#like he nearly killed his own dog he impulsively attempted it once and the second time when he had the time to think it through he didnt

[synchlora]

the idea of smp earth being canon..... fucking plagues me

[kieraelieson]

Medusa

Logan shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like when guests came. To be fair, there was very little that he did like about what his life had become, but guests were the worst. Ever since the dragon witch had abducted him he’d been a possession, but some days he could think of himself at least as a living possession. As a guard dog. But not when guests came. When guests came he was only a trophy. 

He was held almost entirely still by a binding magic, standing straight with his hands behind his back like a servant waiting for orders. Covering his eyes was an ornate golden blindfold, which was only for decoration as the magic forced him to keep his eyes closed. 

Judging by the long wait, this guest must actually be someone with royal blood, whom the dragon witch was trying to intimidate. He was somewhere in the room, but Logan wasn’t entirely sure exactly where. 

Suddenly he felt the itch. No. Sneezes while under binding magic were incredibly awkward. But sure enough, his body twitched and convulsed in a futile attempt to make him sneeze. 

There was a thump, as of someone falling over, and a shocked, “Oh, dear!” 

Logan, of course, could not reply, other than flushing at the realization that he’d been observed in that unpleasant situation. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were alive.” The voice said after a long second. 

With Logan unable to reply, there was silence again. 

“You—- are alive, right?”

Logan managed to purse his lips and nod very minutely. 

“Oh, good.” The voice said, relieved. “That would’ve been really creepy. My name’s Patton!”

Logan had no way of returning the favor, but he managed another minute nod in acknowledgement. 

“Um… is Mrs. Dragon Witch home? I thought she was, but maybe that was just some magic.”

Logan’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. So much for intimidation. He nodded. 

“Oh, ok. So are you… stuck? Can you move?”

Shaking his head was more prohibited by the binding than nodding, and Logan pursed his lips. 

“Oh. What if I move you off of that stand? Could you move then?”

“Having fun with my pet?” The dragon witch said smoothly, finally entering the room. “Would you like to pet his head?”

When the guest spoke next, he sounded almost offended. “I don’t think he’d like that.”

“You don’t? Why don’t you ask him?” Even without seeing her, Logan could feel her eyes on him, and feel the threat if he should say no. 

The binding suddenly released, and Logan nearly fell over, but was caught by someone that wasn’t the dragon witch. 

“Well, pet, what do you say? Would you like to be petted?”

Before Logan could respond, Patton said almost angrily, “He’s a person, you shouldn’t do this!”

“He’s my pet, I can do whatever I like,” the dragon witch said, annoyed. 

“No you can’t! It’s not right!”

Logan’s arm was suddenly grabbed in a familiar vice grip, and he didn’t resist being pulled away from Patton. Being pushed to his knees was much less enjoyable, but he knew better than to struggle at this point. It was go willingly or be forced. 

“Why did you come here, anyway?” The dragon witch said coldly. 

“I was curious,” Patton said, his voice clipped with anger. “I wanted to know why everyone was so afraid of you.”

“Curious?” The dragon witch said. “And without knowing why people are afraid of me you would dare to challenge me over my property?”

“He’s not property, he’s a person!”

“I see.” Her tone made Logan shiver, and she lifted the blindfold off of his eyes. 

Logan squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to do this. Not to someone who’d tried to help him. 

But instead of commanding him to look at Patton, she laughed slightly, a cold, brittle laugh. 

“Then take him. Take him away with you. You can have him.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said sweetly, before her voice ground low again. “But he will regret it. You show me that you can handle something like he is, and you can keep him. But you won’t. You’ll just make him miserable, and he’ll come crawling back to me begging the instant you let him go.”

Logan did not like the sound of that. Not at all. 

But his hand was lifted and put into Patton’s, and Patton tugged gently until Logan got to his feet and followed him, still keeping his eyes carefully closed. 

The sun hit his skin as they stepped outside, a sensation he hadn’t felt in he didn’t even know how long. 

“Ugh, I don’t like all the statues,” Patton said. “I thought you were one too, at first.”

His words hit Logan with the force of a punch to his gut. Statues. He’d made those. He’d…… he’d killed people to make those. 

Awful, terrible feelings, emotions he hadn’t felt before, welled up in his stomach, making it twist and lurch. Tears started leaking out from his tightly closed eyelids and breathing was getting hard. He stumbled, and then pulled away from Patton, turning his face away as he gagged. 

“Are you ok?!”

Logan shook his head and gagged again, his breathing speeding up and making him dizzy, which just made him more nauseous. 

“We have to get you out of here, she’s doing something to you!” Patton said, pulling Logan. “If we get back to my camp, Virgil can break whatever spell it is.”

Logan stumbled behind Patton, his mind a never-ending whirl of eyes. Terrified eyes, looking into his, pleading with him. Eyes that turned to stone. They were always the last, always pleading the longest, and he’d never once listened. 

He choked, tears pouring out even more as his body shook. 

“I’m so sorry,” Patton said. “We just have to get you to Virgil.”

Patton suddenly whistled very loudly, and there was a whistle in response. Then another person’s voice that Logan wasn’t paying much attention to. 

“Who’s— wait, how do you have him?!”

“Virgil, he’s been cursed, you have to help!”

Patton let go of Logan’s hand, which left Logan free to curl up on the ground and let out a weak, raspy scream. 

“He’s… not. There’s no curses on him Pat.”

“Well, something’s wrong!” Patton exclaimed. 

A hand laid gently on Logan’s back, rubbing soft circles. “Did something happen?”

“I-I—“ Logan’s attempt at speech devolved into another scream, wailing into the dirt. 

“Patton, tell me what happened,” Virgil said firmly, but his hand remained gentle on Logan’s back. 

Patton ran through the events quickly, but Logan wasn’t paying attention. His body was still rushing, making him cry, and scream, and his stomach lurch again and again. He didn’t understand it, but he did understand that it was swiftly exhausting him. He hadn’t been so drained in… he didn’t even know when. 

The intense… grief? Whatever it was, it gave way to the exhaustion, and Logan dropped unpleasantly into sleep. 

••^*^••

He woke slowly, feeling sore and exhausted, his head aching. His eyes opened partway before he realized that someone was sitting over him, and he squeezed them shut, letting out a cry as panic shot through him at the close call. He rolled away from the person, bringing his hands up to his face. 

“Heeey, it’s alright,” a low voice said calmly. 

A sob worked its way up in his throat. 

A hand gently rested on his shoulder, not gripping or pushing him, and Logan was even more confused by the sudden impulse to grab that hand and hold it close to his chest. 

His mind was swirling, but hardly any of it was thoughts. He’d felt emotions enough before to identify them as the problem, but why they were so strong and so many he had no idea. 

“We think we’ve figured out what happened,” the voice said gently, and the hand moved in small circles. “How long have you been with her?”

“Since… I don’t know. I was a child.” Logan said, sobs threatening to spill out now that he’d opened his mouth. 

“Did you eat? Or sleep?”

“I— no.” Logan shook his head miserably. “I watched.”

The voice hummed quietly. “Well, we think that since you aren’t cursed now, you were then. She took away your need to eat, and to sleep, and to feel. It’s all coming back to you now, and you don’t know how to regulate it.”

Tears spilled over. “I don’t want to regulate it, I want it gone!” Logan started sobbing again, the pain in his head growing to be almost as great as the pain in his chest and stomach. “Send me back, it hurts!”

But the person didn’t answer other than to make soft, comforting noises and to rub his back while Logan sobbed. 

Slowly, far, far too slowly, the sobs faded into sniffles. Logan was far too miserable now to care about any kind of propriety, and he reached up to pull the hand down, curling around it as if it was his lifeline. Whoever it belonged to was kind enough to both let him and also not comment. 

Some time later, footsteps came towards them. “Here, it’s ready now.”

A second hand patted his shoulder. “Do you want to try eating?”

Logan shook his head.

There was a brief silence before his shoulder was patted again. “Can you try, please? If you haven’t eaten in so long, it might be dangerous not to.”

Logan sat up and groaned as his head pounded even more. “Could I have a blindfold?”

“Why?” Patton asked, but was quickly shushed. 

“Of course you can.”

Moments later was a sound of ripping fabric, and then a long strip of cloth was given to him. Safely blindfolded, he relaxed a bit, which seemed to make him feel just a tiny sliver better. 

“Here you go,” Patton said gently, giving him a bowl that was warm to the touch. 

Logan lifted it to his mouth, well aware that two pairs of eyes were fixed on him. Based on smell, it seemed to be a weak broth with herbs. It didn’t seem like something he would enjoy, but when he took the first swallow it didn’t taste bad. Almost as soon as it hit his stomach though he lurched, leaning to the side and vomiting up the little he’d drunk. He also managed to spill broth onto his pants, which made him even more uncomfortable. 

He found himself incredibly frustrated, and tears welled up in his eyes again. Tears that he did not want. But getting angry at himself for tearing up was enough to push him over the edge into full crying yet again. 

He held out the bowl in the same direction it had come in. “I can’t do this. Please, just let me go back. I’ll find my own way. I don’t want this.”

“No.” Patton said, gently, but firmly. “She did not treat you right, and put some kind of a spell on you so that you couldn’t even get mad enough to try and fight back.”

Disappointment so heavy it felt like a weight fell on Logan. “Please, if this is what I was missing I don’t want it!”

A hand cupped his face gently. “No, this isn’t it. This is because she kept it all away for so long. Just give us some time, ok? Two weeks, and then if you still want to go back I’ll let you.”

Two weeks of this misery. This hell. It might as well have been eternity. Logan choked on sobs again.

“Ohhh… can I hug you?”

Logan wasn’t even sure. He had only the vaguest idea of what a hug was. But then arms were wrapping around him, and it wasn’t restraining, it was warm, and kind, and he leaned his head down to sob into Patton’s shoulder. 

“It’ll be alright. Just let it all out.”

Logan hated this. He hated every single bit of all of this. Except maybe the hug. That was tolerable.

••^*^••

The Gorgon was safely asleep again, and Virgil pulled Patton aside. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Patton’s face grew determined and a little offended. “I’m very sure! Just look at him! He can’t even let himself see things!”

Virgil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d hoped it had just slipped Patton’s mind, but no, he really didn’t know. “He’s a Gorgon, Patton. If he gets angry enough at us he could just pull down that blindfold and we’d both be stone.”

Patton’s face went ashen. He was silent a long moment, not quite looking at Virgil. “That’s why…”

“Why what?”

“It started when we went out of the cave and saw all the statues. I thought it was the dragon witch casting the spell once we were outside, but he saw them all. He… he killed them all…”

Virgil crossed his arms, looking down. “Yeah, that’s… That’s what Gorgons do.”

“No!” Patton said. “Not him! He didn’t want to, I’m sure of it. That’s why he started crying when he saw them.”

“Yeah, but he did.”

Patton gave him the sternest glare he was capable of. “He was also standing frozen until she let him move. It’s not his fault.”

Virgil tried giving a noncommittal half-smile and shrug. 

But Patton didn’t seem satisfied with that. “Virgil, you had better be nice to him--!”

“I never said I wouldn’t!” Virgil protested. “Just we have to be careful. And honest about what he is.”

“He is a person!”

Virgil sighed. “Yes. A person that could kill us with a glance.”

Patton frowned, crossing his arms. “If you make him upset I’ll never hug you again.”

Virgil threw up his hands. “Everything is gonna make him upset right now!”

“You know what I mean!”

Virgil sighed. “Fine. Yes. I’ll be nice to the Gorgon.”

“Thank you.”

••^*^••

Logan woke again to a pounding headache, and an ache in his stomach, but mind temporarily clearer, not swarmed with emotions. 

Someone was stirring something near him, and he could hear the tell-tale crackle of a fire. 

“Morning,” the voice that wasn’t Patton’s said. “Sleep well?”

Logan sat up. “Not particularly.”

“Well, that’s no fun. Anyway, I’m supposed to get you to eat something, but just a little, like a spoonful.”

Logan shrugged. It wasn’t like they cared what he wanted anyway. 

His hand was touched, and a spoon put into it carefully. He sipped it, and wasn’t surprised that it was the same thing as before. His stomach cramped, but he didn’t think he’d throw up.

“Better?”

Logan shrugged. 

“Well, how are you feeling?”

“My head hurts, and my stomach.”

“Mmmm, yeah. Your head is probably from all the crying.”

Logan grimaced.

“I can try something, if you want.”

“If I say no, you’ll just do it anyway.”

The person sucked in a quick breath. “No, I wouldn’t. Let’s… We got off on the wrong foot. My name is Virgil, it’s nice to meet you.”

Logan wasn’t sure what feet had to do with anything, but he held out a hand for the standard shake. “My name is Logan. It has genuinely not been nice to make your acquaintance, but I do hope that you are correct and that I will enjoy it more later.”

He could practically hear the grimace. “Yeah… we do too. Anyway, I can do some magic. It’s not amazing or anything, but it might help your headache, if you don’t mind me trying.”

“Honestly, I would accept anything that would relieve some of this pain,” Logan sighed.

“Alright, I’m going to move next to you, and you can lay back and put your head in my lap. I’ll be touching your head to do the magic. Will that be ok?”

Logan nodded, and let Virgil maneuver him into the desired position. Almost as soon as Virgil’s fingers touched his scalp he started to feel relief, and his whole body relaxed as Virgil continued, soft rubbing motions in little circles all over. 

As the pain entirely faded away, it even started to feel… nice. Logan found himself letting out a little hum sometimes as Virgil kept going.

Virgil chuckled. “I guess that means it’s working?”

“It is a pleasant sensation,” Logan said, his voice ever so slightly slurred. He could barely remember being so relaxed before.

“Can I try feeding you just one more spoonful? You’d just have to open your mouth.”

“You may,” Logan said, unaccustomed to giving permission.

He opened his mouth to accept one more spoonful of the broth, which made his stomach clench again, but he just breathed in deep, and then Virgil continued his ministrations, which made him relax, and his stomach gradually unwound itself.

••^*^••

Patton was extremely glad to come back from getting firewood to see the man, whose name was apparently Logan, asleep on Virgil’s lap, and a half-empty bowl of broth beside them.

Things seemed to be looking up again.

Until Logan woke up with a nightmare. He screamed and sobbed, covering his already-covered eyes. Patton hugged him tight, letting him hide his face in Patton’s chest and cry, telling Patton about the eyes he was seeing, and about the pleas he was hearing, and about how he hadn’t cared about any of it. Patton just rocked him back and forth and listened to it all come out, and then reassured Logan that it wasn’t his fault. 

It was a long, long night before Logan finally fell back asleep.

“You know,” Virgil said contemplatively. “If we help him get better, we can say we defeated the dragon witch’s monster, cause that’s kind of true. And then we can just let him be Logan.”

Patton didn’t think they needed to claim defeating a monster, but he did like the idea of not letting people know who Logan used to be.

••^*^••

It was only one week later, rather than two, when Logan decided for himself that he never, ever wanted to go back. Things were beginning to settle down. He still cried, but no more the great wracking sobs, and he was able to eat small meals now. His intense longing for gentle touch had faded somewhat, and he found that he apparently had moods that were meant to regulate that. There were also moods for eating, and the intensity of the different kinds of moods also varied. 

Virgil and Patton walked him around, gradually farther and farther away from the dragon witch. He saw grass, which he remembered, and trees which he also remembered, but he hadn’t remembered the variety. And he certainly hadn’t remembered how very many different plants there were. 

And then, when one night he didn’t fall asleep right away, and saw the stars, he felt like he really had lost something great by being with the dragon witch so long. How he’d been kept from them so long he didn’t know, but he vowed that it wouldn’t happen again.

As it turned out, Patton was the third prince of a nearby kingdom, and Virgil was his servant. Logan would have never guessed Virgil was a servant had he not been told. They’d always seemed so equal. So when Patton offered him a similar position, wincing and apologizing for the title, and promising that he would never think of Logan as any less than himself, or try to make him do anything he didn’t want to, Logan accepted.

[thewayofthetrashcompactor]

November 2019 Empire Magazine The Rise of Skywalker Article Transcription

IT ALL STARTED with a Jane Campion retrospective. The Lincoln Center in New York was entering night two of an in-depth celebration of the Kiwi filmmaker’s work when, during a sold-out screening of The Piano, one member of the audience received a text message. He then received another. And another. Hunched down in his seat towards the middle of the auditorium, screenwriter Chris Terrio glanced furtively at his mobile as yet another text pinged to life on his screen. It was from J.J. Abrams. Just like the last. And the dozen or so before that.

It was 10 September 2017, and several hours earlier Terrio had received the first in what would become a torrent of communication. “I’ve just signed on to Episode IX,” it read. “We’re gonna write a new script. Would you consider writing it with me?”

“He didn’t even say the words ‘Star’ and ‘Wars’,” recalls Terrio, with a laugh. “He didn’t have to. I’d been about to go off and direct a small movie, but when you hear Star Wars, everything else goes away.”

Terrio agreed on the spot, planning to join Abrams in California as soon as his schedule would allow. But the texts kept coming. Throughout the afternoon, thoughts, ideas and questions popped up one after the other; Abrams’ frantic thumbs tapping out the first seeds of story and flinging them across the country to his newfound partner. And so, with Michael Nyman’s haunting score swelling around him and a still-buzzing handset in his grasp, Terrio stood up, shuffled apologetically along a row of seats, and walked out of the cinema, leaving Campion’s Oscar darling behind.

[Above image caption: “Director J.J. Abrams, cast and crew confront Klaud, the Resistance’s newest addition, at Pinewood studios”]

“J.J. is constantly brimming with ideas and, in the very best way, he’s very impatient about them! So we just started getting into it then and there. I got on a plane to LA the next day.”

Less than a week earlier, however, Episode IX’s future hadn’t looked nearly as certain. In development for the past two years under the auspices of Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow, the film had abruptly flown off the rails on 5 September, when it was announced that Trevorrow was off the project. Rumours of script disagreements circled, but regardless of the reason, Lucasfilm had a serious problem: arguably the most important film in Star Wars’ history suddenly had no director, no story and a release date drawing nearer by the day. So Lucasfilm President Kathleen Kennedy sent up a flare to the one man she knew without any doubt could safely take Star Wars over the finish line. 

“Getting involved in IX came as a bit of a shock,” recalls J.J. Abrams. “I had completed VII, Rian [Johnson] was doing VIII, and I was not meant to do IX at all. But the opportunity to not just finish the trilogy, but to finish the story that George began -- this trilogy of trilogies -- was too compelling and too tempting to reject.”

