Or perhaps both. But in either case, especially when the past few episode were so rich with characterization and insight, it does kind of feel like some time was wasted here, and this is reinforced by the fact that we really don’t get much meaningful dialogue or interaction between Jack and Ashi even after this episode, which I will discuss when we get to the relevant episodes.

This is part of why I felt like Ashi’s turnaround at the episode’s end was somewhat unnatural. Okay, as a scene by itself, it’s pretty well done. We have Ashi flash back to a moment from her childhood concerning a ladybug, and then a parallel is drawn with Jack and another ladybug. It mainly uses visuals to communicate to us how Ashi has a change in perspective, and it’s done pretty well. But I couldn’t really shake just how stark a change it is when, for the first couple episodes, Ashi was unyieldingly determined to kill Jack, and then for this entire current episode, Ashi was totally closeminded and did nothing but hold fast to her belief that Jack was evil and Aku was the shit.

I’m not saying that I didn’t believe this shift in perspective could’ve happened, but, again, it feels like there were a lot of opportunities, not just in this episode but in the whole season, to give us a more natural and emotionally poignant transition. This discussion of Ashi’s turnaround from evil to good will be further explored in the next episode, and I hope that my views on it will be more substantiated by the evidence provided there.

However, all that said, this episode was still good. It was nice to see Jack find himself resolute enough to try to save Ashi not just from bodily peril, but from the poison in her own mind. We get more of Jack debating with his inner, negative self over whether he should continue to bother with all the trouble, and Jack struggling to remain steadfast in his resolve. We also got a bit of a return to the show’s roots, putting Jack in a new and fantastical environment with strange creatures and obstacles for him to explore and overcome—only this time with a very, very vexing and trying companion (who also wants to kill him). The comedy in this episode also still worked pretty well, and I did enjoy some of the ways in which Ashi and Jack displayed that comical chemistry. Not an amazing episode, but still a pretty good one.

 XCVI

Scotsman is back. This is easily the highlight of this episode. He is very old, but he hasn’t lost a step (well, figuratively speaking). And he and his (now deceased?) wife were apparently very busy making an able-bodied army of warrior daughters, except not the vicious murderous kind that we were familiar with from the first couple episodes. Seeing Scotsman charge into battle against Aku before bombarding him with his trademark longwinded flurry of insults was great for longtime fans of the show, even if it did end with Aku laser-eyeing him to death (and then thankfully him returning as a ghost). It was another fun and funny return to a beloved character from the show’s history, not unlike Aku’s own introductory scene this season.

That being said, I actually did not care for much of the remainder of this episode. I discussed previously how I felt that there was some missed opportunity in exploring Jack and Ashi’s relationship. It instead devoted an entire episode to Jack fruitlessly trying to reach Ashi, only to be spurned at every turn and then only for Ashi to undergo a decisive emotional epiphany through a single moment at the episode’s end. Here, we now spend half the episode with Jack providing Ashi with exposition, explaining to her how Aku is evil and, like, literally just the worst with some visual aids.

Now if you were to ask me how else I would’ve done it, I honestly couldn’t tell you. All I can tell you is that the high bar set by the first several episodes of this season left me a bit disappointed with this one and the ramifications that spread outward from it, both forward and back. It lessened my appreciation of the prior episode and it made me feel like there was something missing from the episodes that followed. Again, this turning of Ashi from Aku to Jack, her emotional transformation, and the resultant relationship between Jack and Ashi was all incredibly important to the season’s ultimate plot, and having an episode that’s half exposition and half nearly meaningless action took a lot away from all that, at least for me.