After delivering The Force Awakens, then the third-biggest movie in history, Abrams had taken a bow and walked away, returning to Bad Robot and a pair of TV pilots he’d been meaning to write. It was here, in his self-imposed exile, that Kennedy sought him out. Sure, it was an office just over a mile from Santa Monica pier rather than the grassy bluffs of Ahch-To, and Kennedy hadn’t so much climbed 500 hand-carved steps as punched ten digits into her phone but, like a vision of Episode VII’s final moments, there she was. Unexpected. Holding out something Abrams had thought lost and daring him to take it back. 

“It’s exponentially the most daunting thing I’ve ever been involved with,” Abrams admits, eyebrows raised as if he still can’t quite believe the magnitude of the task. “But it was more exciting than it was anything.”

The director sits across from us in his suite at Beverly Hills’ Montage hotel, not far from where we last met, six years previously, when he’d just started work on a treatment for what would eventually become The Force Awakens. Abrams’ return as Star Wars’ Supreme Commander was announced just one day after Trevorrow’s departure, allaying the fears of both fans and shareholders alike: voices just a day before crying out in terror, now suddenly silenced. But with only two years to end a saga that had been four decades in the telling it was clear from the outset he was going to need some help. And so he composed a text (then several more) and sent them flying towards a movie theatre 3,000 miles away, where the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Argo was attempting to watch a film.

“I’ve admired Chris Terrio’s writing for a long time. I called on him because I knew it would be a challenge. But I didn’t know it would be quite as challenging as it was.”

[Above image caption: “Top: Martial art experts put Daisy Ridley through her paces. Above: Abrams with Oscar Isaac in Jordan”]

In a time when vast, interconnected stories have become commonplace, and breadcrumbs to the payoffs in Avengers: Endgame can be traced back ten or even 20 films, it’s hard to believe that the Star Wars sequel trilogy didn’t have its course firmly locked in before Episode VII ever left the spaceport. But, just as Abrams himself left neither chart nor compass for Rian Johnson to navigate with, so he began work on The Rise of Skywalker with nothing to guide him but his wits. It is, by Abrams’ own admission, his preferred method of working. An instinctive storyteller by nature, his impulse is to do what feels right in the moment, rather than slavishly adhere to some pre-ordained master plan. Very appropriately for a franchise so rooted in this exact philosophy, Abrams’ inclination has always been, as Alec Guinness once safely advised, to stretch out with his feelings.

“You can’t plan everything in advance -- which my ‘Revenge Of The Jedi’ poster proves,” he says. “You have a better idea and then you implement it. When I was working on VII, I’d be lying if I said I knew everything that was gonna happen in VIII and IX. I had some ideas, but we had a release date the required us to work on  VII!”

So Abrams and Terrio started from scratch. They spitballed ideas during the day, swapped rapid-fire texts at night and, piece-by-piece, set about exploring the fundamental questions this movie had to address. Not least of all the aftermath of The Last Jedi, in which Rian Johnson, continuing Abrams’ story, had made some rather significant changes.

[Death Star section break]

[Above image caption: “Really big space dog just out of shot”]

THERE’S A WELL-WORN dramatic principle most commonly ascribed to Anton Chekhov that insists if you see a gun in the first act of a play, it must go off by act three or you’re simply wasting the audience’s time. The same, it appears, is true of dark side degenerates as, despite being sidelined in The Last Jedi, Chekhov’s Knights Of Ren will finally go off in The Rise Of Skywalker.

The Knights -- from which Kylo draws the latter part of his name -- are a nightmarish squad of enforcers who do the bidding of the former Ben Solo. A rag-tag band of thugs and killers decked in black just like their leader, though far more battleworn. Armoured in disparate styles -- one sports a cowl, one an angry welders mask, another a checkered draughtboard faceplate -- they pack a similarly eclectic arsenal, from multi-barrelled assault cannon to oversized, anime-style sword, poleaxe and a wicked-looking mace. 

Referenced so portentously in The Force Awakens and glimpsed so very briefly during Rey’s vision on Takodana, the Knights and their role in Kylo’s fall from grace were set up as a major piece of the Star Wars puzzle. That is until Johnson, who clearly didn’t share Abrams’ interest, dropped the idea, sweeping them briskly under the rug next to the mystery of Rey’s parentage and the bisected corpse of Supreme Leader Snoke. “Let the past die,” instructed Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi. “Kill it, if you have to.” A sentiment, one could argue, that cut to the very heart of Johnson’s film.

“We thought about that line a lot,” says Terrio. “Rian did something that any good second act will do, which is create the antithesis. In The Force Awakens Luke Skywalker is a myth Rey’s obsessed with and there’s a warm embrace of the past. What Rian suggested is the past is a mixed bag and you can’t rely upon it to tell you where to go in the future. What we’re doing with Episode IX is trying to create a synthesis between those two points of view.”

And so, just as the investigation into Rey’s lineage looks set to be reopened, so too are the Knights back with a vengeance (not to mention Abrams talisman Greg Grunberg as pilot Snap Wexley). With Johnson’s tenure over, we’re playing in Abrams’ yard once more, although our suggestion that he might somehow be trying to course-correct is given short shrift.

“I never found myself trying to repair anything,” Abrams interjects. “If I had done VIII, I would have done things differently, just as Rian would have done things differently if he had done VII. But having worked on television series, I was accustomed to creating stories and characters that then were run by other people. If you’re willing to walk away from the thing that you created an you believe it’s in trustworthy hands, you have to accept that some of the decisions being made are not gonna be the same that you would make. And if you come back into it, you have to honour what’s been done.”

And what has been done is significant. Luke Skywalker is dead, passing on his knowledge and the mantle of last Jedi to Rey; The Resistance has been all but wiped out; Snoke is gone; and Kylo Ren -- now Supreme Leader Ren -- is more broken than ever, riven by conflict through the unlikely bond he forged with Rey. Bold and decisive, Johnson’s directions changed the board entirely, his sharp turns and gear shifts delighting some while earning the ire of others.

“Any time you are telling a story that people deeply care about, there is bound to be discussion and debate,” says Kathleen Kennedy. “That is something that has always been fundamental to the fabric of Star Wars.”

For Abrams and Terrio, meanwhile, the new landscape also brought with it new possibilities. 

“Some of the most interesting scenes in The Last Jedi are the conversations between Rey and Ren,” says Terrio. “We’ve tried to pick up that complicated relationship that really has been present ever since the interrogation in Episode VII. When Ren takes off his mask, there’s a nakedness about him with Rey that he doesn’t express to anyone else. Rian developed that in fascinating ways and we’ve been able to develop it even further.”

Ren, left pointedly bare-faced by Johnson throughout VIII, now hides his face once more. It’s a development that, while not a rebuke to The Last Jedi, demonstrates the different touchstones that resonate with each director. Although, Abrams expands, reuniting Kylo with his mask is about more than just sinister aesthetics. 

“Having him be masked, but also fractured, is a very intentional thing. Like that classic Japanese process of taking ceramics and repairing them, and how the breaks in a way define the beauty of the piece as much as the original itself. As fractured as Ren is, the mask becomes a visual representation of that. There’s something about this that tells his history. His mask doesn’t ultimately hide him, and his behaviour is revealed.”

Ren’s temptation by the light, like Rey’s temptation by the dark, forms the spine of a moral ambiguity that Johnson build on in VIII and very much carries over to IX, bringing with is a sense that George Lucas’ more clearly defined duality might be a relic of a simpler time. Neither light nor dark, The Rise of Skywalker and its characters exist more within what could be considered the grey side of the Force -- something underscored by the tantalising footage of ‘Darth Rey’ (complete with cowl, hangover pallor and double-bladed red lightsaber) that closed Abrams’ D23 Expo footage presentation in Anaheim in August. 

“I’d rather let that one lie,” he deflects, when pressed on the subject. “But I will say that the movie has a number of things that you wouldn’t expect to have happen and you wouldn’t expect certain characters to do. There are surprises along the way.” He smiles, mischievously. “And that’s one of them.”

[Death Star section break]

[Image captions: “Top to bottom: Rey (Ridley), Finn (John Boyega), Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), and BB-8 listen intently to C-3PO (Anthony Daniels); Billy Dee Williams returns as Lando Calrissian; Joonas Suotamo, in Chewbacca’s threads, plays with his son on set.”]

THE VALLEY OF The Moon in Southern Jordan has seen its share of action. Cut into the red sandstone cliffs near Aqaba, the striking lowlands known in Arabic as Wadi Rum have been visited by both real and fictional Lawrences of Arabia, stood in for the face of Mars, been the birth place of the Alien in Prometheus, and will next year double as the eponymous desert planet in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune. It’s no stranger to stormtroopers, either, having played host to the ill-fated Jedha outpost in Gareth Edwards’ Rogue One. Today, though, Wadi Rum is a different part of the galaxy entirely, standing in for Pasaana: a new locale in the canon, and home to the bedouin-like Aki-Aki: a nomadic race of walrus-lie aliens with twin tentacles dangling from their maws in place of tusks. 

Pasaana, along with the nippier climes of snow planet Kijimi, is one of several new worlds visited by The Rise of Skywalker. But most importantly, it’s a place where the heroes we’ve become acquainted with over the past two films will come together at last. 

“The heart of Star Wars for me is the group of unlikely bedfellows on a breakneck adventure,” says Abrams. “And in Rise Of Skywalker it’s the biggest and most dastardly threat the galaxy has seen. The opportunity here was to have this group that has now become a surrogate family have to deal with this massive horror: the war to end all wars. Not just on the outside, but one the inside, which is to say it’s meant to be as much of a challenge personally as it is physically.”

Abrams’ war of wars has been well equipped: The First Order is stacked with new brass in the form of Richard E. Grant’s Allegiant General Pryde, neo-fascist ranks swollen by triangular-winged TIE Daggers and blood-red garrisons of newly commissioned Sith troopers, their angular crimson armour giving a fresh twist on the faceless squaddies -- much to Hasbro’s delight. The Resistance, too, will see its share of reinforcements, including Billy Dee Williams’ Lando Calrissian -- reprising the role after 36 years. Even General Leia Organa will return: the late Carrie Fisher making an appearance thanks to the discovery of unused footage that somehow fit the narrative perfectly. 

The action itself has been teased in the barest glimpses: Rey and Kylo duelling on the wreckage of a Death Star; Rebel X-Wings and blockade runners fleeing destruction; a sky bristling with Imperial Star Destroyers, their numbers great enough to block out the star.

The presence of Old Empire firepower, easily overlooked, points to The Rise Of Skywalker’s biggest curveball to date. Back in April, when Abrams showed the first trailer at Star Wars Celebration in Chicago, the reveal of the film’s title was almost eclipsed by the familiar cackle of the original Emperor echoing over those final frames. When Ian McDiarmid himself walked out to demand, in full Palpatine rasp, that the projector “roll it again”, all present lost their shit in unison. How could this be? Is he a clone? A Force projection? Did he survive that fateful plummet down the Death Star shaft” Could Palpatine have been telling Anakin the truth when he spoke of Darth Plagueis The Wise’s cure for death? Irrespective of the fine print, Star Wars’ biggest of bads is officially back in business.

“Some people feel like we shouldn’t revisit the idea of Palpatine, and I completely understand that,” Abrams concedes. “But if you’re looking at these nine films as one story, I don’t know many books where the last few chapters have nothing to do with those that have come before. If you look at the first eight films, all the set-ups of what we’re doing in IX are there in plain view.”

The sheet scale of the task he’s undertaken cannot be overstated. Star Wars has been, by far, the most enduring and influential story of the modern era. Having to put the capstone on a saga that has shaped both childhoods and adult lives for several generations is something neither Abrams, nor producer Kathleen Kennedy, looking ahead to what the future holds for Star Wars, take at all lightly. 

[Above image description: “Is it time for now Supreme Leader Ren (Adam Driver) to fulfill his destiny?”]

“We don’t have a crystal ball,” says Kennedy. “We tried to look at Solo and see if we could do two movies a year, and we found, ‘Hmm, that’s not going to work.’ So we backed off of that a little. But that doesn’t mean we don’t think about lots of different stories. That's the exciting thing about this universe.

“It’s been an honor to inherit and continue this iconic saga that has touched audiences for so many years, and we feel the weight of that every time we set out to tell these stories.”

The wider universe will, of course, live on. Whether through The Mandalorian on TV, or all-new movie sagas currently in development by Johnson and Game of Thrones’ David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. But for the core story, what for so many people is Star Wars, the final destination is now in sight. 

“I’ve always loved the start of something,” says Abrams, “because of what it promises. Endings are hard. A great ending not only needs to honour everything that’s come before but, whether it’s a novel, a series or a film, you want to have it feel like it could end no other way.”

And so it comes back to feeling. In a world of meticulously planned franchises and strategic, multi-phased rollouts, Star Wars, as its core, has always trusted in The Force. Abrams had not expected to be here, had not expected to finish this tale. But now, as he places the final pieces of the puzzle, he feels like it was always meant to be. There’s a symmetry to him being the one to deliver The Rise Of Skywalker, just as there is in the fact that, faced with this near insurmountable challenge, his impulse was not to assemble story groups or worry about the top-down view, but to switch off his targeting computer, let go his conscious self and act on instinct. 

“This story is alive, and you have to listen to it,” he says. “When you land on something that gives you the chills, that’s the only way you know if it feels right. You can deconstruct it all you want and try and make sense of how you found it, but somehow it finds you.”

He pauses, reflecting for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just the way I can’t quite explain how we had this footage of Carrie that we’re using. You can say, ‘Oh well, it’s just luck, it just happened to be,’ but it feels like something else. And I neither can nor want to explain any of it.”

Just as every saga has a beginning, so too will this one find its end. Abrams and Terrio have taken Lucas’ vision to its conclusion, and the story that began on 25 May 1977 will end on 19 December 2019.

“It’s been a pretty crazy ride,” reflect Terrio. “When I was a kid watching Return Of The Jedi on loop, I felt like I was the only person Yoda was speaking to. And then there I was all these years later, sitting in a tent in Jordan doing this film. You have this highly personal relationship to Star Wars, and then, suddenly, you find yourself right in the middle of it. That feeling is sort of indescribable.”

It’s one that, at the very least, is almost certainly worth having a movie interrupted for.

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER IS IN CINEMAS FROM 19 DECEMBER

((Thank you to users @arlath_ma and @chinchingin on twitter for their photos of the article))

Article images can be found here: https://twitter.com/arlath_ma/status/1178648719325093888?s=19

[ice-cream-nekogirl]

The Zombie Trio~! 

A trio of misfit teenagers and best friends who are tired of all the bullshit in their lives and taking a stand for themselves together. They’re fierce, sassy and powerful, but also silly and love to have a good time, especially with one another and the rest of their classmates in the Hero Course. 

(From Left to Right): Ashlen Kyanse (OC), Amy Martinez (OC) and Hitoshi Shinsou (Canon)

Note: This is all fiction and part of a fanfiction that my girl @ashleigh-luvs-14cats and I collab on~!  And I felt like making TV Tropes for our group that we made in the fanfics with Shinsou~! :3 

Adorkable: The three of them are pretty quirky and dorky in ways that make them quite endearing, especially when they start singing and dancing together or taking goofy pictures and playing games with each other.

Affectionate Nickname: They give each other a LOT of cutesy nicknames.

Amy has ‘Ames’ (by both Shinsou and Ashlen), Witchy (by Ashlen) and Dummy (by Shinsou)

Ashlen has ‘Ash’ (by both Amy and Shinsou), Love (by Shinsou) and Honey (by Amy)

Shinsou has ‘Toshi’ (by both Amy and Ashlen), Tosh (by Amy) and My Heart (by Ashlen)

All of The Other Reindeer: All three of them have experienced rejection and bullying from their peers simply for being different from other people.

Amy was mocked for supposedly being ‘quirkless’ and then later when she discovers that she’s a witch, the pro-heroes felt too intimidated to care for her so they abandoned her and left her in the care of other witches. But even in America after the coven was outed to the world she was bullied by other witches for her quirky personality.

Ashlen had no friends in her school upon being moved to America and taken in by a rich family, because her peers thought she was snobby or dangerous to be around once some of her peers pretended to be her friend and discovered her second quirk.

Shinsou’s only real friend was Amy while other kids picked on him or made him a scapegoat because they called his quirk ‘villainous’ and he was ignored by his peers, who also called him a ‘future villain’ and as a result he had no other friends except for Amy.

Ambiguous Disorder: All three of them have some variety of undiagnosed mental health issues that shows up from time to time but it’s never confirmed.

Iida believes that Amy has some sort of Bipolar Disorder or Borderline Personality Disorder due to her mood swings, lashing out, risky behaviors, unstable relationships and extreme fear of abandonment. However, Amy’s inability to control her emotions and relationship difficulties and triggers that come from either certain events or certain people also highly resemble Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. Although Amy also shows many signs of Depression as well since she’s had moments of self-loathing, suicidal thoughts and detaches herself from loved ones when her intrusive thoughts haunt her.

Ashlen, similarly, has several moments of anxiety, self-loathing, depression, panic attacks and overwhelming emotional reactions especially when she is triggered by her painful memories to the point where she needs her dog The Colonel for emotional support and takes medication to regulate her troubled emotions. Implying that she may have some sort of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or Depression, as she, like Amy, suffers from self-hatred and also has a poor self-image that adds to her own intrusive thoughts.

Likewise, Shinsou is prone to panic attacks, night terrors and anxiety when he’s overwhelmed, has poor sleeping patterns  (that may indicate some form of insomnia), poor coping mechanisms (eating and over-indulgence) and moments of self-loathing, intrusive and troubling thoughts, and anxiety imply that like Amy and Ashlen, he may have some type of Depression.  

Anti-Hero Team: All three of them count, while Amy and Shinsou are straight examples of anti-heroes by being selfish and/or rude troublemakers who look out mainly for themselves but still have the goal of being heroes and do occasionally do the right thing. Ashlen is more of a Classical Anti-Hero as her insecurities are the only thing holding her back rather than a compromised morality.

Badass Crew: They’re all capable of fighting villains on their own, but together they’re quite a force to be reckoned with as their classmates each dread the idea of taking on all three of them together as a crew due to Amy’s magic, Ashlen cancel quirk and Shinsou’s brainwashing.

Beauty, Brains and Brawn: Sweet and bright Ashlen is the Beauty, sarcastic and gloomy Shinsou is the Brains while impulsive and magical Amy is the Brawn.

Beware The Silly Ones: They love to joke around with others, especially people they think are stupid, but are NOT to be underestimated.

Amy embodies this trope, as she certainly looks like a harmless and ditsy girl but she’s an extremely powerful witch who can hex, jinx and curse people, and is very easily provoked.

Shinsou doesn’t look like a silly guy, but he’s pretty deadpan, witty and can easily join in Amy’s wackiness from time to time (esp. when Panic! At The Disco is involved), but he’s still a proficient fighter and knows how to brainwash people just like that especially when angry.

Ashlen is the least silly of the three as well as the nicest, but she does have a sense of humor and can joke around just as much as Amy and Shinsou, however angering her  is a very, very bad idea since she’s very good with swords and WILL paralyze your ass if you piss her off.

Birds of A Feather/Not So Different: Two introverts and an introverted extrovert, while they seem pretty opposite at first glance, the three of them actually have a LOT in common with each other.

Amy and Shinsou relate to feeling discriminated and hated by others for having ‘villainous’ powers, and they’re both equally witty and mischievous and have been friends since childhood because of this. And Amy and Ashlen are probably more different than her and Shinsou, but Ashlen has a similar sense of humor and tastes in movies, cartoons and music, as well as feelings of loneliness and isolation that enables the girls to bond. And then Ashlen and Shinsou can bond over having very practical quirks, while she’s a nicer person than he is, he gets along with her great because they’re both introverts, insecure by nature and then they also discover that they’re both pretty smart-alecky and learn to appreciate each other to the point where they start dating. 

The Caretaker: They each can act as this towards one another. Ashlen is the prime example as she often plays mother hen to both Amy and Shinsou by making sure they’re both healthy and feeling secure. Shinsou also acted as one to Amy before Ashlen by making sure the witch was feeling okay and recovering from an incident. But he can also easily take care of Ashlen, especially when she is suffering from a panic attack or is in need of comfort. And while Amy is usually being cared for by either Shinsou or Ashlen, she can still play the role just as well by checking up on either one, whether it’s consoling Shinsou when he’s upset, or spending time with Ashlen and comforting her when she’s sad or overwhelmed.

Color-Coded Characters: They each have their own different colors schemes, Amy (Pink), Ashlen (Blue) and Shinsou (Purple).

Comic Trio: Downplayed due to Shinsou and Ashlen being far more level-headed than Amy.

Amy is usually the schemer who comes up with the crazy ideas, Shinsou isn’t a Fool by any means but nonetheless tends to follow Amy’s lead because he thinks it’ll be hilarious, while Ashlen plays the Only Sane Man and attempts (but usually fails) at reigning the two of them in.

Dance Battler: They’re all quite proficient in dancing.

Amy is the only one who hasn’t had any professional training in dancing, but she learns how to be quite good at it by watching videos and is good at physical comedy and making funny faces to make her dancing very entertaining and impossible to not watch. Although she does later get lessons so she can dance with Bakugo. 

Ashlen is the only one of three to be considered a dancer as she has had professional training and is highly skilled in ballet, waltzing, salsa and other forms of dance, is very flexible and can also perform some very impressive flips, pirouettes and spins that make her a marvel to watch and she also can utilize some dance moves in combat.

Shinsou had to take dance lessons for a school play during the second Culture Festival, as he had no real training in dancing and merely danced along with Amy but also learned watching some videos, especially ones with Yanis Marshall and gradually became a skilled dancer.

Dark and Troubled Past: They all carry some emotional baggage from their pasts, which actually enables them to bond because they all agree that they’re each ‘pretty fucked up’.

Amy was discriminated against because she was believed to be quirkless as her powers didn’t start manifesting until she was 9 years old. When she found out her witch heritage, hunters emerged from the shadows and killed her parents by burning her mother and lynching her father, while the pro-heroes saved her from getting killed they gave her away to Fiona to live at the coven in New Orleans, which forced Amy to leave Shinsou. The coven was small but very dysfunctional under Fiona’s neglectful care and undermining Cordelia as Amy tried and failed to have her sisters get along. And then Amy witnessed several murders, bloodshed and betrayal that traumatized her into the hardened but unstable girl she is today and she still has anger and abandonment issues.

Ashlen had a normal and happy life complete with an ordinary but useful quirk, but All For One arrived one fateful night and murdered her parents right before her eyes and then implanted her second quirk in her which was extremely painful and nearly killed her. Although the Sennen family adopted her, she was ostracized by her peers  at school who either thought she was a monster due to her second quirk or believed her to be snobby and entitled due to her family namesake. Then what friends she did made turned out to be fake who only used her in an attempt to make themselves look better. As a result, Ashlen grew up reserved, distrusting of others and fearful of herself due to her unstable powers and still suffers from self-esteem issues and a guilt complex.

Shinsou came from a normal family, but because of his brainwashing quirk he also faced some discrimination as his peers and even some teachers deemed it a ‘villainous quirk’ which diminished his self-esteem especially when students either bullied him or when his classmates deliberately ignored him and pretended he didn’t exist. While he had Amy to make it better, her leaving made him feel more alone than before. Without his only friend, he became much colder and more distant, which made him an easier target. In middle school, he acted out times by brainwashing two bullies into beating each other up, while he mellowed out in the 9th grade, he became much more cynical and aloof, having no desire to make friends until Amy returned in his life.

Dysfunction Junction: Despite getting along really well, they’re not immune to bickering, especially Amy and Shinsou, with Ashlen having to play the peacekeeper and break them up. And then Shinsou often acts as Amy’s enabler and lets her do anything she wants (much to Ashlen’s disapproval), particularly when the witch is in a bad mood with Ashlen uncertain of how to approach her and vice-versa, Amy can easily enable Shinsou when he’s in a bad mood. At times the three end up walking on eggshells around each other when things get tense. Which is ultimately why Amy says they’re more like family than a mere friendship because they actually deal with important things beyond school.

Exhausted Eyebags: All three of them sport them from time to time. Shinsou’s are almost always prominent, but Amy and Ashlen’s eyebags show when they’re overwhelmed or anxious. Although Amy’s are also more prominent when she’s angry or in a foul mood. In fact, this trait is also partially why they called themselves ‘The Zombie Trio’.

Fighter, Mage, Thief: Ashlen is the (Fighter) due to her swordsmanship, expert combat skills and speed she utilizes for her Cancel quirk and she’s the one who’s mostly on the straight and narrow. Amy is the (Mage) as she’s a witch with several powers and can use 6 of the 7 wonders that she uses any chance needed. And Shinsou is the (Thief), having to rely on being manipulative and sneaky for his Brainwashing quirk to work and allow him to trick and deceive opponents.

Fruedian Trio:

Amy is the emotional, reckless and borderline psychotic Id

Ashlen is the calm, collected and grounded Ego

Shinsou is the logical, deadpan and pragmatic Superego

Gasshole: They sometimes casually engage in burping contests between each other, especially Amy and Shinsou, joined by Kaminari and Kirishima, with Amy and Shinsou being quite proficient in the ‘art of burping’. But to their surprise, Ashlen herself can belt out some fairly impressive, unladylike belches when she loosens up and plays around with them.

Amy: YAY! Ash! You’re as nasty as we are!

Good Is Not Soft: Amy and Shinsou are trouble-makers but also training to be heroes and Ashlen is the nicest of the three, but neither three of them are pushovers and have no issue roughing up villains or playing dirty if needed.

Good Parents: They each have some pretty decent and upright parental figures in their lives.

While Amy had an Abusive Parent in Fiona, Cordelia is Amy’s godmother  who loves her unconditionally although she is prone to spoiling her too. But she never stops looking out for her and is very supportive of her. Amy’s biological mother and father were very loving towards her and comforted her in their final moments.

Shinsou’s mother and father support and love him and always express pride in their son for getting himself in the Hero Course. They’re also Good Parents to Amy, despite her not being their biological child.

Ashlen’s biological mother and father were great parents who adored their daughter, and Ashlen’s parental figures that include her sisters and adoptive father also love her dearly and look out for her.

Heartbreak and Ice Cream: Their go-to whenever one of them is extremely depressed and upset, as Amy shamelessly drinks soda and binge-eats cookies, chocolate, candy and ice cream when she’s sad, and then she has no issue sharing her sweets with Ashlen and Shinsou. Ashlen, a sweet tooth herself sometimes may have a soda and some sweets when she’s sad, and even Shinsou has no shame in eating cookies and ice cream when he’s upset or heartbroken.

In-Series Nickname: Bakugo has nicknames for each of them, calling Amy ‘Witch Bitch’, Shinsou ‘Eyebags’ and Ashlen ‘Princess’.

Likewise, Madison tends to call Amy ‘Hermione’, Shinsou ‘Purplehead’ and Ashlen ‘Ellen Ripley’.

Interclass Friendship: A variation as each of them come from a unique background that doesn’t at all affect their friendship.

Amy, while she used to come from a normal upper middle-class family with a mother who was both a witch and a hero, she later had to move with the coven, an independent group of socialites and politically active witches who descended from Salem. Whom are also warriors who act as allies for hero society and Amy being something of an upper-class socialite and witch warrior.

Ashlen also came from a pretty normal upper-middle class family, but she was taken in by the Sennen family. A royal family  that dates back to the ancient times of the pharaohs and is connected with Magic and spirit energy lead by two powerful women and Ashlen’s adoptive sisters and royal-like figures. Making Ashlen a princess of sorts, but she’s still  a fighter from a high class family.

Shinsou is the only one who comes from a relatively normal family with his parents having modest occupations and his father being a doctor rather than a hero, so his family makes good enough money for Shinsou to be considered upper middle class but unlike Amy and Ashlen, his family has no connections.

Kiddie Kid: In a way, all three of them oscillate between endearing acting-their-age childishness and adult-like maturity. Although it’s Played Straight with Amy, Downplayed with Shinsou and Ashlen.

Amy’s pretty impulsive and immature, even enjoying things that would probably be more suited for pre-teens (toys, cute things, etc.) and still likes playing childish games like Hide and Seek and Tag You’re It.

Shinsou, despite being more mature than Amy, laughs at some of her childish jokes, isn’t above playing along with her games (especially Tag) and can sometimes be just as immature (if not more so) as Amy. 

Ashlen is actually the most mature of the three, but she can also loosen up enough to play around and fun with Amy and she enjoys the same cute things and toys that Amy likes.

Lame Comeback: Amy, Ashlen and Shinsou are usually pretty witty but when they’re too angry they usually make some lame remarks when they’re too upset to think of anything good.  

Like An Old Married Couple: At times the three resemble a family, with Ashlen being ‘The Mommy’ of the group, Shinsou being ‘The Daddy’ and Amy being ‘the Child’. Shinsou often enables Amy’s antics, but knows how to dish out Toguh Love when needed, and Ashlen, although nurturing and loving, encourages Shinsou to not be so lenient on Amy, their hyperactive, mischievous best friend. It’s even more prominent when Shinsou and Ashlen are discussing and/or arguing about Amy’s behavior as if they were parents talking about their child and even dote on her at times. Likewise, Amy at times can cling to either Ashlen or Shinsou if they were a mom and dad, and also going to Shinsou when she wants something from him, and Ashlen when in need for emotional support. 

Like Brother and Sister: Amy and Shinsou are very much like brother and sister, and Amy considers Ashlen like a sister to her and all three of them function together like a family.

Living Emotional Crutch: All three of them function as this to each other in some way.

Amy says that Shinsou’s the only reason she came back to Japan and doesn’t know what she’d do without him as she suffers an emotional breakdown at the thought of not having him in her life because he was her first ally from the very beginning and best friend from the start. However, because she cares about him so much she nearly cuts off ties with him again just to protect him from her. And as she befriends Ashlen, she admits to feeling closer to her than anyone she’s ever met, feels comfortable around her but also greatly fears her leaving her the most which is why she had another mental breakdown at the thought and went back to her mansion for a time, and then she confesses that she probably would have gone on another homicidal rage if not for Ashlen’s influence.

Shinsou feels closest to Amy overall since she was his very first friend the best friend he’s ever had, and when she left to New Orleans, he took it badly and broke down hard, becoming more distant from others. And he nearly breaks down when Amy lied by saying she didn’t want to be his friend anymore after she went on a rampage at UA. He also at times clings to Amy because he knows that no matter what, she’ll always support him. Also, as Ashlen enters the picture, because she’s the first person to ever show him any true, intimate love he feels especially close to her, adores her and takes any argument they have hard and admits that while she’s his first and only girlfriend, that he couldn’t love another woman the way he loves her, because she’s the only one who can make him feel loved and secure. 

Upon meeting Amy, Ashlen loves her very much and sees her as her very best friend and a true friend, even nurtures her because she grew to love her so much. Even as Amy starts to show her true colors and deeper psychological issues, Ashlen’s love doesn’t fade, but she does fear the thought of losing Amy more than anything, and at one point pleaded with her not to leave her alone without a best friend. Finally, when she finds love in Shinsou, she feels safe, warm and loved by him, and not unlike him, takes their arguments extremely hard, even taking all the blame because she fears losing him just as much due to her unconditional love for him. 

Nice, Mean and In-between: Ashlen (Nice), Shinsou(Mean) and Amy (In-between). However Shinsou and Amy can switch the roles where Amy is acting as the crueler one and Shinsou can be more laid-back and decent, but Ashlen is almost always the Nice on.

Odd Friendship: These three make up a pretty odd but nonetheless very close friendship.

First you have Amy and Shinsou, a chaotic girl with energy for days and a low-key, apathetic guy who doesn’t care about much things, but they’re best friends and have been since childhood.

Then Amy meets Ashlen, a sweet but shy girl who became very close and best friends with the much more outgoing and obnoxious Amy.

Then there’s Ashlen and Shinsou, she’s much more of a sunshiny optimist while Shinsou’s more of a cynical pessimist.

Positive Friend Influence: When they’re not being bad influences or doing mischievous pranks, each make each other happier and better people overall.

For Amy, Shinsou reminds her of her humanity and all other better memories before the coven. Shinsou also can at times be able to reign her in when she’s upset, and enables her to think before she acts. And then Ashlen’s influence is what allows Amy to be much more reasonable and gentler, as her friendship helps Amy learn more lessons in being kinder to people and to forgive the people she felt hurt by.

For Ashlen, having an outgoing and supportive friend like Amy made her much more confident in herself, allowing her to be more assertive, proud of who she is, and she also learns to see her own beauty and even gains a newfound wild side. Likewise, Shinsou encourages her to loosen up a little bit and his endless attraction and devotion to her also adds to her confidence and boosts her self-image.

For Shinsou, Amy’s fun-loving and cheerful personality makes him laugh and allows him to have fun and get a little bit goofy as he humors her and can join in on her antics without letting life overwhelm him. And then having Ashlen as his friend and girlfriend makes him want to be more compassionate and he also learns to be less envious of others, more secure in himself and she also helps him boost his own self-image as well. 

Power Trio: Together they’re a ridiculously powerful group of fighters who are even stronger together.

Ragtag Bunch of Misfits: They’re a group of friends made up of a witch, a trained fighter and a world-weary cynic trying to become heroes. Together the trio consists of.

A loud-mouthed, hyperactive Cute Witch who grew up in an infamous coven of powerful witches. Who happens to have a wide array of powers and is a little bit unstable to boot.

A skilled but troubled Warrior Princess with two quirks, one being highly unstable and dangerous. But she still has a strong sense of justice even if people haven’t been kind to her.

A curt and surly Deadpan Snarker with the power of Mind Manipulation and a less than approachable demeanor. However, he still wants to do the right thing, even if he is a bit of a Troll too.

Red Baron:

Amy: “The Coven Heroine: Tricky Witch”

Ashlen: “The Neutralizer”

Shinsou: “Mindjack”

Red Oni Blue Oni: Amy is the Red Oni to both Ashlen and Shinsou’s Blue Oni, although Ashlen can also be the Red Oni to Shinsou’s Blue Oni.

Serious Business: Four Words: Panic! At The Disco. Amy and Shinsou take Brendon Urie very seriously and take any ill remark against him as blasphemy and they manage to get Ashlen on the bandwagon.

Socially Awkward Hero: They’re all pretty socially awkward in their own ways.

Amy is overwhelmingly cheerful and over-the-top for most people, vulgar in speech, has no sense of personal space (as she constantly touches and hugs other people randomly) and usually unintentionally makes people uncomfortable by talking about inappropriate things that really shouldn’t be discussed in public, but she is generally friendly and does mean well.

Ashlen has the best social skills out of the three, but is still pretty shy, awkward by nature, prone to social anxiety, and gets nervous around people she doesn’t know, and is also easily flustered around boys she likes.

Shinsou is aloof, rude and snarky, and doesn’t go out of his way to befriend anyone except Amy, but is also pretty awkward when someone is being genuinely nice to him, and then he gets extremely nervous and flustered around Ashlen, to the point where he resembles Midoriya when he speaks to her.

Superpowered Evil Side: All three of them have superpowered sides or experienced power highs that enabled them to go berserk, lose control of their powers and even made them turn homicidal, even towards allies.

Amy’s Sentio Compassios can turn into Sentio Furia when greatly provoked. Already legitimately insane, she easily gets drunk on her magic and loves toying with her opponents, and when she’s that angry she freely lets go of all control during a rampage to unleash her power and destroy almost everything and anybody in her path, friend or foe.

Ashlen’s second quirk Dark Manifest is what makes her go berserk, even though she’s level-headed by nature. she has issues controlling her second quirk as when she’s pushed to the brink, it causes Dark Manifest to overwhelm her right mind and turns her into a bloodthirsty murderer and makes her lose her morality and kill whoever provoked her and anyone else who she feels like purely for fun.

Shinsou developed an alter-ego that Amy calls ‘Control Freak’. He wanted to get stronger and took up a training session with Amy’s friend Nan, and she and Madison give him a potion to amplify his brainwashing to make it more like Concilium. However, as his quirk’s power was amplified, the potion cost him his sanity and he lost himself momentarily and attacked even his friends and forced them to fight each other because the power high gave him an overwhelming sense of control over everyone regardless of who got seriously hurt..

Sweet Tooth: Amy is the most obvious one with a sweet tooth, but Ashlen also very much enjoys sweets and while Shinsou says he doesn’t love sweets, he’ll still eat them, especially when upset.