And, yes, I felt that a lot of this episode felt kind of insubstantial. Once we get to the village with the dying villagers and abducted children, it basically turns into a generic villain-of-the-week plot where we don’t really learn anything new or interesting about the characters, the characters themselves don’t really undergo any interesting changes or experiences, and the plot itself is just not really all that captivating. Jack has that moment at the end where all the children seemingly die and he finally gives into the mysterious horseback rider in the distance, but it all feels a little cheap. After all, those children didn’t actually die, for one. And for another, Jack didn’t even cause their seeming death, which is obvious. It’s not as though he finally gave into his anger and started beating the kids up, and then they all collapsed and Jack was like “oh, no! I killed them all! I must accept my punishment!”

You could argue that it was more guilt from not being able to save them rather than from causing their deaths directly, but I would argue that this is in direct contradiction to the seminal lesson he learned only two episodes ago—it is the decisions you make and the actions that follow that define who you are. Jack knows this now. He decided to help the villagers and save those children. He decided not to harm them and do whatever he could to survive and help. They SEEMINGLY died anyway, but if he really understood this lesson, and it was pretty clearly conveyed that he did, while he may not be totally absolved of guilt, he definitely isn’t at a tipping point where he should now face the music and kill himself.

But perhaps that isn’t really the problem. Maybe the real problem here is that, I mean, come on, it’s all just a misunderstanding. Jack left two minutes too early to see that the kids were actually fine and for Ashi to explain to him what happened. Whatever character development (or regression) that follows is merely the result of an overly convenient plot device and not because of any natural causality. I might be sounding a bit harsh, but this is exactly the sort of character drama that I hate. I hate drama that is caused not by problems with the characters and the consequences of their inherent flaws and deliberate actions, but drama that happens because it’s necessitated by the story to promote conflict.

This episode was quite underwhelming for me as it was half heavy-handed explanation and half mindless, predictable action. It lacked the emotional punch of the first several episodes and really left me wanting more.

When Ashi was left at the end to go save Jack, it was also the first time where I really felt that more should’ve been done to establish a more meaningful or at least complex relationship between her and Jack. Sure, Ashi now had to save Jack, but is there really enough of a connection there to make it a journey I’m going to be invested in? After all, their relationship is presently defined by nothing other than a single one-sided connection Ashi made via flashback and Jack lecturing Ashi about how wrong she is and how bad Aku is. I would have to watch the next episode to see for myself whether that would be enough.

PART 2 TOMORROW.

[rubypop]

Hunger, Chapter 11 - Dragon Age 2

Hunger by rubypop Chapter 11

Anders blinked slowly at the gathering clouds, lacking the sense to wonder whether or not he was dead. At first he saw only the overcast sky, which gradually stained pink with the setting of the sun. The pain was slow to creep through him, until it ignited his nerves like a line of fuses, and he cringed, and almost screamed, for suffering this mistake.

He could scarcely feel the ground through this pain. He writhed over cold, jagged limestone. A slow panic was taking hold, and he, well-versed in healing, urged himself to relax, to calm down, but, oh, such pain was unlike any he'd yet survived. He had the impression that he was not here, sprawled upon the ground, but was instead standing over himself, staring down at bruised-black flesh and crushed bones. Neurons in his brain were fireworks, explosions, conflicting bursts of information. I am dead, he thought; I am going into shock; I will not leave this place; I will never see her again.

With something of a whimper he forced himself to lay still, letting go of the instinct that screamed for all of his muscles to cramp around his injuries. Tears flooded his eyes. He breathed deeply, and counted: one. Two. Three.

With great effort, he took stock of his condition. He could move his head, just barely, and thanked every deity and spirit he could imagine that he hadn't snapped his neck. He felt slightly less grateful when he caught sight of a splintered, yellow length of bone, and he lowered his head again dizzily. He breathed, and counted again. One, two, three.

"Oh, Maker," he said.

In one hand he still clutched his staff. Miraculous. He could not lift it. A sharp new pain sliced through his shoulder when he tried, and he knew that his collarbone must have broken in at least two places. He dared not guess how many bones, exactly, he'd shattered, in case that tide of panic were to rise again. Instead he focused on the staff, urging all of the warmth he had left into a single focal point, and he whispered words of healing, stopping to cringe, to gasp, and to begin again.

He was forced to work slowly, forced to identify as many individual wounds as possible, one at a time, so that the healing would be total: every clot of blood, shredded muscle, fragment of bone, and traumatized tissue. He thought, at first, that the worst of it was over once he'd repaired the punctured lining of his lungs, and then he arrived at his left leg. Here was the yellow point of his femur, which had split, vertically, almost in two.

"Maker," he said again, and twisted the fabric of his coat between his teeth, and he tried not to call too much attention to himself as he rejoined the halves of the bone.

He lay still for quite some time, feverish and doused in sweat. The sky, by now, had grown dark.

He sat up. His newly-repaired nerves were raw, and protested.

Black carcasses were stretched and crushed around him. The rest had gone over the sheer drop. He had slammed onto an outcropping, which now was littered with the boulders he had brought down the cliffside. He stared up, beyond the white wall and its crooked scarlet mineral veins. He did not know what awaited him at the village. He could not be certain how much time had passed, and hoped it had only been half a day — though even now it might be too late.

He found himself praying, for the first time in his life, that Fenris was still alive.

#

"Little poppet," Dragana sang softly. "Little girly poppet, with snipped strings."

She lay next to Fenris, her eyes staring.

"Little girly poppet, with your ribbons and things."

Her teeth stained red.

"Little poppet, why do you not walk?"

Her gaze settled on Fenris, focusing at last.

"Why do you not walk?" she whispered.

She forced herself up. Her dripping hair dragged through blood. She leaned over the silent body. She skimmed at the blood with her hands, but it had already begun to coagulate, and she gagged, and could not get it down. She stared at Florian as though seeing him for the first time, and screamed.

She fell upon the body, weeping and shrieking. "I'm sorry, dearest." She fumbled at his doublet and stroked his black curls. "I'm sorry, oh, sweet dearest, look at you, oh, those clothes will have to be replaced, just look at your shirt, I am sorry, I am sorry."

She reared back again, covering her mouth. "Oh, Maker. Oh, Maker. Oh, no. Oh, no."

She backed away and crawled across the floor, stamping it with handprints, until she cowered against the wall.

"Little poppet," she whimpered. "Little girly poppet."

"Dragana," Fenris managed. "Lady Dragana."

She stared at him incredulously.

"Please try to be calm," he said.

"Ser Silver Elf?" she said, as though she had forgotten him.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, Dragana. Please, just look at me, and be calm."

She gathered handfuls of her hair. She pressed her fists to her scalp. She was about to speak when she glanced up suddenly, her mouth hanging open, and Fenris turned to look. Grasin gaped at them from the doorway.

"Grasin," Dragana said.

Fenris watched his gaze move first from them to Florian, then to the knife, and back to Dragana's blood-spattered face. He turned and ran.

"Grasin!" Dragana shrieked.

The slamming of a door echoed from the foyer.

Dragana began to weep hysterically and crumpled to the floor. Fenris strained against his bindings, but his wrists had been knotted fast, and he could not reach the rope with his claws. He struggled and twisted about on the floor.

Just as suddenly as she began, Dragana stopped crying. Fenris froze. She'd sat up again, her face inscrutable. She swayed. She said, "I've done something wrong."

She met his eyes. "I must have done something wrong."

Painstakingly, she stood and tottered across the room, waving her arms for balance. She dropped down beside Fenris and stared, for a very long time, at Florian. Fenris dared not move.

"You said you hurt her," she said, without taking her eyes off of the body.

Fenris didn't speak.

"Do you think — she will forgive you?"

"I," Fenris said.

The glassy stained face turned to him.

"I don't know," he said.

She sat back and ground her little fists into her lap. She rocked back and forth and hummed.

"Little girly poppet," she mumbled. "With snipped strings."

She lay her head against Florian's chest and was silent.