Token Trio:  Amy (witch), Ashlen (two quirks) and Shinsou (single quirk)

Toxic Friend Influence: Downplayed, at least with Ashlen. Amy and Shinsou are toxic friend influences to each other to begin with and bring out each other’s bitchy side, but they can also sometimes be able to encourage Ashlen to indulge in wild and crazy antics such as drinking Amy’s infamous Magic Juice at a party or pulling hilarious pranks on other classmates.

!Tres Amigos!: Duh.

True Companions: They all came together recently, with Amy and Shinsou being Childhood Friends and later meeting Ashlen, but the three of them are very close, tight-knit, love each other’s company, comfort each other when upset and always support each other and have each other’s back no matter what.

Two Girls And A Guy: Amy and Ashlen are both girls with Shinsou as the sole guy of the trio.

Underestimating Badassery: Since Amy and Shinsou often bicker or make crude jokes with Ashlen having to look after them like a babysitter, people often take them at face value... until all three of them start beating the living hell out of villains and showing just how powerful they are.

Weirdness Magnet: They’ve all been exposed and/or attracted to some of the craziest supernatural things that are weird even by hero society standards.

Amy, being a witch, gets exposed to all types of weird and magical happenings with witches, vampires, demons, ghosts, a minotaur, voodoo queens and the Anti-Christ so she claims ‘nothing shocks her’.

Ashlen’s family actually overlooks several different supernatural things that include ghosts and demons, and so Ashlen is no stranger to the supernatural and is unsurprised by stranger things.

And because Shinsou’s close to Amy and Madison, he knows many things about witches and has become less and less fazed when something strange happens.

With a Friend and a Stranger: The whole set-up of the dynamic with Amy and Shinsou being childhood friends and Ashlen being Amy’s new friend who instantly gets along with Shinsou, and later, becomes his girlfriend. Unlike many examples though, these three are NOT a love-triangle, but DO involve one or two different love triangles OUTSIDE of the the trio.

You Wouldn’t Like Me When I’m Angry: Angering either three of them equals big trouble.

Amy is very easy to provoke and she’s The Dreaded in her class for a reason as she will start screaming, destroying things and fly into a rage if angered. And should you push a major button, it was nice knowing you.

Ashlen is actually quite slow to anger, but when she’s angry she gives a fierce glare and ALWAYS delivers righteous punishment to the one who angers her. And this is scary even when her second quirk isn’t awoken yet...

Shinsou is usually pretty levelheaded but when he gets upset, he gets upset, becoming both irrational and aggressive as he will attack the person who pissed him off, and play dirty as well just to let them feel pain.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Early Ink Hell, chapter 1- Imprisonment

Susie woke up to the sound of Bendyland workers milling one floor above her. She was curled up on the cold, iron floor, right under the heat vent to stay warm. Taking to the same morning routine as always, she put another hatch mark into her diary- 528 now- and checked the elevator doors. As always, they were still locked. There wouldn't be much to do until the residents of the cages that lined the walls woke up and she'd have someone to talk to.

Susie knew why she was imprisoned, and it wasn't just because of her transformation. Everyone had been just fine with her appearance in the months she'd spent acquiring fame for her concerts, in which she performed as the one and only Alice Angel. It's not as though she were some circus animal slave either- she could go home at night, do everything she'd used to, go dancing with her friends and have them ask what had happened as if she'd ever tell, and generally live her life- albeit with constant eyes on her for her cartoonish appearance. Living in a body made of ink had its problems, yes, but they were physical and mental problems, not social ones.

No. The reason she was imprisoned was because she'd nearly killed Allison.

Ever since her transformation, Susie had shared her mind with another. It was hard to describe without making it sound metaphorical- a little voice inside her telling her to act on her worst impulses, becoming stronger, fighting for dominance. The demon had told Susie to kill many different people at some point or another- Sammy and Joey, who had killed her, random men who had harassed her on the street, even herself when she was getting down on herself for allowing this transformation to happen to her. Sometimes, it was hard to separate the demon from her own thoughts. One day, it took control, and Allison had just happened to be nearest.

It felt just like losing control due to emotion. She'd clawed Allison across the face in the plain view of the recording studio, grabbed her by the nose, and bashed her head against the nearby wall multiple times, torn her hair out, and was ready to start bashing her face in when she'd been torn off of Allison by the men of the department.

The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds. Susie might have mistaken it as her having a mental breakdown if not for what had happened next. As the men had attempted to hand her off to some GENT workers who would have known what to do with her, she broke free using a twisting move that she would never have known how to do and ran off, screaming at them in a twisted, demonic voice that they shouldn't dare mess with an angel. That had not been her voice.

Susie had been caught, though, and brought deep underground to this prison, where she'd been locked in an iron cage. There were other ink creatures near her- butcher gang members and Boris clones, mostly. There had been two items in her hand- her diary, which she'd just happened to be carrying with her, and the vast majority of Allison's chestnut hair. She-or the demon, rather, since the action made her want to wretch- arranged the hair and massaged it into the ends of her own, so she was wearing it like hair extensions. If only I had a mirror, the other presence said, I bet it looks just perfect. Perfect, like you never could be. I'm going to beat you, Susie replied to it. We have nothing but time, now. Best of luck. You're weak. You're fragile. You'll never have control of this body again. As though to prove it, the presence moved Susie's fingers through its long hair.

Susie fought hard for control of her body that day. It was like having an emotionally exhausting argument. The lights were out before she finally wrestled control out of the demon's hands. She woke up the next morning out of control again, but she fought herself into control, and quicker this time. Now that she had both control and light, she could write in her diary. It was a good way to keep the demon's fighting and screaming off her mind.

---

Day 4

Well, Actually this is day 6, but it was really dark on days 4 and 5 since it was the weekend. I couldn't write because the only light in the place were a couple of flashlights that a few ink creatures in other cages were toying with. I don't think I've mentioned it before, but there are other items in some of the cages, too- Boris clones chewing on baseballs like sad dogs in a shelter, butcher gang members playing cards. I wondered where on earth the stuff came from before day 4.

On day 4, Thomas Connor came to visit us. That isn't a joke. Allison's husband- the one I'd met a couple times while hanging out at her house- came down here, turned the lights on, and went down the rows letting most of the Boris clones- who had, siince before he even entered, been wagging their tails and even barking if that's something they could do- and some of the butcher gang members- who had also been chattering happily about his arrival- out of their cages. I supposed that I should have been shocked that he knew about the ink creatures, but he always did seem troubled. Now I guess I see why! Then I realized that I put his girlfriend in the hospital, she's probably still there, and her hair is sticking out of Alice's like I'm some kind of hideous vain sorceress with hair extensions. As an aside, can I just say that my other half did not plan this one out well? Allison's hair was outstanding when she ripped it out, but now it's matted and oozing with greasy ink from me sleeping on the ink-stained floor of this cage and having no way to clean or brush it. Thanks, you brilliant demon. Now it's morally and physically repugnant.

Anyhow, I realized that Thomas wouldn't be happy to see me, and so before he came to my cage, I tucked Allison's hair over my shoulder and turned to face the wall as he got closer, hoping he wouldn't recognize me. I think he did, though- I peeked over my shoulder, and he was giving me a dirty look.

After he'd released all the ink creatures he'd wanted to, he basically let them wander around the area to socialize and stretch their legs. He even threw tennis balls for some of the Borises. At one point, a Barley seemed to lose control of himself, latched himself onto a Boris' leg, and bit into it, making it squeal. Thomas had to rush over, take him by the arms, and drag it kicking and garbling to its cage. He said something to the effect of "why do I still let out these toon-dominant Barleys."

Toon dominant? I wish I could figure out what that means.

I don't know how long all of this went on for-an hour, maybe- but at a certain point, Thomas looked down at his watch and then started loading the toons back into their cages. Once again, I looked away while he passed me. I don't know why, but this time I decided to speak up.

"Can I have a flashlight?"

"What did you say?" Thomas growled, approaching me.

"A flashlight. You see, every time I go to sleep, this demon who lives in my head tries to take over again. But, as an ink creature, I don't need to sleep. If you could just give me a flashlight like you gave to some of the others, I could shine it in my face to stay up when it's dark. Please- I don't know how else I'm going to beat this thing!" The last part was a lie. It was all lies, really. Sleep is pretty much the only time I don't have to deal with her. But I was giving him my best pitiful look, and it must have worked, because I could tell he was melting.

"How do I know this is Susie talking and not the demon you're talking about?" he asked, but he asked it gently.

"Does it matter? What's the harm in giving her a flashlight? What could she do with it?"

Uncertainty clouded Thomas' features. "You have a point. Now, look- I don't have a flashlight on me, but I think there's a spare one upstairs. I'll go get it for you. Why don't I grab some scissors and cut off that hair, too?"

I got the sense he was testing me- surely the demon wouldn't have wanted it removed. Easy test to pass. "Thank you. I don't need the reminder of what she- I- whatever- you know what I mean."

A few minutes later he was back. he started by just trying to cut it through the bars of the cage, but it didn't work too well, so before long I was out of my cage for the first time, letting him cut my hair.

"So, how did you start coming down here?" I asked.

"A couple weeks ago out of two kinds of guilt. For one, guilt about being a part of this. For another, guilt because Allison is always helping out with something this time of the week, and I thought I ought to be, too. And I can't think of anyone who better needs some help than these ink creatures. I don't know how they're made and I don't want to so don't tell me, but still. You all could use a break. Usually I bring some cookies, too, but Allison wasn't around to bake them and I forgot to unfreeze the frozen ones."

"That's really sweet of you. Is Allison okay?"

"Oh, she'll be fine. No brain damage, thank God. A few broken bones. And she'll be wearing a wig over her mess of a scalp for weeks. She's fine with that, though. Wants to try platinum blonde."

"Oh? That'll look so nice on her! And I'm so glad she's okay."

"Yeah. Well, you're done," he said, cutting the last bits of Allison's hair out. "Back into your cage." I obeyed. He's a strong, quick man- I don't think I could have made a freedom dash if I wanted to. Still, I think it's good that I made an ally. Who knows? Maybe one day he'll let us out of here.

---

Day 8

Today, Sammy and Joey came to visit. I knew something was up before they even arrived because everyone had gone dead silent, save for the whining of the two Boris clones who can vocalize. The air was filled with paralyzing dread. By the end of their visit, I knew why.

[kalimuses]

“ i thought a military man might be a little more punctual. i don’t imagine utah traffic kept you– no need to look so tense, captain. i’m only half serious. ”

steve hadn’t been back here since james was born. a tired old home that had paid witness to some of his greatest joys and many of his lowest points post-thawing. he’d watched his daughter take her first steps here and washed her mother's ashes from under her fingernails after the snap. despite the pain these walls triggered, part of him would always associate this as his home and this intrusion set every nerve in his body on edge. aegror, the anti-mutant movements darling. everything they ever wanted to sell to push their inhumane laws right into parliament. the man sat with a casualness that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he smiled invitingly.

“ aegror, ” steve addressed him, a clipped and challenging tone. he knew nothing of this man but what was spattered in across the news. a plague, they called him. a true kill on sight mutant. if everything was to be believed, steve understood why. just this month alone, five officers passed from sudden stage four cancer. all been present for his arrest attempt, all had been dead within the week. “ is this the part where you tell me why i came from one side of the country to the other? ” his letter had been vague and reeked of false intentions but civil; more civil than he’d ever expected from the media’s monster. if this was a chance he could end this, just between them, he had to take it before more lives ended up in the crossfire. the violence was growing and steve no longer feared threats from above, but the inching realisation that the world may tear itself apart all on its own. of course, steve wasn’t totally naive. bucky was on the hill outside with a sniper rifle aimed through the window in the likely event that this was, in fact, a trap.

“ seth, ” he corrected. “ no need for latin among friends. and i’d like us to be friend’s steve. ” he sounded almost giddy at the prospect. like nothing could delight him more than the idea of befriending captain america. this only served to unsettle steve more, which he was certain was seth’s true intention. “ you think i’d have been a little more creative, with all the time i had to think about it in the state home growing up. it’s a bit of a cliche. but they branded me a disease and i’ve never been one to turn my nose up at a good nickname. of course, everything just sounds a little more poetic in latin,” he rambled fondly. as if his youth in a mutant rehabilitation had been a summer camp rather than years of intermittent torture. he felt so far from that now, his memories sung more like an old film. like he was watching the child struggle before his eyes, he wanted to reach out and help him, take him away but his fingers would never reach him and all he could do was change the channel because it was only a story. “ i understand you don’t know me captain but i do know a great deal about you. ”

steve’s shoulders were squared defensively, a perfect opposite to the other man’s easy slopes. he was very aware steve rogers wasn’t alone, but then, neither was seth. he rarely was. she was in the bedroom, out of sight and reach. still, ellie had let him know from the moment he’d walked through the door that barnes was outside, ready to take the shot. he supposed he could tolerate that if it made the soldier less nervous. after all, he had a feeling by the end of the day they would finally all be on the same side.

“ i thought you were the coolest growing up. i mean– a lot of us did. i’d say me most of all, though i’m probably biased. i thought it was a sign of the times that humans had put aside their fear. that change was coming. after all, they made you. a man-made mutant, hailed as a hero. i read all about you– i thought i knew all there was to know back then. ”

steve pulled his shield closer, a sudden deep ache as though he desperately needed to cough forming in the base of his chest. standing became more difficult, but in a desperate attempt to seem unbothered, he remained on his feet rather than taking the seat offered by seth’s sweeping hand. “ i’m guessing this is you? ” he asked with a bitter quirk to his lip, his voice a soft rasp in comparison to his typical authoritative rhythm. the mutant nodded apologetically. steve looked to the window for less than a second, debating whether or not he should signal bucky to fire. he pulled a deep breath through his nose and was interrupted by a lung spasming cough, nearly causing him to double over.

“ i’m sure you can understand, steve. i’m not a man who leaves much to chance. barnes can me in his scope if he likes but this; this is an insurance policy that we all mind our manners. ” his expression shifted to startled, wondering how he’d picked so quickly who was outside. bucky wasn’t a bad guess, but surely he hadn’t bluffed so easily. steve’s thoughts suddenly felt unsecured as he wondered how private they really were. frustratingly, his mind shifted to just about everything he didn’t want seth to know. now that he demanded himself to think of anything else, he couldn’t help but fixate. “ consumption killed your mother, didn’t it? i read that somewhere. seem’s fitting, but i don’t want to hurt you. ”

“ could’ve fooled me, ” steve joked irritably. seth’s smile picked up in response, seemingly very amused with himself. he tossed his hands up in a soft shrug of consolation as if to say; don’t feel bad, anyone else would be on the floor by now. “ why am i here? ”

“ i told you, i want us to be friends. i thought i knew a lot about you before, steve. but i did my digging and turns out, you are a very complicated man. ”

seth’s location choice was perhaps a smidge dramatic, but it served it’s purpose. not only did it visibly unsettle steve to be back within these walls, but let out a soft warning that he knew far more than most. after all, the government hadn’t even been able to find this little needle in the safe house haystack. his smile fell away as anger leaked into his bones at the sight of all. all of it was true, he had grown up with an adoration for captain rogers. used the love and reverence he received as a badge of hope that change was coming. his rage could’ve blown a roof off as he watched him go from hero to war criminal; standing up for people like him. he’d grown angry and watched on with pride as the country scavenged to find him. no longer an avenger, embracing his mutant-self. but then he’d gone back to them. like a beaten dog, steve rogers laid at this country’s feet and begged them to kick him once more.

the more he learned about the man the more he’d grown to hate him, resent the love he’d carried for him. he’d gone back to his uniform even after they’d locked his daughter up in the foundlings state home. seth couldn’t decide if it was sick or plainly stupid. steve had been made a mutant, but sarah rogers was born one and treated as such and still, the honourable captain america fought for those who would enslave them.

“ you’re not exactly the sort of friend i look for. ” steve responded dryly, feeling his knee’s beginning to shake. he knew seth wanted to intimidate him. he wanted to thrash his weight around and see if he could make him sweat. he’d dealt with this kind before. when stories of seth first begun springing up, he’d wanted to help him. recruit him. save him from his own worst impulses before he got himself killed on this crusade. but as time went on, the violence expanded and this was no longer the sort of man you saved; but one that you stopped. he felt frighteningly unprepared for all of this. he’d half expected a brawl, not whatever this strained politeness was.

“ why? because i’ve killed people? you’d be fast out of friends if that were the case, captain. ”

“ innocent people. ”

“ you and i differ on our judgement of innocence, but say i had, i can count a few murderers among your ranks, steve. don’t play morality police with me. ”

finally, steve’s stance crumpled, falling hard to his knee’s as blood reared up inside his mouth with another full-bodied cough. the feeling eased once it was through and seth’s expression seemed off. like he was equal parts disappointed and relieved to see him topple.

 he continued on as steve pulled eager clean breaths, snuffing out the tuberculosis for the most part to offer some relief. he was sincere in his sentiment, he didn’t want a dead patriot. he wanted an ally. “ your son, the youngest, nate right? ” he asked, knowing full well that he was correct. the boys face was injected into his mind as it flashed into steves and thus ellie’s before being projected into his own. “ he’s sick. ”

steve was back on his feet in an instant and the mutant felt almost delighted at the dangerous glint in his eyes. this was the look of a man that would choke the life right out of him given the chance for simply taking his son’s name in vain. it excited him to know the old man still had some fight left in him, more than seth anticipated judging by his expression.

“ i could fix him. ” he proposed. and like he’d popped a parade balloon, he watched captain america’s rage deflate to a miserable subspecies of hope. he couldn’t help it, what father could? the chance to save their child? only a true monster could turn their nose to that. “ cure him. what would the righteous steve rogers do to keep his son alive? ”

steve felt breathless and this time it wasn’t a rapidly mutating virus that was responsible. nate had been varying levels of sick his entire life, his body rejecting and accepting the serum in a vicious cycle that was taking its toll. there were times he was certain that he wouldn’t pull through. there had been talks of another dose, which was as likely to kill him as it was to save him. if seth could cure him, without the risk, his stomach dropped with the knowledge that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do in order to make that happen.

“ what do you want? ” he asked defensively.

“ i told you– ”

“ not friends. what do you want me to do? ” steve felt an alien anger all the way to the marrow of his bones. angry that he was even indulging this conversation, angry that his son’s illness was about to be used as a bargaining chip. angry that he’d likely need to shoot down nate’s greatest hope for survival because anything seth asked of him was likely to be something he couldn’t give.