#

Anders leaned against his staff like an old, old man. He slid to his knees. His heart hammered. He could not focus. In his mind, he saw Fenris groping at the cleaver in his shoulder. He saw Florian, enraged and deadly. He saw Hawke vanishing into the maw of the beast.

He groaned and stabbed at the cliffside with his staff. He drew upon all of the natural energies that he could summon, all that would listen. He felt for the pulse of the earth. Cracks ran like ripping seams down the sheer wall. The rock shifted, caving here and jutting there, crumbling and cleaving and reshaping, and he had, for a horrible instant, a vision of the entire cliff coming down on him, destabilized and vengeful. He clung to sheer concentration, until the fractured rock settled and became still, forming a series of inexpertly-wrought steps that led back up the cliffside.

Exhaustion leached through him. He slumped. I must go, he thought. I must go.

#

Dragana flung open the garden doors. Dressed in moonlight, the overgrown rafflesias lurked. She staggered against her cane into the vines. She seized handfuls of flowers and tossed them away, and kicked the largest foul-smelling bloom. She wedged her cane beneath its spotted lobes and wrenched it from the ground, revealing a black, rocky cavity. She turned back to Fenris, her wet eyes shining.

With the long, curving knife she cut the rope from his feet. She tugged the bindings at his hands, urging him up, and dragged him into the garden. He went unsteadily. When he swayed back, more for lack of balance than any genuine attempt to escape, she rounded on him with the knife, pressing its edge into the soft flesh beneath his jaw.

"You will come," she said. The knife trembled in her little hand. "Or I will kill her myself."

She yanked the lead at his wrists and together they descended into the mouth of the cave.

The heat, here, was familiar, and for an instant Fenris was racing along the manor stairs again, cradling Hawke to his chest. A fist of longing squeezed his heart. He followed Dragana through absolute darkness. He breathed hot, wet air, and a more potent carrion stench, upon which he gagged, and which stirred the bile in his gut. He heard deep, steady breathing, a rhythm which grew gradually louder, and it seemed to emanate from all around him, seismic, ever-present, swallowing him whole, as though they walked the gullet of a behemoth.

They came to a vast, torchlit cavern. Condensation, which dripped even now, had shaped these calcareous walls, and stalactites choked the dome of the ceiling. His gaze fell upon a pile of corpses. No — a mountain, staggering in its implications, of parts and pieces, twisting limbs and reaching fingers and unidentifiable viscera. Fenris retched and tried to turn away, but Dragana yanked his lead, unmoved by the sight, and he glimpsed bones, and gaping jaws, and all that was now mere detritus of the villagers who'd once lived ignorantly above this place.

"My Lord," Dragana said.

The great beast turned, with brilliant unblinking eyes.

#

Anders laboriously climbed the cliffside, his fingers bruising against jagged rock. Wind stung his eyes and yanked at his tattered robes. His nervous system howled. Despite his healing, the trauma of broken bones and punctured organs still rattled his skull like a cage. Cold reason penetrated his thoughts: certainly this outcome was preferable to being eaten alive. Anders found that he could not argue as he groaned and dragged himself up, and up.

Justice did share his bodily pain, at least.

This did not comfort him — that mortally fragile side of all human brains which seeks self-preservation. He could not deny that Justice had rendered him a helpless passenger in the body that they both shared, in a body which Justice had sent purposefully over the edge of a cliff. Cold reason, again: but we have survived.

His frightened brain: I would not have done that, could never have done that. What else will I be made to do?

Onward he climbed, white and shaking.

He neared the peak. He wished desperately to pause, to catch his breath, but forced himself to go on, to spare no time. A dark face peered over the edge, long-nosed and pointed-eared. For a wild second he thought it must be Fenris, until he recognized the harrowed expression.

Grasin reached for him, and Anders grasped his hands gratefully, allowing himself to be hauled over the edge, until he sprawled on solid ground, heaving, exhausted. Grasin helped him to his feet.

"I saw you fall," he stammered. "I thought, for certain . . ."