“ i want you to be what you should’ve been all along. a champion for us. captain america, the mutant. not the hero or the soldier. i want the world to see you for what you are, fighting for us instead of them. ” he demanded, the warmness of his tone switching up until he could almost taste ice forming on his tongue. “ you as the face of the mutant rebellion. you did it once, tell me, would you do it again if it meant saving your son’s life? ”

[comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog]

Stan Marsh

out of character info

Name/Alias: JIM JAM SAM Pronouns: all Age: 19 Join Our Discord: done binch Timezone: est Activity: u know this by now Triggers: nothing that needs to be tagged Password: dildo Character that you’re applying for: Stan Marsh Favourite ships for your character: stendy, style, stan/everyone, stan/chemistry

in character info

Full name: Stanley “Stan” Marsh Birthday: October 19 Sexuality, gender, pronouns: bisexual, not that he mentions it or really “came out”, but if you asked he’d say so. cis male. he/him, but he’s cool with they/them. Age and grade: 18, senior Appearance: 

Stan has a very pretty face, outlined by a strong jawline. He has deep blue eyes, with nothing interesting about them. They don’t change color, or have flecks of green or hazel in them, they’re just blue. His hair is black, but dark brown when viewed in the sunlight. When growing it out it has a lot of volume, not that you can tell from his frequent hat-hair, and though it’s cut short every few months, Stan has his hair longer for most of the year, keeping the sides trimmed with help from his mom and a pair of trimmers. This results in him having the “fuckboy” haircut, which he will keep back under a hat or simply keep back with pomade, if he’s hatless and wants to look decent. 

He’s 6’1, making him one of the tallest out of his classmates. However, he’s second tallest in his family, being an inch shorter than his dad. As well as tall, Stan is also rather muscular, toned from playing football in the fall, baseball in the spring, and maintaining a relative level of fitness throughout his sport-free months with some regular gym visits, (which he thinks helps him maintain a decent mood, too.) He’s pretty much as pale as the next guy during the winter, but Stan tans very easily. He gets a good tan during the summer, which starts to lighten up until wearing off early October. Stan’s wardrobe is not very diverse, and is a little fuckboy-like. He can usually be seen wearing jeans or chinos, a t-shirt, and a jacket/hoodie, or if it’s warm out, some basketball shorts or still jeans and a t-shirt or tank top. On special occasions he can be seen in nice button ups and pants, or even a suit. He is almost always wearing a hat. During the cold 75% of the year he wears a winter hat, and in the summer he wears baseball caps.

Personality: 

Stan, in his own way, is an artistic tortured soul, but not really. He’s the all-american guy, successful in athletics, he tends keep his grades above average, and while he doesn’t feel special about all that, his parents proudly try showing him off like he’s the best. Though he has every reason to be happy with his life, Stan’s still a cynical asshole, and finds himself spending a lot of time complaining about really anything. At heart, though, he’s kind, hard-working guy who cares about his friends, is loyal, is passionate, always has good intentions, and doesn’t want anybody to get hurt. He’s a force for justice and balance, and he has a strong moral compass.

His love for animals never stopped, as he finds himself volunteering at animal shelters, while he should be busy at football or baseball practice. He can’t help that he cares about every living thing, (animals more than people, though.) A romantic at heart, he doesn’t show real, genuine interest – the ‘I’m about to vomit’ kind, for him, – in someone very often. He won’t fall for someone easily, but when he does fall for someone it happens pretty hard, and he will do anything for them just like he would with anyone else that he cares about. With a big heart and an open mind, which he uses to try to make sure his dad isn’t doing something stupid, Stan is always ready to try to be with someone. However, he is often worries that the bad sides of his personality –– being unmotivated, cynical at times, impulsive, combined with having an addictive personality, a bad temper, and a great ability to be a dick, –– will throw all his relationships in jeopardy.

History: 

Stan feels like he had a terrible childhood. Although he enjoyed his early years, tossing the football with his dad, falling asleep in his parent’s bed when he had nightmares, and overall a peaceful life in a loving family –– except for frequent bullying from Shelly –– his life had taken a turn for the worst, around the time he was eight. His family life was chaotic. His parents fought a lot, even getting divorced twice, and even while they were together they were a lot to deal with. Well, Randy was a lot to deal with. He’s constantly taking care of his dad and watching out for him, trying to make sure he’s not up to his usual antics. However, he has always loved his parents, and has a good relationship with his mom, and even with his dad when it’s not being strained by one of his dad’s episodes.

Around nine years old was the apex of the craziness in his life, it seemed, with the weirdest things going on in his little mountain town. During this time, though, was when Stan developed and proved the largest parts of his personality, like his loyalty, but also his fierce cynicism.  He started to see everything as bullshit, and always has a hard time believing anything is more than that. This was also when he started something of a battle with alcoholism, not that it was ever too bad in his mind. He started to be something of a high-functioning alcoholic, as it didn’t really interfere with his life, despite a few problems with friends early on in the struggle.

Throughout middle school and into high school he began to spend even more time than usual with his friends, in order to avoid his crazy dad and the stress of his family. Stan was always up for adventures with his Super Best Friend Kyle and his other close friends Eric and Kenny. Due to his cynicism and lack of motivation with others, though, he did struggle to become close friends with anyone else. Even with Wendy, his childhood crush and girlfriend, he had a hard time maintaining anything more than a very loose friendship. Stan was nothing more than friendly acquaintances with most people. Despite that, he was still pretty well-liked by most of his peers, with his kindness, success in sports, and his natural ability to comfort people all being well known by the student body.

Now a senior, Stan Marsh is often considered South Park’s top dog, as captain of two varsity teams and, due more to hard work than intelligence, maintaining an A- average. However, he still struggles a lot to cope with how he feels about his life situation, drinking himself to sleep at night, or sneaking out to be with his friends and do anything but think about being trapped in where he is in life. He does hope to get the year over with quickly and, although he is afraid of being apart from his friend, he’s looking forward to get out of his bullshit town.

Sample paragraph: 

“Duuude. Where the hell are you?” Stan’s voice raised to a clamor, words slurring together slightly, his unsteady footsteps coming to a halt mid-wander. The first attempt he made of searching for his friend was short lived, ending as he threw his head back to drink from the can, a repetitive action that nice considering the many cans his hands had cradled over the course of the night. Stan and his friends had their fair share of the cheap, but potent, beer, now finishing off the rest of the supply he had grabbed the back seat of his truck. His hand crushed the now-empty can and let it fall to the snow-covered ground. “Kenny?” he called out, his eyes searching around the nearly empty street.

Taking a break from his wandering along one of the town’s streets, Stan kept trying to figure out where he was without much luck. Intoxication left his vision blurry, making the road, which he could’ve easily identified if he was the slightest bit sober, now completely unrecognizable. He started walking again, before stopping in his tracks and turning quickly, picking up the can he had realized he left on the ground. After all, ‘there was only one planet’, and as lame as it was that he even thought that Stan was glad his concern for the environment was slightly more powerful than his drunkenness.

As he once again continued down the road, he kept yelling for his friend. “Oh my god, did someone kill you?” It was meant to be a joke, but there was some serious concern lingering in his voice. Minutes passed, and he didn’t know how long it took but Kenny eventually came into view from beyond a corner, probably from hearing his name, or realizing his friend had lost his trail. What a relief.

“Dude.. don’t disappear like that,” Stan told him through something of a chuckle once he had caught up. Following his friend, they turned the corner again, where Kenny stopped. With an exasperated sigh, Stan leaned against the wall of the building, then slid down to sit, unbothered by the dirty, wet snow that now cushioned his bottom. He groaned and buried his head in his hand, sitting there for a few minutes, glad that Kenny understood his need for some quiet –– he always did.

Once a few minutes passed, the complete silence was interrupted by a small clicking noise. Stan looked up, watching Kenny’s thumb stroke the wheel of a disposable lighter over and over, up until it finally created a small flash of sparks in the dark night. He watched as the flame was brought to the end of a fresh cigarette, while his off hand protected the fragile little light from the winter’s breeze. As Kenny lit the cigarette, Stan nudged his friend’s leg to get his attention, slurring his question of “Dude, can I bum one off you? I promise I’ll buy you a new pack tomorrow, but you know I like to smoke when I drink.”

Stan thanked his friend when he obliged and grabbed the cigarette and the lighter from the hand that stretched out towards him. He held the cigarette between his teeth and placed the lighter on his knee as he pulled off his gloves, then lit the cigarette. He watched his hand shake in the cold as it brought the filter end to his mouth, and he inhaled some of the smoke, but was quick to exhale and cough a little bit. After a few more puffs of smoke, his coughing subsided, and he was able to lean back and relax again, closing his eyes as he felt it hit his system. 

After a few minutes, he sighed and opened his eyes again, holding his cigarette-free hand out towards Kenny with the lighter in it. The other was brought back to his mouth as he took a final breath of cigarette smoke, exhaling dramatically through his nose as he ashed the butt in the snow beside him. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight, Kenny,” he muttered, closing his eyes once more and feeling his lips curl into something of a smile. “I really needed to just get away from it all. Means a lot that you came with.”

Headcanons: 

Stan has always been a pretty big Broncos fan, and still practically idolizes John Elway. Don't mess with him on game day –– he'll be glad to let you watch with him, but he'll get mad if he's trying to pay attention and you distract him.

He has a pretty decent knowledge of fixing cars, since he drives his dad’s old truck and needs to fix it pretty often.

He’s absolutely the friend you call if you’re feeling suicidal and need someone to talk to you. Even someone he hated could call him and he’d help.

He has a fleeting alcohol problem. He is an emotional drunk. Drank too much? He’s in a dark corner questioning life. He cries after seeing mildly sad things. If anyone lets him cry on their shoulder he’ll stick to them like glue for the rest of the night.

Stan hasn’t grown out of his asthma, and still carries an inhaler around in his backpack during school, and has it nearby when he’s working out or doing sports. He can usually tell when he needs to use it before he gets full blown asthma attacks, so he hasn’t had one in a couple years.

He gets super toxic in videogames. He tries to be nice and be a good team player, but if he’s tired of dealing with stupid teammates he just gets pissed.

Stan struggles with his depression. Though he carries himself like it’s nothing, he often has pretty bad episodes where he needs to reach out to a friend. Usually, it’s his SBF.

His dog Sparky is an old man, who sleeps in Stan’s bed. Also, halfway through his junior year, he convinced his family to rescue a pitbull mix named Pepper. He cuddles up with them like every night.

While he’s something of a pacifist and doesn’t like to solve problems with violence, he is unafraid to throw hands to stand up for himself or his friends.

He’s pretty well known as the South Park High football’s “Star Quarterback” as well as the baseball team’s pitcher. Although he used to hate baseball as a kid, he grew into it after years of playing when he discovered that a spring sport was nice for the same reasons he liked playing football in the fall: the exercise and teamwork mentality was a good source of therapy for him.

Sees you eating veal? He fucking decks you. Okay, not really, but he will keep a mental note of it and/or try to tell you not to.

Given his love of animals, he only eats meat from local small farms that treat their animals well, or wild caught fish.

He has a summer job working on an independent ranch in South Colorado, tending to the livestock. He stays there for the summer in the employee housing, but will drive back up to South Park to see his friends when he has days off.

During the school year, he works as a receptionist at the veterinarian office in South Park.

He likes to stay up late, but usually regrets it in the morning.Ends up falling asleep while trying to do anything late at night. He often falls asleep fully dressed then wakes up at some point and showers and changes

Stan goes on camping trips a lot, because they’re very calming for him and, as much as he likes his TV, video games, and everything, he needs a break and loves his time out in nature.

He’s extremely ticklish on his sides –– if someone hugs him by surprise or nudges him on the side, he flinches. He won’t tell anyone he’s actually ticklish to avoid any mean-spirited or teasing tickling.

He gets easily overstimulated by a bunch of noise, like if  there are too many people talking to him at once, or talking around him. He needs to take breaks during social events like parties, or else he’ll get a headache.

Stan’s very easily distracted. Not that he’ll get distracted constantly, and can’t focus on anything at all, he just tends to daydream, or he often makes the choice not to stay focused if there is something more interesting to pay attention to.

Spends a ridiculous amount of time making sure randy isn’t up to something stupid. Seriously, it’s exhausting.

Anything else:  u kno i had to

[purkinje-effect]

If You Eat Too Much of the Truth at Once, You May Die of the Truth.

Ours is the Kingdom, Chapter 5. Go to previous. TWs: Questionable chem use, abduction, cannibalism themes, weird bastardizations of religious quotations, and to put it complexly... ‘Choly being weird as usual.

____________________

It had been trying, to sneak into the Wild West themed park. All five had been built fortified by a hundred-foot-high reinforced concrete wall, with only two entry points each. Though it was likely of all five parks, August could at least confirm the Operators who had moved into the Dry Rock Gulch staunchly guarded both entry points. Normally, he’d stroll right in and immediately commence his hunting day, but now he had the Operators to contend with. One or two, he could pick off on his own. But if they managed to alert the rest, he’d surely get mowed down by their 7.62 rifles, miniguns, and only Atom knew what else.

When he couldn’t simply enter the South gate, he rounded the wall clockwise looking for a weak point or opening they might not have known to guard or seal up, but he found none despite over two centuries of weathering, a paradoxical testament to the park’s craftsmanship. At the East gate he distracted the guards by tossing a pebble in the opposite direction of where he needed to go, then slipped behind one of them and sprinted up the nearest fiberglass rock face to his right, and out of sight. The Gulch wasn’t just encircled by walls, but also around the majority of its walls by faux-sandstone mountains. He climbed comfortably along the fiberglass crags, hidden between it and the wall, past the building for the mine-cart roller coaster, past a glimpse of the Ol’ Sugartop tower.

He rounded all the way behind Doc Phosphate’s, to perch atop the ten-foot tall section of wall which ran behind it and its prop graveyard, scrutinizing the slip of ancient paper Sierra had given him. Each of the ten bottlecap characters came with its own couplet.

This Hidden Cappy is close to the ground. Look in the place where tombstones are found!

To find the next Cappy, you'll have to be bold, and search where Mad Mulligan pans for gold.

Wearing the Cappy Glasses, he skimmed the fake graveyard below him. He hopped down silently when he caught sight of his second Hidden Cappy. His catskill moccasins absorbed any impact of his nearly seven-foot body rejoining gravity which his agility did not. He crouched behind the grave marker props, a mingling of headstones and wooden crosses. The technological manufacturing process built into the lenses brought out hidden details in the otherwise subtly painted Cappy. The first, located near one of Nuka-Town USA’s bathrooms, had been a G... and now he had the letter E as well. As he penciled the new answer in its relative margin, he wondered if they must spell something.

There were two Cappys in Dry Rock Gulch. The other couplet mentioned Mad Mulligan. He exhaled hard, his lips a thin, desolate line despite the intensity of his gaze. He glanced up to the Protectron in a cowboy hat across the way.

He stood in the shadow of the tree in the fake graveyard, surveying the activity of the Gulch’s Main Street. Between his point of entry and his current position, he had encountered neither raider nor wildlife. To his left stood Doc Phosphate’s, and it was where the Operators had all flocked to. There couldn’t be more than fifty in the park, from his estimate, but he could guess easily twenty of them lounged about in the watering hole. Of course they did. What else was there to do here to entertain oneself, if they’d killed off all the fauna, and the attractions were all at least partly destroyed?

After some time, he approached the robot at a caution. It guarded a cattle pen which should not have been empty.

“Gee, pard’ner,” the Protectron chirped dully. “I could use the help of a depu’tee. Have you seen my Giddyup Buttercups?”

Noticing a few foot long pieces of robotics with peeling yellow paint, August glanced again to the pen. It wasn’t wholly empty, after all, yet this was somehow worse.

He’d broken down his Gulch communes to routine, and usually, he started with the Giddyup Kid as he did now. Before the war, three robots in the Gulch had been programmed to provide a piece of a safe combination when presented with evidence the patron had fulfilled a task for it; and even to this day, the combination changed daily, and the robots could provide their pieces of it. The Giddyup Kid asked people to ‘round up’ the various dog-sized robotic ponies it was named for, and corral them all to its pen. In years prior, August had simply left the ponies in place every time, to limit the need to repeat the chore. But now, he couldn’t just perform the task again--he outright couldn’t perform the task at all.

“From the look of it, a varmint must have got them.” He did his best to mirror their speech mannerisms, both out of humor and routine. “Giddyup Kid, you usually ask me to find them, but they’re not missing. Would I be able to ply you to just... let me have the piece of your safe combination today?”

“I suppose it would do no harm.” It printed a thin ticket from its barrel-chest and presented it for him to tear off himself. “You’re one of my finest deputies. I’d reckon it were those hooligans holed up in... Mad! Mulligan’s! Mine!... but tain’t heard a peep from ‘em for months!” When it had spoken the name of the attraction, it alternated briefly from its stuttered Protectron chirping to a recording with a punctuated, twangy fake-Southern drawl. “Don’t suppose I could convince ya not ta let this detract from your satisfaction of... Nuka-World!”

“I promise. I get the feeling I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”

“Attractions galore!” it declared happily. “Get them rascals for me!”

He stepped into the Saloon, hoping that if he put on blinders and focused only on the robotic barkeep, the patrons would be too drunk to pay him any mind. He stood at the bar to await the robot’s attention. Experiencing the restoration of power to the park up close kept him ever distracted, habituated by the impulse to collect information from strange light sources.

“Howdy, depu-tee!” Doc Phosphate pivoted in place to greet him, polishing a glass with a rag and its pincers. “We’re shorthanded as ever. Think you could water down a few folks for me? I’ll give ya a piece of the safe combination as a reward.”

“Something tells me you’ve got living patrons on the order list this time,” he mumbled, at a hush.

“Oh, no! Cain’t be goin’ on rememberin’ all that now! You’re one of my finest deputies. Here, two... Nuka-Cola Dark~!... for... Leroy Doyle... and... The Mistress of Mystery. And a... Nuka-Cola Quantum... for... Melancholy.”

Great, he thought to himself, looking over his shoulder at the various raiders, as the robot produced the three bottles on a tray for him. I doubt any of these are their real names.

“Leroy... is the ginger fella by the window, ...The Mistress of Mystery... is feedin’ the jukebox, and ...Melancholy... I believe you’ll find that one upstairs.”

His head perked up from his mesmerization in the looping halogen lights of the music machine, and he looked to Doc with a stunned pleasantry.

“That was most useful.”

“Now get a’crackin’ so’s you can crack that safe!”

He didn’t bother with the tray, carrying the bottles easily with their necks between his fingers. He popped the cap off one with his thumb-claw and slipped it on the table without its recipient detecting him, then followed through to the next in kind atop the jukebox. He climbed the stairs with the Cherenkov-glowing bottle of Quantum in hand, and weighed which of the three raiders on the second story of the Saloon looked thirstiest. He lingered in the moment, trying to get a good look at the Operator with a messy black undercut ponytail, crescent shaped eyeglasses, and a chocolate gold-brocade suit. Moreso than their androgyny, their lack of armor got August’s attention. Briefly caught up in a moment of Craving at how potentially easy a mark this Operator might be, an already intoxicated Melancholy glanced dumbly up at him. They noticed the drink’s arrival and their jaw dropped at the sight of him, and they scrambled in place in an attempt to get distance.

When the table and chair clattered, August scattered to the shadows and prayed those nearby gawked at Melancholy and didn’t notice him pressed into the corner. Melancholy eventually settled back down a bit, letting out a tepid chuckle when the next table over threw a wadded up park map at them. They straightened in their seat, gripping the bottle with one fist on the table, the other with a shot glass.

“Hey...” the Operator whispered, hopeful at best that August remained nearby, “heEy come back. I don’t bite.”

Against his better judgment, he eventually relented, sitting opposite the raider, who’d already poured a shot of the pale blue beverage and knocked it back trying to drown out the stress of the encounter. Melancholy noticed he’d revealed himself, and their cataracted eyes trailed up over their eyeglasses, swooning dreadfully over August’s height even when seated.

“I do. But I suppose that’s beside the point.” August leaned on the table. “Now, I know the Operator I delivered a drink to downstairs isn’t actually named The Mistress of Mystery. Are you actually named Melancholy?”

“Melancholy’s what I go by, yes,” they uttered. August couldn’t tell if Melancholy were more impressed or horrified to be in his presence. “Who are you, anyway? And how did you get in this park? I can tell you aren’t a raider. Shouldn’t you be back in Town?”

August glanced at them expressionlessly a moment before smiling.

“I, too, have several names. And I’m here to deliver some drinks for Doc Phosphate.”

“Why were you deliv... Waiiiit........ What do you want with... Mad! Mulligan’s! Mine?” They let out a ludicrous giggle, mocking the robots’ scripted affect.

“Have you seen any Bloodworms lately?”

He eyed Melancholy’s Pip-Boy, but said nothing. Operators didn’t have those.

“The fuck’s a Bloodworm!” Melancholy processed a moment and self-modulated, pouring a second shot of Quantum. “Pardon my language. You’re a clergyman. A very... laArge clergyman. Saaay, you know a Handy like my Angel could deliver all the drinks for everybody, and you wouldn’t have to lift a finger! A... shapely... claw-tipped... finger...”

All the while, August had fidgeted with one of the caps he’d kept from his deliveries, poorly concealing a smirk, and a little sleight of hand, the more Melancholy prattled on. With them caught up in the look of him, he easily leaned forward and plunked it into their shot glass. The hope was, that Melancholy would be more interested in keeping the money than annoyed by something foreign in their drink. True to expectation, their face screwed up, but they didn’t forfeit the alcoholic drink, downing it and shaking out the cap to keep it themselves.

“Hardly necessary at this point.”

“Not every day the person who ordered the drink gets tipped,” they groused, only to soften, pocketing the cap. “You have a glass? I’ll split it with you.”

It took a moment for August to un-stick, not expecting an Operator to share, let alone with a stranger.

“I, oh. Oh, thank you, if you’d like.” He produced a souvenir shot glass and took what to Melancholy resembled a mere thimbleful, then a second. The Operator’s blood alcohol levels had to be a solid integer, with their coordination and slurring. This was a little too easy. “Would you be so kind as to escort me around town, Melancholy? Things have changed quite a bit since I was here last.”

“How can I turn down such a massive man of the cloth? Of course!” Melancholy offered August a third, and when the Child declined, the Operator polished it off straight from the bottle, forgoing the ceremoniousness of glassware after August had capped him. They left the bottle on the table as they stood, leveraging themselves upright with a chain-wrapped cane. “Just let me tell Angel where we’re going, sooo it doesn’t worry.”

“Oh, Sir! I could have helped you down the stairs,” the heavily modified Mister Handy robot insisted, approaching as they hit the last few stairs. “I do apologize for getting so swept up in, well, sweeping up the place. Your new compatriots make quite a mess.”

“It’s quite all right. You can stay around here, if you want. I made another friend, and he wants me to show him around! We’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’m only borrowing him,” August at last deduced, with a wink for the robot.

“Do be safe. And stay away from the Nuka-Mixers without my supervision, if you would! You remember what happened last time!”

“Yes, Angel.” Melancholy mumbled something offhand under his breath, but August couldn’t make sense of it.

On their way out, August retrieved the second third of the combination from the barkeep Protectron. Head askew, he watched Melancholy amble on ahead of him a few paces down Main Street. The cane wasn’t just for show, and from the faint clipping sound and unusual angle of Operator’s methodical gait, he could tell his initial assessment of a lack of armor had been false--it was simply of a type worn beneath the clothing, rather than atop it. And yet, the Pip-Boy, and the Mister Handy. It was a Pip-Boy, right, even when worn on the right arm? Melancholy had to have been very new to the outfit, not to have recognized August by now, and not to have known what a Bloodworm was. What could this middle aged milquetoast possibly be providing the Operators?

“Here, pastor guy. Next one’s on me.” Melancholy drew the keyprong from his Pip-Boy and connected it to the last Protectron August needed to see, then navigated various menus, flourishing the gloved fingers of his electronics arm all the while. “It’s easy, really. Just a little Mark-V interface markup, and...” He clicked his tongue as the ticker-tape began to print.

Oh. Maybe he was providing a lot of whatever that was. ...Drunk.

“I appreciate you sparing me the wasted bullet, but the hard part is going to be getting to the safe itself.”

“Why? Where is it?”

“The Theatre.”

Melancholy squinted at him as he put up his keyprong, and One-Eyed Ike booted back up.

“...Why’s that hard.”

“Your associates aren’t fond of me, to put it simply. I hate to trouble you, with all you’ve already done, but could you...?”

“Stay put.” He wagged a finger at August. “I promise not to get distracted. They’re just in there doing drunk improv... and they’re awful!”

August favored the shadows of One-Eyed Ike’s blacksmith barn while he waited. His stomach gurgled. Of course two blood packs wouldn’t have sated him, after fasting two days before traveling to Nuka-World. He rubbed at his wild sideburns, only to remember he hadn’t taken off the Cappy Glasses all this time. He returned them to their secure compartment in his Marine armor leg, simply to keep them safe. He wasn’t sure how many pair remained in tact throughout the park now, or how to find them if he broke or lost these.

Melancholy tried to get a jump on August, but the Child heard him at a hundred feet away with that cane, and whatever hinges hooked together the parts of his under-armor. August let him think he startled him, garnering a drunken grin from the Operator.

“Who’s ready to go on a ride that will likely never work again!”

“It doesn’t have to work to provide me what I need.”

They walked over two rows, to Mad Mulligan’s Mine-Cart Coaster. The venue once had housed a brief cue outside, and August supposed the game of it was, that once someone had obtained the key to the building, they could at their discretion let whoever they wanted to in of those waiting outside, and wreak havoc within. Melancholy insisted upon opening the door for them, and letting him in, again with the sleazy grin.

“I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t invite any of your friends along.”

“They’re not my friends.” Melancholy tugged at the key, but it wouldn’t budge. “They’re business associates, nothing more. Now that the Geek’s expanded the outfits into the parks, Dry Rock Gulch is... kind of like a nonstop office party, I guess? Why won’t the--”

“--That’s normal,” August snipped finally. He sighed and smiled, trying to get him to shut the door and leave it. “That’s normal. It’s so you have to redo the tasks in order to ride the ride again. And it kept people from passing the key down the line indefinitely throughout the day. Sheriff Eagle will come by shortly to retrieve it. The safe combination resets once the key is removed.”

“Then I guess we’d better do everything in one pass, that we need to, if you’re trying to avoid the Operators from noticing you. Or whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish.”

August this time led the way, no longer interested in playing the naive patsy now that the two of them were alone. The gift shop to the left disinterested him, so he drew his new Disciples’ knife and guided Melancholy into the adventure cave tunnel which prefaced the ride itself.

“Are you sure you don’t know what a Bloodworm is?” He didn’t look back as he asked.

“No, but I sure would like to. I fancy myself something of an entomologist.”

“Really, now. Never would think I’d have something in common with a raider. Much of my work comes from studying insects.”

“I’m not a raider, I said. I’m... an opportunist. My other rackets washed out all at once a few months ago, and I’ve got history with both Geek and Hancock. When I heard they’d relocated out here to set Nuka-World straight, I didn’t even hesitate to flock out here all the way from Goodneighbor. This place has always been a massive trader hub, from what I hear.”

Various animatronics and cutouts had been set up throughout the attraction, along with buildings and artificial waterways, to simulate various aspects of Wild West life. It almost disgusted him when he came down this way, just because he knew things like a gold panning shack didn’t belong inside something that people called a mine.

“...What about the Giddyup Kid’s Buttercups? It’s purely curiosity, but you wouldn’t happen to know anything about them, would you?”

“The Buttercups--!” Melancholy sputtered, failing to contain a limp guffaw. “Overboss ate those!!”

“He what now.”

“Geek! He ate ‘em! You think that’s bad, you should’ve seen what he did to the Galactic Zone!” The Operator wiped his tears on his sleeve and sniffed, still chuckling. “I take it you haven’t actually met the Geek yet.”

August didn’t want to try to understand what Melancholy could have possibly meant.

“Can’t say I’ve had the chance yet, no. More pressing things have occupied me.”

“He’s somethin’ else. Really.”

August raised a hand to pause Melancholy behind him. Where Mad Mulligan pans for gold. He wore the Cappy Glasses again, and glanced to their left. He knew the location of this Hidden Cappy even before scanning for it, familiar with this shack. He hopped down over the stream to inspect the Cappy up close, and added an ‘H’ to his ‘G’ and ‘E.’ When Melancholy looked on expectantly, he acted like what he really sought lay inside the shack, and came out with a can of pork n’ beans that, for whatever reason, was not a prop.

At first opportunity resuming their trek, August discarded it. Melancholy knew it wasn’t what August went down there for, but disregarded it for the moment.

“And you,” Melancholy continued, hoping to break the silence. “You’re a tall slice heaven. Who... or what... are you? I have to have asked now name by your.”

“Your associates call me Father Wachusett. And just as I have many names, I am many things. I’m me. Though, if we’re discussing qualities, not just identities... I am very... very... hungry.”

“On a scale of RadRoach to Stingwing, just how edible are these things?”

“They are ambrosial. I hear this Geek of yours exterminated them all, and we’re witnessing their extinction. Mad! Mulligan’s! Mine! was once their nest. I came here to collect their meat.” He nearly groaned to entertain the affect, but could think of no better way to hide his mounting rage. “Bloodworms are one of the cornerstones of how I observe my faith. If they are gone, I have lost a major component to my observances.”

“Bloodworms don’t have anything in common with Bloodbugs, do they?”

“What do you know about Bloodbugs?”

“--I know one al-me killed most once.” Melancholy’s hand went to his heart, his face contorting in nausea at the recollection. For a moment, he grew animated, unpleasantly eager. “Wait! Are you suggesting Bloodworms are Bloodbug parasites!”

“What! No. You idiot! They’re entirely unrelated.”

They came to the room with the coaster’s loading platform. August couldn’t sit still, scaling the entire space of upturned stanchions and dirt. Eventually he began to stomp in a tantrum, desperate for any percussion to summon them from the ground.

“What are you doing?” Melancholy laughed, his face shining with cold sweat.

“They’re terrestrial! And they can’t be gone!”

Being called out on the behavior only left August storming deeper into the attraction. He followed the track into a maintenance tunnel he’d never before needed to utilize, and continued pressing onward, possessed by the fear this Geek had truly eradicated the Queen.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you eat bug meat, as part of a religious thing no less.” A light flashed on behind August, and he stopped, to find Melancholy had turned on the screen of his Pip-Boy to illuminate the way. “What follow do you even-- religion, Father?”

“...My own, I’m sorry to say. I was raised an Acolyte of Eternal Light, but no faith seems to contain me.” He snorted, realizing Melancholy had lit the tunnel because he couldn’t see, and thought August needed such assistance. “Your eyesight is terrible, if you need to illuminate this tunnel.”

“I’m practically blind without Calmex or Mentats,” he admitted readily. “You’re not the only mutant here, I’ll have you know.”

“Mutant! I’m Transfigured, Operator. Know your place.”

“Transfigured? Like... like prewar Christianity?”

The words fell from August before he could process them, and he mentally rent apart over the thoughts that came alongside them.

“...That there be some of them that stand here, which shall not taste of death, till they have seen the Kingdom of God come with power. ...Come with... power. With power.”

The Child’s pale, cold eyes wilded and fell on the Operator, who froze, uncertain how to react.

“Was that a Bible quote? I don’t speak Jesus.”

“Are you this drunk, or are you just like this?”

“Not... mutually exclusive characteristics?” Melancholy shrugged at him. “What are we even down here for at this point, if there aren’t any Bloodworms?”

August licked his lips ever so slightly, haven’t taken his eyes off the Operator. Before he could reasonably size up his mark, Bloodworms erupted from beneath them. Roughly the size of a loaf of bread, the oversized worms flung themselves at any exposed skin they could identify--predominantly the pair’s faces. Despite being caught off guard, August had the upper hand of experience, easily slashing them all down.

Except one.

Melancholy screamed.

One managed to latch itself squarely upon the Operator’s face. August lapped the fluids from his knife, approaching at a caution. The knife felt so right, so comfortable, in his grip. Just the right heft, just the right give and balance. Getting a better look at the worms, he could tell from their soft exoskeleton and pale, high-contrast patterning, they were only in their third instar. Softshell. If the Geek had exterminated the only Queen three months ago, these Bloodworms could not have been born yet. A new Queen had already taken.

August rushed Melancholy, grinning wildly to expose his mouthful of oversized fangs. He gripped the worm on Melancholy’s face firmly in one hand, and Melancholy’s hand--wielding a dagger he’d hidden in the shaft of the cane--to prevent him from injuring the worm. After he got Melancholy to drop the pieces of his cane, he gripped the worm in pressure points behind the head segmentation, and caused it to evert so that it could be pulled off.

Holding it again in one hand, he pinned Melancholy down against the wall of the tunnel to regard his psychological state. It writhed and gnashed its segmented mouth flaps angrily, and ‘Choly hyperventilated, having had his oxygen cut off just a bubble too long for his constitution.

August trailed off, inching into Melancholy’s face at the scent of freshly drawn blood where the fangs in the Bloodworm’s buccal flaps had latched on. He dragged the side of his nose along Melancholy’s lacerated cheek, smelling pleasurably of it, before lapping at the wound briefly. Abruptly, he clamped his jaw around the leather binding at Melancholy’s throat, and held him pinned there for some time. His eyes lolled in his head as he nuzzled his whiskered cheek against his, such that he might whisper in his ear.

“You do understand, Operator, that I brought you down here in case I needed to put a Bloodworm in you, in order to guarantee their continued survival. It delights me... to find evidence they still thrive. Perhaps the Geek... didn’t venture this far. I must learn one day how deep the mine actually goes... But for now. I think I’m the one that should be eating you.”

“You’ll... have to take off... the orthotic collar... first...”

A weak moan shivered from him, and he tried to lift his arms to the back of his neck to facilitate this, but didn’t get that far, too enervated by what August had put in his drink, smudged on the inside of the cap. August glared at him, convinced the behavior must be some side effect of the Sleight. And yet, the Operator continued, begging.

“If I’m completely fucked... you... have... to promise to... fuck me. Or else, it’s not... a complete. Fuck.”

“You should stop talking unless you want these to be your last words.”

“I want my last words to be, I’m going out banging!” He choked on arousal, and August just gripped him more firmly. “You think I’m the idiot? What kind of idiot wouldn’t think I knew getting what I was exactly into, coming with you down here...” He laughed at him, only to melt right back into his arousal. “Don’t all your snacks fancy you?”

August clamped a hand over Melancholy’s mouth, and his lower lip quivered.

“You're no appetizer. You’re the main course.”

August let go of the last Bloodworm and let it burrow away. He couldn’t tell if the Operator fainted on account of the chems or the hysteria... or a combination. For the moment, he preferred the claustrophobic quiet, to collect the Bloodworms in the cheesecloths he’d packed. His head swam. Had he been tricked?

He stared down at Melancholy’s unconscious body one last time, before stooping to pick him up. He carried him over his shoulder for a spell, harnessing his natural sense of direction this deep down in order to retain his bearings, and locate a utilidor. He had never encountered one outside the Kiddie Kingdom in the past, and he grinned wide, following it until it dead ended far to the North of Safari Adventure.

He couldn’t waste time investigating the northernmost park right then, his hands quite literally full, so he pressed onward up to the Northpoint Dam. It would suffice for now, to double back home to Retreat, and quarter the Operator there. All his equipment for it was home, after all.

“Sir! Sir!!”

The holographic voice endeavored to close the distance between them, and all his loathing coagulated between his chiropteran ears when he recognized it.

Oh no.

[a-for-alternative]

Dynamic [Mercy]

Truly, nothing prepared them for the frustrating, ego-bruising experience of struggling with case files that would become predictors of their self-worth. Setbacks to the inexperienced ego compiled eventually turning into despair and before long panic. The walls closing in on one’s sense of competence when left to draw their own conclusions about why they struggle when given all the tools to succeed. Even daydreams about exploring foreign countries and traveling the world were bittersweet under the bone-deep fatigue they suffered in pursuit of L-grade quality. No one had told them, “You wont have the energy to explore anything beyond your own twin bed.”

Alternative was certainly feeling that reality on this September night. He thumbed through the case file, all documents he had read through at least twenty times over. His eyes stung with a nights debt.