Anders waved his hand. "There's no time," he said. "I must hurry. I have to find her. And I have to find Hunger."

Confusion clouded Grasin's face for a moment, and then he seemed to understand. "But, your companion —"

"I will have to come back for him."

Grasin lowered his head regretfully. He nodded. "I will take you to the Lord's den," he said. "But we cannot go through the manor."

Anders jolted. "The demon is in the manor?"

"No. You misunderstand. There is an entrance. There are many entrances. This way. Hurry."

He beckoned, and led Anders toward the butcher's shop, the front of which gaped open, all splintered wood and shattered glass. Anders stopped short.

"I cannot go back in there," he murmured, and Grasin turned, not hearing. At that moment, ice flooded Anders's veins and poured from his eyes, stinging, stealing his breath and his voice.

"Lead on," Justice growled, and Grasin trembled where he stood.

#

Fenris and Hunger faced one another for the first time since the abduction at Hawke Manor.

The demon huddled against the concave wall, massive, solid, its black hide shining. Its teeth clenched and unclenched as it breathed. Its gaze penetrated Fenris as readily as the curving talons on its fingers.

"You brought him here," Hunger said, and growled, long and resonant.

"My Lord —"

"WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE," Hunger roared, and Dragana ducked her head, hiding her face.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I'm sorry."

The demon groaned then, leaning back, so different, now, than the first time Fenris had seen it.

"I didn't know what to do," Dragana said, near tears.

"I have told you what to do. Useless little twit." Hunger dragged its enormous claws against the wall, and fleshy tumors sprang up, bloated and pulsing, and it settled back against them wearily. "Tell me that is the blood of the mage."

"It is not," Dragana whispered, touching her face. The blood had long dried, and flaked from her mouth. "But he is dead. I swear it."

"And you've not brought his head?"

"He fell from the cliffside."

"Then I am not convinced," Hunger snarled, "until his head is in my hands."

"My Lord." Dragana began to cry. "You treat me so poorly now."

The white eyes narrowed without pity.

"Please hold me. Please kiss me, and tell me that you love me."

"You are undeserving," Hunger said.

A long, pitiful sob escaped her. She nearly crumpled, swaying against the silver cane. She smeared blood across her arm as she roughly wiped her tears.

"I killed Florian," she wept. "I cut his throat. I drank his blood."

Hunger said nothing.

"Still the tremors have not stopped," she stuttered. "My legs. They will not stop shaking. Nothing has changed."

"Stupid, foolish girl," Hunger said, and Dragana fell silent.

Hunger's claws raked against its forehead, dancing along the crown of spikes. "It is beyond my power to heal you," it said.

Dragana stared. Her arms lowered to her sides, and hung limp there. "What?"

"Did you think I hold sway over miracles? That blood rites and rituals are enough to eliminate the affliction that is just as much a part of you as your red hair? My dear. My silly, stupid girl."

"What?" she said again.

Hunger sneered. "Do you still not understand? Nothing, my dear," and the demon rose, towering above them both, "will ever banish the tremors from your body. 'Twas a hopeless dream of your father's."

"You lied to me?" Dragana said.

"I followed along with the fantasy." Hunger sat again amongst the tumors. "The one that so blinded your father. A pleasant dream. It gave sweetness to the taste of his flesh."

"But — the rituals. The sacrifices —"

"All a pleasing way to pass the time." The black lips curled back over yellow teeth. "Marvelous, sensuous entertainment."

"Entertainment?" She turned to Fenris, as though he could explain. Her frightened eyes stirred within him a deep pity. "Entertainment?" she said again. "My love . . ."

A deep purring sound emanated from the beast.

"But. What was it all for? What do you want?"

Hunger shook its head. "Her," it crooned, stroking its hard stomach. "The contract she and I shared has been fulfilled. I thank you, for providing this waiting-place. You have been a most pleasing host."

She stared, dumbfounded, at nothing. Her fingers loosened around the knife.

Hunger chuckled. "And the little girl realized at last," it said delicately, "where her selfishness had gotten her."

#

Justice and Grasin passed through the gaping portal and into the butcher's shop.

They followed a long, snakelike vine that was smothered with rafflesias. Justice ignored the human trepidation that resisted every step, and he went into the back room, awash in the fetor of rotting blood.

A great butcher's block stood on wooden legs in the center of the room. Its stained surface bespoke frequent use. A series of tools, well-cleaned and gleaming, hung on pegs all around: cleavers of varying sizes, honing steels, skinning knives, bone saws, wicked little larding needles. Over a long draining trough dangled a telltale row of hooks. Justice observed these. They had not been empty, mere hours ago.

Earlier when he'd arrived — when Anders had arrived — he'd heard moaning, low and piteous, and, going into the back room, had found bodies — villagers — contorted and hanging from the hooks. Naked, mewling, twisting about, discolored, inhuman. They'd reached for him, many with maimed hands, as blood sluiced into the trough. Mid-ritual. Mid-transformation.

Grasin hurried through the workshop, ducking his head low. Justice followed. They came to a wooden slat set into the floor, and Grasin drew it open. Underneath there was a staircase that sliced deep into the earth.

"Messere Lefebvre," Grasin murmured, with sorrow thick in his throat, "lured villagers here. Routinely. And he butchered them. He brought them in pieces to the Lord, through this passage. He — and the Lady Croceum — dined on their flesh. I — they had me cook it. Prepare their meals."

He gave Justice an imploring look. "Please spare her," he said. "If you can. I have cared for her since she was a babe. Since she learned to walk. Before her illness made itself known. She was not always the monster that she has become." He blinked away tears. "Her mother died to bring her into this world. I've been told it was a difficult birth, very difficult, one that should have taken both mother and child. But my Lady survived. I believe with all of my heart that this trauma was the cause of her affliction." He wiped his eyes. "A terrible curse, to have obsessed her father so, and brought this demon upon us."

"I will do what I can," Justice said. "But I will also do what I must."

Grasin took a deep breath, and dropped his head. "Save her," he whispered. "End this atrocity."

Justice nodded. He turned to the staircase. He descended.

#

"You," Dragana murmured. The knife shook in her hand. "You. I killed Fluh. Florian. I . . ."

The demon watched her, amused.

"He loved me." She stared at the blade. "And I. I . . ."

"I knew that you would," Hunger said. "If I only asked."

"And Daddy?" Her eyes were glassy now, unfocused.

"His flesh was sweet," Hunger repeated.

"Daddy," Dragana said.

"You did not seem to care, when he had gone."

"Stop this," Fenris said suddenly, unable to take any more. "Stop taunting her, you beast, you monster."

"Ah, you. Elf." The penetrating gaze fell upon him again. "Such a waste, for my little thing to have surrendered herself for you. Now I shall have to devour you, and her trade will have been for nothing."

"Where is she?" Fenris cried.

Hunger's claws again ran over its stomach. "She is with me," it said. "I could not resist. I swallowed her whole. So that she will always be with me."

"She still lives?"

Hunger's smile remained, stretching wide, secretive.

"Daddy," Dragana murmured. "Florian."

"Your time is done, child." Hunger flicked a hand in her direction. "Go. Leave me. Live out your miserable existence elsewhere, where I will not be bothered. It is my gift to you, precious hostess.

"But first." The demon turned again to Fenris. "Bring the elf to me."

Dragana lifted her head. She stared, for a few moments, at Hunger, and then turned to Fenris. He saw new clarity in her eyes, as though a pall had been lifted for the very first time.

She drew close to him — slight, pale, trembling Dragana. She released her cane, which clattered to the cavern floor. She cupped his cheek.

"Perhaps she will forgive you," she whispered, and, with one stroke of the knife, cut him free of his bonds.