What had started out as two double murders had reach a total of five victims. All killed in the beds in which they slept by a single gunshot wound to the chest. The first four victims, two married couples, and the more recent death a single widower that happened to be a retired police officer.  --- A serial killing or something more personal?

The first couple, the McCullahs, a foster family with no criminal pasts and no known enemies had no direct connection to the second couple, the young and childless Belfrys. That is with the exception of the Belfry's current employer, Brookehaven -- a children's home from which they had adopted their now late child, Nathanial. The child had past away four years previously. That being considered, the Belfrys had not moved into town until two years ago and had never met Nathanial when he was alive. The latest victim, Carter Werneke, a retired police officer, only added to the ambiguity of the crimes by rattling the one similarity the victims shared -- their marital status. But after considerable digging, it was uncovered that an investigation had been conducted nearly eight years ago by Werneke on the McCullahs for suspected child abuse. However, it had been dismissed.

A knew that there was a pattern, a piece missing to tie all these people together and he hated to admit he needed something more to complete the puzzle. He may have to wait for the next murder to pull it together and finally close the case. If there would even be a sixth victim.

Forget the bitterness of having to sit back powerlessly until the next shoe fell. What if there wasn’t going to be a sixth?

What if he couldn’t solve this? What if he wasn’t good enough to solve this?

Alternative bit the end of his pencil as he scrolled through the list of employees at the children’s home. He knew the Belfry’s were the odd one’s out. The child that had passed away four years ago had once been at Brookehaven but the Belfry’s were not employed at the institution until two years ago.                       What made them so special? What was their connection?

Alternative rubbed his eyes, unaware of the second prodigy’s gaze. B watched him as he reached blindly for the coffee mug on the bedside table. Long adolescent fingers fumbling missed the handle, sending it clattering to the floor. The black liquid splattered onto the off-white carpet.  

“Shit.” He cursed, his voice tinged with exhausted irritation. B said nothing, observing A stare indignant at the cold stain. His shoulders fell gradually with a sighing breath but remaining perched on the bed, reluctant to get up and shift focus to cleaning up a mess.               It felt like the universe was against him.

He had spent three days seeking a connection between the first couple and the Belfry’s to find nothing. He focused on the crime’s similarities, only to learn that effort was wasted when the fifth victim turned up dead five days later. He had then wasted the next week looking through cases investigated by the retired police officer and ruling out suspects. Now, he would be wasting another ten minutes of his focus on something that wouldn’t matter in the end 

-- Just another task, another wasted effort.

“You didn’t need it anyway, your mind is slowing down. You need rest.”     The glare Alternative shot B was hot and sharp, fresh from the forge.

“I need things to just work.” He hissed with a restrained heat that his eyes had given away plenty well. He turned back to the laptop, attempting to look busy. It was his way of saying, ‘Don’t tell me what I refuse to admit’, without actually saying it.

Open unpleasantness did not dissuade the other prodigy from swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and making an approach. A wanted to say something unwelcoming but couldn’t manage it though the fatigue as B craned his neck to eavesdrop on the screen. Alternative pretended to be preoccupied with the professional photographs (as though those counterfeit grins gave him a lot to go on).

“Causian... single... two children... married...”   Alternative heard B mumble quietly to himself. He resisted the impulse to roll his eyes, surprised at his own impatience. He knew this wasn't the other’s fault but the frustration had no outlet. “... They’re all dissimilar... You’ve not narrowed it down further?” The inquiry did not hold any condescension. Even if it had, Alternative was too worn out to come up with a good defense. There came a heavy, surrendering sigh.           “No.”   He conceded bitterly.                    “... You’re looking for the next victim?”

                              “I don’t know if there will be a next.” He replied, rubbing his tired face. He dreaded rehashing the whole lead up and wished B would simply lose interest. Why did he care anyway? Alternative changed tabs to a list of precinct employees. But B did not budge, continuing to hover silent and wide eyed like an owl. There was too much to go over with him for it to be worth his time. Was this forced sympathy or was he curious about what the first thought was worth losing sleep over?

A shifted to the next tab intent on waiting B out. He rested his cheek against his knee, fighting the sleep deprivation and unable to focus when closely supervised. ‘Please, just go away.’, he thought, sullen and beginning to ache over having reacted immaturely moments before.

“Stop.” Came an abrupt command from over his shoulder as a clammy pressure prevented him from scrolling further down the page. His eyes sweeping from the hand atop his to the index finger, rippling an image on the screen like a prismatic bulls eye.

“There...” Came a whisper so close he felt the humidity on the breath caress his ear. The image radiating LCD ripples was of one Elisa Humphry, a social worker, just another face on the list until this very moment. “This one, ... you need to look into.” He spoke with an air of prophesy. Alternative turned and glanced over his shoulder as the other withdrew.

“Trust me.” The dark haired prodigy said, his eyes full of something dire and knowing.

Wammy’s second child had a quasi-clairvoyant knack for identifying active suspects, and even occasionally predicting their moves with intuition alone. It was like instinct in a blood hound and Alternative couldn’t deny the stinging jealousy towards B’s unobtainable gift. It wasn’t training or a learned talent, the hunt was just born in that dog.

He encountered some difficulty in justifying the undercover operation but after some digging he had found an excuse -- Humphry had been one of Nathanial's case workers many years ago (though only one of several). It was enough to get an officer posted near the house and as fate would have it, B’s instincts stayed true to their reputation. An unfamiliar figure was seen skulking in the shadows. When they jumped the backyard fence, their intention to trespass was made apparent. The suspect hadn't tried to run when approached by the undercover officer who rounded the back and found them squatting down near the rear entrance to the home. The possibility of it all being coincidental, a foiled burglary attempt, was ruled out when a weapon of the same caliber as the one used in the murders was recovered right at the scene.

Not quite nineteen, tall, dark haired and gangly, their suspect was brought to the station and identified as Simon Schofield. A quick search though the police log revealed that the he had no criminal record, no run ins with the law, and no notable past with the exception of his residency at Brookehaven. Having left the system barely half a year before the first murders, it was certainly worth examination. Interrogation became their only readily available next step when trying to contact Humphry (to discern any particular motive) failed. Later it was revealed that... the social worker had died of a simple slip and fall in her own home. How unfortunate that victim six had been saved one fate only to succumb to another.

It took a warrant and a search of the young man’s new residence but it soon became clear that Simon not only knew the late Nathanial but they were something resembling relatives. 

Simon had never met his father and Nathanial’s mother had been absent after the first three years of his life. Nathanial’s father was present but hardly capable of raising a child, he had cycled him in and out of foster care for a few years when Simon’s mother became interested in him. After moving in together, the duel-parenthood was less of an arrangement to share responsibility than a good cover for activities they engaged in out of the way of prying eyes. The father having struggled with a narcotic addiction for years that kept Nathanial in limbo and was slowly introducing Simon’s mother to the scene. Using his lover as camouflage, Nathanial's father could come and go without worry of anyone presuming he had left his child to fend for himself, reducing the risk that one might go to check in on the boy to discover him alone. They managed to carry on this way until the mother had indulged too heavily and died of respiratory arrest following a heavy dose of hydrocodone.

An investigation into the death had been conducted and ultimately ruled as accidental. Though Nathanial’s father escaped scrutiny, he had no claim to Simon who was eventually surrendered to CPS shortly after his mother’s death. Over the next year, Nathanial was subjected to the same unreliable parenting as before the tragic relationship’s end and he too eventually wound up in Brookehaven. The reunion of the off-record siblings lasted until Nathanial was eleven, when he was put into the McCullahs foster home. While in their care, there had been an investigation into suspected abuse and he had been brought back to Brookhaven for a short time. It was during this time that he had revealed to Simon the incident that lead to his return - his attempted runaway. He shared poignant details about being dragged out of a mulberry bush by an elderly police officer and the unhelpful, distant gaze of a greying social worker with the pictures of a pet loris on her desk. The same people that came to retrieve Nathanial after the investigation was closed, due to insufficient evidence to support any wrong doing.

It was only a year later that Nathanial was adopted by the foster family but he stopped corresponding with Simon a few years later mysteriously. Though he was deeply troubled by the sudden silence, administration had changed hands. The new staff members had no investment in the extra-institutional relationships of the residents, especially those of non-relatives. They pacified Simon by suggesting that if he waited only a few more years, he would be aged out of Brookhaven and then could seek the other out.

He had waited the nearly four years to be released, only to find that Nathanial McCullah was a name attached to an obituary page and not an address he had hoped to find. Feeling as though he had been callously circumvented, he felt a profound resentment towards the staff that had not done him the kindness of bringing Nathanial’s death to his awareness. Denying him a chance to attend the funeral or seek out the McCullahs for answers. Over the next half a year, he struggled with filling in the gap between the last letter he received and his emancipation from Brookhaven. What had occurred and lead Nathanial to commit suicide was unclear. But, he placed blame with the McCullahs, concluding that after the adoption had been finalized Nathanial felt trapped in the home he had attempted to escape years ago.

Finding the McCullahs, his primary targets, was simple -- they were in the phone book after all. Punishing the office workers was the next easiest step, he had only to follow them home one evening from their place of work. Finding Carter Werneke, the police officer that had failed to prevent Nathanial from being returned to the McCullahs was also rather straight forward. The list of officers was within the public record and locating Werneke only took five days.

However, finding Humphry, the greying social worker had been the challenge. Social workers due to the nature of their jobs often were not listed as being employed at one place or another and would conceal their current addresses. It was the seemingly insignificant detail that the social worker had a slow loris that gave Simon a critical detail to find her. At the time Nathanial had been brought in to see Humphry, she had been disinterested in his case due to the lingering sorrow over having had to put down her aging exotic pet.

Rather cleverly, Simon had deduced that though there were several veterinary clinics in town, only a very few would take something as exotic as a loris. And that veterinary clinic would have Humphry’s address in their billing system. A few calls later and he had narrowed down his list and find that only one clinic would take this particular animal. The break in that followed was looked into, a report made and filed away but nothing taken or damage done, it had seemed to be an incident of low priority. Perhaps, the thief decided the vault appeared too complicated.

It was however, the piece of evidence Alternative used to patch up his case file and complete the narrative. Simon had broken into each home though the rear entry using the same tools as those of the animal clinic break in.

Simon broke into the clinic days before, looking for information on a victim he could not find readily - a social worker. The social workers who had worked with Nathanial and had their addresses in the system were at highest risk. This was the logic he was going to present, a kind of fabricated build up, an explanation on why he had thought Humphry was particularly at risk.

Turning in the file, his relief ebbs as the sense of guilt and foreboding nag at his conscience. This wasn’t a fair win, this was admirable or noble or even permissible. He had not asked Backup for help. But, had he made the wrong choice in picking the sure thing rather than grappling with uncertainty? B had put the cheat-sheet in front of him, the answer already in his mind before he had a chance to weigh out the ethics of accepting it. Perhaps, it wasn’t wrong to accept it in the spirit of trying to prevent Ms. Humphrey's murder, even if it was motivated more by the want of reprieve.

But, he had falsified a key point in his deduction and that spoke to a great inner failing that he would have to hope would never be discovered...

He feels the anxiety hard and heavy in his stomach like a lead block as he waits with unwavering dread. There’s a sharp sense of knowing, that same kind one feels when a policeman comes to the door when someone else you expected never came home. It’s that blood-chilling that brings a hollowing silence like a winters night, the echoe of knowing inside what’s not yet been said aloud -- like a shout in the dark.

It’s already in you before it’s even part of your world.

All his work, all the nights spent devoted to the task, would they all be called into question? How unforgivable was dishonesty when trying to obtain the single letter synonymous with justice?

Wammy’s Second, B, had been called into Rogers office for a private consultation and A does not need the other boy’s extrasense to know why -- there is suspicion surrounding that force fit evidence and they are asking B confirm or deny any forbidden aid he may have provided. 

He thinks he can feel he voices reverberating through the wall pressed at the back of his head as he waits for a verdict. Logic hasn’t looked far enough ahead to consider whether or not he would fight the claim, attempt to hold on by his fingernails as B forces him off the throne and back to insignificance. He cannot bring himself to resent the second. Actually, he acknowledges the other boy should feel a sense of moral obligation to give them the truth. After all, this was no small prize and the position should never fall into the hands of the deceptive or dishonest. 

They gave him his necessities, a sense of purpose, a calling. Alternative certainly couldn’t give B anything close to what the institution had to offer and he should feel beholden to them on some small scale. While Alternative... Well, he gave him unyielding frustration at being bested, a challenger that would not yield, and a roommate that loses his patience and spouts out things like

                                                                          “I just need things to work!”

Had it really had that biting emphasis at the time? He can’t remember but at the moment, it feels as though it did...

The door come open, sending the thought far from his mind. B sanders out, nearly colliding with him as he spins around. “Whoa.” He says over the sound of the door clicking shut. “Hey--”

Alternative’s stare is unreadable and rather wide but there is something expectant about the lack of returned greeting as though he’s waiting for the other to go on. He almost wishes time would stop, to keep it from coming but all he can do is brace and endure it.

“What...?” The second asks and A can’t tell if he is being coy or if he really just wants him to beg for that bone, just to feel a little more powerful than he already is in this moment.

Alternatives flat expression falls with a subtly that is both indescribable and understood, the modest down cast shift of his gaze communicating both ‘I know’ and ‘I’m not asking you to be sorry’. 

“... He asked if I helped. I told the old man no.”  He said triggering a perplexed, doubtful expression like A half expects it to be a joke. It seems all too unceremonious for it to have not been what it is -- an opportunity to eliminate the first passed up. It was quick and direct as though he felt Alternative would walk away before he had the chance to get it out.

“I won’t be doing it again...” He warns, his eyes taking on something dull and melancholy. “This could have led to a lot of trouble.” He finishes the statement with a breathy trailing that lingers between them for a moment. Then, deciding anything unsaid was already hanging too thickly in the air to need mention, he turns to leave and begins to walk away from Alternative.

Stunned by the finality of it, he struggles with the awe and confusion over B’s decision. Not only has he spared A what could have been elimination but he had lied and let himself become a part of the deception he gained nothing from. There was no you owe me in how he turned on his heel and left things where they fell.

                               “B, wait.”

           The dark haired teenager pauses and turns without sound.

The more his mind turns the events over, the greater his sense of disbelief and the more profound the feeling of gratitude towards B grows. He can’t understand how their rivalry hasn’t demolished any motivation for this kind of action. And, Alternative regards it as rather altruistic and unnecessarily merciful. 

Approaching with a softened demeanor, he doesn’t think he has ever felt this way before. How does one express something so beyond thank you?

He stops in front of his peer unsure how to navigate what has been inspired inside him, until he opens himself to the inclination to place his hands very gently on either side of the boy’s face. He can feel the other’s warmth soaking into his fingertips not unlike when he rested a cold hand against the second child’s fever drenched forehead one evening. -- ‘no one has to know what we do in private.’ He had reassured the other. But that time had not earned the flicker of confusion he sees in B’s eyes, shifting in search of why.

He does not have answer to give and when he does not pull away, Alternative leans in and presses a tender, innocent kiss to his friend’s lips.

            It is a brief and heartfelt thank you that he never says aloud...

[hsj-scenarios]

In this case, I would like to request something, how about parenting headcanons with the boys? What kind of father/husband would each of them be?

Some members have less headcanons than others, but that’s just because I don’t have as strong an image of them as parents than others ^^; Also put under readmore for the length of the post! – Mod L

Ryosuke:

he’s said before that he expects to get married in his 30s, once idol work has slowed down

is a husband with concealed guilt, as he feels that he’s made you wait a long time for something so cherished as marriage – especially if you’re older than him

because of this, he apologizes for little things that seem huge in his mind; from keeping you waiting for a simple outing to keeping you waiting well into the night because of work

he’s always keeping you waiting, isn’t he?

puts his foot down against his work schedule more when your first child is born, a son

Ryosuke loves children, and that love is increased 10x towards his own kids

wants a lot more kids tbh

eventually, the two of you are looking at three children – a son and two little daughters that are one year apart

the house becomes a lot more livelier and he loves it

however, though idol work is basically retired, he’s still very relevant in the acting world

it kills him to miss your son’s soccer game…and one of your daughter’s first words; which was ‘gaa’ (kaasan?)

spends a whole day trying to help your second daughter say ‘otousan’

heck, even just ‘tousan’ or ‘chichi’

days off spent at home seem like heaven on earth to the both of you, using the time as family days to spend at the park or simply at home

while the children were still toddlers, Ryosuke would hold them for so long that you’d warn they would never learn to walk if he spoiled them so much

and spoil them he does indeed, especially his daughters

if mom says no, then dad is the go to person!