Hunger roared — a deafening, earth-shaking sound. Dragana smiled sadly at Fenris. She turned the knife and plunged it between her ribs.

Fenris started. He moved toward her, but Hunger had thundered onto all fours, had begun to charge. Dragana collapsed with a rattling breath. Fenris turned. He stared down the approaching beast.

Hunger's jaws sprang open wide.

Fenris leaned forward. He sucked in his breath.

He ignited, silver, hot.

Hunger dove.

Fenris charged.

He sprinted, and sprang up, ghostly bright, and dove into the great gaping mouth, and vanished.

[talkingsquidphd]

Review: Clifford D. Simak, “Time and Again”

For almost a decade, my father and I have been playing this game where he recommends me an amazing piece of pulpy retro sf and then, caught in the rush of work and the vicissitudes of life, it takes me about two years to read it because I only seem to “have time” during holidays and breaks. The first was The Space Merchants (1953), a brilliant, biting novel co-written by the inimitable duo of Frederik Pohl and C.M. Kornbluth which was brutally satirizing 1950s advertising and consumer culture way before Mad Men made it cool. Issued mid-high school, I managed to squeeze it in between my senior year AP exams and the start of my post-graduation summer job. The second was Gateway (1977), also penned by Pohl, whose dual story threads tracked a dangerous Russian roulette-like space exploration program and the psychotherapy sessions of a traumatized former explorer. With an original loan date in the summer just before I left for my junior year study abroad, fate eventually intervened and put it on the syllabus to a class I was taking… in my first semester of graduate school. The latest was Clifford D. Simak’s Time and Again (1951), which, after the customary two years gathering dust beside my books for work, I finally managed to finish when a bomb cyclone and ensuing polar vortex shut down life in the Northeast US as we know it.

To the untrained (read: ungenerous) eye, Time and Again is a typical 50s sf yarn with a mystery premise like something out of Jonathan Creek. Twenty years ago, burly white male protagonist du jour Asher Sutton was sent to recon a mysterious planet. In the present, with no warning or explanation, Sutton’s ship returns to Earth, battered beyond repair but still somehow flying. Based on calculations by the boys in the lab, there’s no scientifically explicable way Sutton could have survived the destruction of the ship and the trip back to Earth. So how, asks the dust jacket, is he back, seemingly alive and well? It’s the kind of question entirely typical of sf at this time – how did our intrepid Campbell-esque engineer hero MacGyver his way out of certain death using only his wits and good old science? It, in turn, begs the kind of answer you’d have to animatedly diagram on a napkin while babbling about mirrors and ricochet effects and tricks of the light.

And yet Time and Again almost immediately undercuts this mystery when it admits the answer practically on the first page: Sutton didn’t survive. He died, and a mystical force – a secondary being tagging along in his consciousness that Sutton nicknames “Johnny” – is responsible for bringing him back from the dead. Thrust suddenly into a world where inexplicable Powers That Be can do everything from read and influence the thoughts of others to reverse death and travel through time, Sutton find himself an engineer in a world where science and deductive reasoning counts for very little anymore. In fact, every time Sutton thinks he’s figured something out and acts decisively based on that logic, he’s smacked mockingly in the face by the unreality of his situation. Bouncing from incorrect supposition to incorrect supposition, trying to piece together a complex time-travel paradox in between being drugged, knocked out, beaten up, shot, and even killed a few times, Sutton is an early sf protagonist deeply disenfranchised and wholly at the mercy of the plot.

This, believe it or not, feeds into the central focus of the novel, which is destiny. In Time and Again’s 74th century, capital-m Mankind is very much on the back foot and trying to get back on the front foot by following a twisted version of manifest destiny and colonizing the whole universe. But with so few actual Men left and so many stars yet to conquer, Man has no choice but to create “androids” (not robots, deceptively, but clones) to artificially swell his numbers and provide better universe coverage. Treated like second-class citizens, the beleaguered androids are now making a subtle bid for abolition and legitimacy. What does all this have to do with Sutton, you ask? From his trip to the mysterious planet, Sutton draws a profound epiphany about destiny – that every living thing has a destiny and striking a balance between accepting and questioning one’s destiny is the true route to happiness. Returning to Earth, Sutton plans to write the self-help book to end all self-help books espousing this philosophy of destiny. From clues and individuals sent back in time from the future, Sutton realizes his book has become the ultimate hit – it’s started a war between a faction of android rights activists holding it up as a doctrine of equality and a cadre of Men dead-set on annotating the hell out of it in a Revised edition that reaffirms manly Men’s supremacy. In the middle of it all is Sutton, who in the present day is forced to dodge deadly assassins and seriously pushy book agents alike despite the fact he hasn’t even written the book yet.

Like the twist answer to the dust jacket question, this dilemma of the future war and the book’s effect on it has a sort of swerve ending that I love. Without giving away too much, I’d say Time and Again above all preaches the long game – evolution, not revolution. While the lot of androids is pretty bleak in the novel’s present, Sutton’s doctrine of destiny for all living things – both born and created – promises to significantly influence the thought of the universe in favor of equality and understanding. But, as controversial and dangerous as the book seems to its enemies and naysayers, that’s all it is – a sizeable drop and ensuing ripples in a steadily gathering pool of sentiment which will one day overflow its container. And while this kind of slow progress towards a distant goal of understanding can be frustrating and disheartening in its slowness, Time and Again at least offers the comforting inevitability that the arc of the universe bends towards justice, which is relatively refreshing compared to the “we’re all doomed and that’s all she wrote” noble pessimism of so much contemporary sf.

Aside from the unexpected flouting of Occam’s Razor in the book’s initial mystery, the novel’s most left-field aspect is its deep reverence for untampered nature, glimpsed on Sutton’s visits to the distant past of his ancestors living in scenic Bridgeport, Wisconsin. Having grown up on an Earth so relentlessly manicured it’s like something out of Marvell’s mower poems, Sutton joins in with the mower in mourning the fact that everything about the planet, from the landscape to the weather, seems rustic and hardy but is in fact precisely controlled, and not one thing on the planet is for industry rather than pleasure. Disagreeing with Man’s addiction to pleasure and ease of life as much as their perverse doctrine of manifest destiny, Sutton appreciates the pastoral pleasures of farm life and hard work, waxing poetic about them for paragraphs at a time:

There were times when the work, not only for its sedative effect but for its very self, became a thing of interest and of satisfaction. The straight line of new-set fence posts became a minor triumph when one glanced back along their length. The harvest field, with its dust upon one’s hoes and its smell of sun on golden straw and the clacking of a binder as it went its rounds, became a full-breasted symbolism of plenty and contentment. And there were moments when the pink blush of apple blossoms shining through the silver rain of spring became a wild and pagan paean of the resurrection of the earth from the frosts of winter. For six days a man would labor and not have time to think; on the seventh day he rested and braced himself for the loneliness and the thoughts of desperation that idleness would bring. (226-227)

Time and Again has of course got some problems, especially problems reminiscent of its distant ancestors – for example, a Blade-Runner-esque female character who initially seems powerful, well-informed, and key to the plot, but whose role, after infodumping all her expertise onto the male protagonist, devolves into merely pining for him. And for a novel which hangs its central premise on a text preaching the equality and oneness of all things, Asher Sutton playing human savior to the novel’s disenfranchised Other seems a contradictory misstep at important moments. Only the fact that Sutton, himself now something more/less/Other than human, is bumbling and utterly clueless, being dragged along by fate, manipulated by a vast network of spies, and punished whenever he thinks he’s got things figured out, keeps him from devolving into the self-righteous figure who thinks he knows the lot of the suffering better than those suffering themselves. As a result, Time and Again comes off as a subversive, self-deprecating, oddball 1950s pulp constantly toeing the line between having big brilliant ideas and overreaching.