“Dad, can I have this?” will almost always end up with ‘yes’, unless someone didn’t do their chores or misbehaved

and even though he’s a little harsher on his son, it’s only because he’s the oldest child; so Ryosuke expects the most responsibility out of the boy

makes up for it by taking his son on outings with just the two of them

despite spoiling them, he always has room for a joke or two at their expense

makes light of a bad grade by joking that they didn’t study enough or you weren’t eating well enough during your pregnancy

still, he’s never ashamed to let his children know how much he loves them or how proud he is of them no matter what

Ryosuke as a dad joke:

Yuto:

is a loving husband if there ever was one, there’s no shortage of kisses and hugs in your household

had a camera in his hand 98% of the time during your wedding, the only time he didn’t was when you both were saying your vows

“Just one glimpse for the camera before the wedding starts?” “Yuto, it’s bad luck to see the bride before then!”

as expected, he has a camera in his hand for your child’s birth (well, maybe not during childbirth lol) and all while they’re growing up

dad is the ‘cameraman’, as his child so fondly grows to call him

like Ryosuke, he’s likely grown into a more steady figure in the acting world as well

doesn’t mind taking you or your child on set with him, showing them off to his co-workers

look what he made! he can’t help but feel proud of them

for the kid, it’s a little surreal seeing their dad be the one behind a camera

because of the trips to see him work, it isn’t too surprising when someone wants to cast one of your children in a movie or drama; thus they’ll follow their dad’s footsteps

if this becomes more frequent, Yuto will adjust his schedule to be able to monitor his kid and basically act as a manager for them

he doesn’t want life in the spotlight to be too hard on them, especially at a young age

but at home, they never forget that their father is just as normal as any other

sometimes Yuto can’t help but go back to his dorky and childish ways

“Mom, can we have cake for dinner?”

he’ll join in, “I want some too…Can we, please?” cue a puppy dog look.

you swear, you’re the only adult in the house

personally, i can see Yuto comfortable with one or two kids, but if you want more then he won’t mind that either

Yuto as a dad joke:

Chinen:

like Yuto, I can see him completely fine with having only one kid

but boy, does it take everyone by surprise

the ‘baby’ of Hey Say Jump is having a baby?!

proud to let people know that you guys have a baby on the way, he probably phoned all of his friends and close family about it

Ryosuke and Keito invited the two of you out to celebrate the announcement – no alcohol for you though, of course!

don’t worry, Ryosuke’s paying

Chinen actually turns out to be a responsible and good father

if there’s ever a doctor’s appointment or birthday coming up, he’ll firmly let his work know that he can’t make it in

always good on his turn to get up at night to take care of the baby, hardly complaining

tries to savor the years his kids are small before they get taller than he is

probably the most rational parent

teaches the children gymnastics once they’re old enough

when your kid falls and scrapes their knee while playing, Chinen calmly takes care of the cut and lets the child know that everything is okay

he says it’s the more appropriate approach than freaking out over every injury, otherwise the kid will become scared as well

grows into a fairly strict father, knowing when to set boundaries and when to ease up on the rules

it wouldn’t be surprising if your kids end up successful one way or the other, having such a responsible father to guide them

Chinen as a dad joke:

Keito:

after the two of you are newly married, it’s as if you’d just met once again (in a good way) and Keito is adorably shy around you

even so, he gradually becomes normal again and does sweet things for you now and then; like breakfast in bed or random hugs and kisses throughout the day

you’re the newly wed couple all of your friends get diabetes from being around tbh

it doesn’t take long before you’re pregnant with your first child

and Keito is both incredibly happy and absolutely clueless

when is your stable period? what can and can’t you eat and drink?? would traveling too much be no good??? what about sitting down too much????

there’s a lot of phone calls to his mom for help

eventually, you find out that you’re having twins and he nearly passes out upon hearing the information

two kids? already?

are you both ready??

needless to say, Keito was one of those husbands that hardly left their pregnant wife’s side

once the children are born, he calms down…until you take the babies home

that’s when the real work begins, of course

having two babies, you both have your work cut out for you

there was plenty a night where you two slept in the nursery, too tired to get bad to the bedroom

but it was always a team effort, one taking up the slack of the other if either of you were too tired

even when the babies grow up to kids and then to teens, he’s still a learning father and handles everything as it goes

doesn’t go the same route as his father in order to help his children learn a new language and culture, but the family might all spend long vacations in England to get a new world view

Keito as a dad joke:

Daiki:

is also one of those husbands who wouldn’t want to leave their pregnant wife’s side, but he’ll think to read up on how to take care of a pregnant woman as well

actually attempts to cook a healthy meal for you…and fails

feels bad that he still has to rely on you to make decent meals, but makes up for it by helping when he’s not out working

before he goes off to work every morning, even before you’re showing, he says goodbye to both you and your baby by laying his hand on your stomach

he can’t ignore Baby Arioka, can he?

one day before he leaves, when you’re months in the pregnancy, the two of you are surprised to finally feel the kick of your baby directed at his hand

and Daiki’s so happy, “He heard me!”

he’s so sure it’s a son, already planning out father/son activities for when the baby is old enough

once the baby is born, he somehow gets enough energy to get out of bed every time the baby cries – at least for a while, then he wants to take turns

but for that first while, Daiki was a total champion

no matter how long the baby might cry, if they’re in Daiki’s arms then they’ll eventually quiet down

it almost hurts when the same thing doesn’t happen for you (lol)

son or daughter, it becomes clear that this is a total daddy’s child

it isn’t uncommon to come into the living room and see Daiki asleep on the floor, your baby – now a toddler – asleep on his stomach

not to mention the piggyback rides

upon becoming a child, regardless of gender, Daiki carries out those father/child days by going to the park and playing

a daddy’s kid indeed is what they probably grow up to be, since Daiki would likely be an excellent father

Daiki as a dad joke:

Inoo:

everyone’s a bit worried about how Inoo would turn out as a father, but also curious as well

he’s so relaxed, wouldn’t the kids try to take advantage of him?

honestly though, he’s worried too; which he confides in you later into your pregnancy

he’s clueless, basically put. everyone else is right.

but aren’t all new fathers even a little bit clueless on how to raise a child? experience will come with time.

and it does

though he’s hesitant to take care of the baby alone, you’re there to help him through his insecurities and eventually he feels more comfortable

there was a time when Inoo was too afraid to even hold the baby for an extended period of time, now he’ll hardly let the baby go

if it’s a girl, he’ll almost always come home with a brand new outfit for her – pretty and pink, usually

once the baby is older, he adopts a cat to grow up alongside the baby

it was a pretty impulsive decision tbh

but apparently your baby loves the cat, so everything turns out alright

by the next child, he’s much better at parenting

though he’ll always freak out at the slightest injury or illness that comes your children’s way, that’s a habit Inoo will probably never break lmao

Inoo as a dad joke:

Hikaru:

dad jokes

dad jokes

DAD JOKES

when you told him you were pregnant, he stared for a few moments before basically saying “Hello pregnant, I’m dad.”

it was then, you knew the next years would be a journey

whenever you two are relaxing at home, he’ll try to lay headphones on your stomach or play music on the stereo

“It makes the baby smarter, right?” honestly, you have a feeling he’s just playing around with you…

talks to the baby while you’re still pregnant, mostly jokingly but sometimes serious

“You listening, Baby Yaotome? We need you to be born healthy, okay?”

the baby seems to have a knack for ignoring the two of you, as they’ll never kick when either of you talk to them

more so, they’ll kick when you’re in the middle of talking or out of the house

they like to take you off guard

and take you off guard they do when they’re ready to come into the world prematurely

Baby Yaotome turns out to be ‘babies’ at the birth of triplets, though they need to be closely monitored because of the time of birth

luckily, their chance of survival was good; over 80%

once the babies were finally considered safe to take home, Hikaru didn’t think of how hard it would be to take care of triplets; but more so how happy he is that the babies survived

“Listen to me from now on, okay?” He told each of them once they were safe at home in their cribs

despite that, they all grow up to be rambunctious kids – energetic and rowdy

still, their father always seems to have a one up on them

trying to get away with having dessert before dinner? Hikaru’s hidden the sweets

attempting to sneak out to hang out with friends? Hikaru’s guessed the plan and is waiting in the living room

having trouble with school? Hikaru’s sensed their unease an offers to help

it’s nothing he hasn’t gone through before or empathized with

“Dad’s psychic.” you hear your kids joking around

but, no

he’s just afraid of losing his children in any way, especially after almost losing them once before

Hikaru as a dad joke:

Yuya:

though he accepted having children as a part of life, at least to him, Yuya was a bit afraid of fatherhood

okay, a LOT afraid

while you’re pregnant, things become a little awkward, but mostly on his end

“Uh…you want me to get you something while I’m out?” he poses the question from the doorway, on his way out for probably the 5th time this week?

and it was Wednesday…

your pregnancy was starting to feel a little lonely

if you let him know your feelings, he’ll sober up and take responsibility

if you don’t, however, he will come around eventually; spewing apologies about his previous behavior

in a way, he was trying to escape fatherhood before it began – not wanting to stop a life with just the two of you yet

but, in the process of doing that, he was distancing himself from you too

something he certainly didn’t want

and so, he’s there faithfully for the rest of the pregnancy

after the birth, he can’t imagine how he ever tried to avoid this bundle of joy and cuteness

still, he hardly knows how to take care of children; at least for more than a short time

so he makes up for by giving them the best he can; the best clothes, the best baby formula, and spoils them when they get older

despite being very giving monetary wise, he always puts his foot down if he feels the child is taking advantage of him or misbehaving

respectful of his kid’s boundaries and in return they respect him a lot

Yuya eventually grows into a good father, which goes unnoticed by him for a long while until someone brings it up

“Really? I’m just going by my gut, honestly.”

Yuya as a dad joke:

Yabu:

from the moment the pregnancy is announced, Yabu swears he’s ready for fatherhood

bring on TEN kids, he can handle ‘em

his confidence lasts until he’s waiting for the baby to born, sweating like he ran a marathon

that’s not just out of worry for a healthy birth

is nervous for the first few weeks, asking for your guidance on pretty much everything

as well as reading several books on parenting

wow, no amount of studying could’ve ever prepared him on this

eases into things pretty well, however, and taking care of his child seems like second nature

sings them to sleep now and then, you find nothing can sooth them better than Yabu’s voice

when he’s away and they won’t stop crying, you have to phone him late into the night just to sing over the phone

he buys the a teddy bear that can record voices and it’s been a savior for times when he can’t the phone

diligent in teaching them how to walk and talk from an early age, encouraging fast learning

actually tries to get them to do many activities as early as they can, even fun ones like bowling with a plastic ball and pins

the dad that shows up to all of his kid’s events, he doesn’t miss a beat

always there to help with homework and if neither of them know the answer, they’ll learn it together

lax on the rules now and then, but cross him too much then he has the worst disapproving gaze you can ever give

can be a scary dad when the house rules are disrespected, though never outright angry

his obvious disappointment is just so strong the feelings carry on to everyone in the household

can make the kids feel guilty af for acting out

seriously, don’t cross him

on a lighter note…

DAD JOKES 10X

even failed ones

“I used to be a prince you know.”

“Dad, no.”

“That makes you a prince/ss, right? You should act more like royalty.”

“Dad, you were an idol.”

“People thought of idols as royalty…Sort of.”

“Dad, no.”

he just wants to be funny around his kids…

Yabu as a dad joke:

[moodybidoof]

Dishonored OC meme

I’ve done this before but I’ve been rethinking my characters since playing DoTo so I figured it couldn’t hurt to redo it. 

NAME: Phelim Campbell NICKNAME(S): Phlegm AGE: 20 during the main events of Dishonored, 35 at the start of DH2  GENDER: Cis man SEXUALITY: Bi, with a preference for men HEIGHT/BUILD: 5′11, skinny as a rail FACECLAIM: Kris Kidd

PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION: The absolutely rowdiest of boys. He doesn’t care about much beyond immediate satisfaction, so he acts upon whatever impulses pop into his head without much hesitation. Said impulses usually end with him in a fight or running from someone who wants to fight, and along the way things are set ablaze, dogs are let loose into the streets - really, anything can happen if he’s involved. Dunwall isn’t kind of the people who live on her streets, but Phelim always finds a way to make the best of a shitty situation. 

Despite his affinity for crime and chaos he’s actually a pretty friendly person - even kindhearted in his own way, at least with kids and animals. He’s not one to hold grudges and has more than once ended up drinking and laughing with someone who’s just kicked his shit in. Friendliness doesn’t guarantee loyalty of course, but most people he interacts with understand that. There’s only a handful of people who he’d actually stick his neck out for, but those who have earned that kind of love from him have an unwavering ally on their side. 

The only people he’s really hostile towards on principle are aristocrats, and anyone with a reputation for sucking up to the rich bastards. He’s seen enough of life to know that they can never be trusted; they just hide away like rats whenever there’s trouble, and only come out when it’s safe to gorge themselves on whatever offal is left. Phelim’s not political by any stretch of the imagination, but if he had to make a stance it would be “eat the rich”. 

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:  Tall and too skinny, he could probably stab someone to death with his elbows or knees if he ever found himself without a weapon. His body is a jigsaw puzzle of bruises and scars from all his shenanigans, and he’s always covered in a layer of dirt and sweat - at the very least. With his slight figure, high cheekbones, and long lashes he could actually be pretty but it’s nearly impossible to see beyond all the grime he’s caked in and his generally disgusting behavior.

His eyes are green. His hair is dark brown and grows out curly if he lets it get long enough, which he almost never does. He’s missing most of his middle finger on his left hand, and has a glass eye in place of his right eye after DH2.

CHARACTER DETAILS

INTRODUCE YOUR OC AND THEIR BACKSTORY.

Phelim Campbell was born on the 15th day of the Month of Rain, 1817. His father was a Dunwall whaler, the son of a Dunwall whaler who was himself the son of a Dunwall whaler. His mother was a Tyvian seamstress who came to Dunwall to be with the visiting sailor who’d swept her off her feet - or at least, that’s how she told the story. She didn’t talk about her life in Tyvia often and when she did she provided very little detail, so Phelim took to making up his own versions of her history. He and his mother made up countless stories centered around her; one where she was a revolutionary who killed a king, another where she was a famous thief on the run from the law. (Those were his favorites, though she personally preferred the ones where she was a mermaid or selkie.)

His father was out at sea more often then not, so Phelim spent his earliest years helping his mom around the little little shop she ran out of their home near the Old Port District. Mostly she just did alterations and patchwork for the locals, but occasionally she’d be commissioned to create something special for a big event - weddings were her favorites, but they got more funerals than anything else, even before the plague. Phelim would sit and watch her work, sometimes attempting clumsy imitations of her handiwork on pieces of scrap cloth, while she told him stories about witches, spirits, and giants. On the rare occasions when his father was around, he would chime in with his own tales of the creatures that lived deep beneath the waves. Young Phelim was certain that there was magic in every dark corner of the world.

When he was eleven, Phelim’s parents enlisted him in the Navy as a powdermonkey, as a way to supplement their income and in the hope that he would become a proper sailor when he was old enough. Unfortunately, Phelim shot up like a weed as a preteen, making it impossible for him to continue his job, and his reputation for fighting (and rumors of gunpowder theft) got him discharged anyway. He spent the next few years working with his father on a whaling trawler, but all that time in close quarters did nothing to help their already strained relationship. Things finally came to a head when Phelim was 17, so he left home to make his own way in the world.

The Rat Plague hit the poorest neighborhoods just months after that. At the time, Phelim was working as a laborer in one of the slaughterhouses that lined the Wrenhaven and squatting wherever he could nearby, so life became much more dangerous than ever. The slaughterhouses of course attracted swarms of rats, which brought infection, which brought more rats, and so on. Phelim was forced to get more creative about where he lay his head at night, so most weeks he passed out from exhaustion before he truly slept. For all he knew he was already infected - if not from a rat bite, then maybe a bite from one of the girls at The Golden Cat - so he truly lived every day like it was his last.

When the Financial District flooded Phelim didn’t hesitate to try and gain something from the chaos. That first night he walked away with more gold in his pockets than he’d ever seen in his life, in the form of watches, jewelry, and coin. It didn’t matter to him that it had all been taken from abandoned homes and bloated corpses. Even after the area was condemned, he still found ways in and out through the Wrenhaven River and eventually left his job at the slaughterhouse to dedicate himself full-time to looting. His travels along the river often forced him to cross paths with the Dead Eels, but he was surprised to find kindred spirits in the gang rather than enemies. It didn’t take long before he was recruited into their ranks.

Life was good for a while after that - better than it had ever been. The Dead Eels were like family, and their feud with the Hatters gave him purpose and an outlet for his limitless aggression. When he wasn’t fighting and drinking in Draper’s Ward he could still be found down in the most disgusting parts of the city, collecting river crust acid for himself and the other Eels. The fact that he was almost always covered in some kind of slime earned him the nickname Phlegm, which he wore with pride.

All good things must come to an end though, and when Empress Emily Kaldwin began to clean up Dunwall in earnest the gangs were run out of Drapers Ward and Phelim was arrested. He spent two years doing hard labor, aiding in the cleanup of the Flooded District (he was repeatedly caught pocketing things, which added months to his sentence), and was released only after he was recruited into the Lower Guard. To no one’s surprise, Phelim chafed against the rules of the Watch and often tried to fight with his superior officers, who everyone knew were just rich second sons and daughters. The watch didn’t recruit out of prisons without expecting that kind of behavior though, and each act of rebellion was met with swift and brutal punishment. He was eventually transferred to River Patrol; the choice was justified by citing his extensive knowledge of the Wrenhaven and the local gangs, but mostly it was just because no one wanted him in the city proper. 

The transfer helped temper Phelim’s rage a little, and even he had to admit that he’d be hard pressed to find a better source of income. The City Watch was the only gang in Dunwall that wasn’t falling apart, and while it killed him to have to play nice with his COs he could at least take solace in the fact that he was making money on the side without their knowledge. As a Patrol Guard Phelim mostly just checked peoples papers and poked around their store rooms, and when something wasn’t right he was always happy to correct the problem for a few coins in his pocket. (Though few things made him happier than denying access to high class civilian ships on account of some minor, bullshit excuse.)

Phelim worked for the City Guard for about ten years overall, right up until Delilah’s coup. He wasn’t in on the plan and was meant to be killed when it all began, but he managed to escape in a stolen boat. He lost his right eye in the process, but at least he was alive. I’m still a little fuzzy on the details beyond this point but I do know he sails to the archipelago east of Serkonos and becomes a pirate. 

WHAT’S THEIR OCCUPATION? HOW DID THEY GET INTO THAT PROFESSION?

I think I answered this already but in short: He was a powdermonkey for the Gristol Navy, a whaler, a slaughterhouse laborer, a looter, a Dead Eel, a Lower/Patrol Guard of the City Watch, and finally a pirate. 

WHERE IN THE EMPIRE DOES YOUR OC LIVE? IF THEY LIVE IN DUNWALL OR KARNACA, WHAT DISTRICT DO THEY LIVE/WORK IN?

He’s originally from the residential area near the Old Port District in Dunwall, but is currently living in Serkonos. There’s a book that talks about how pirates live in the archipelago east of the main island so I’m imagining he basically lives in the Dishonored version of Nassau. 

HOW DO THEY FEEL ABOUT WHERE THEY LIVE? WHERE DO THEY FEEL SAFE OR “AT HOME”? IS THERE A PLACE THEY’RE AFRAID OF OR THAT THEY AVOID?

He has a home in Not-Nassau and he loves it and the city itself; it’s perfect, wonderful controlled chaos. There’s no specific part of the city that he avoids, but he stays far, far away from the witches, fortunetellers, and the like that set up shop near the docks. He’s a superstitious as the next sailor, but in the sense that he believes magic is real, powerful, and should not be messed with. He doesn’t want any part of that. 

As much as he loves the city, he feels most at home out to sea on The Golden Hagfish.  

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS DO THEY BELONG TO? HOW WELL EDUCATED ARE THEY?

His family was working class, but his mom had clearly come from higher up the social ladder or had been educated well beyond her station. She taught Phelim how to read and write, how to handle numbers and money, and other basic skills, and he picked up a lot of random information while working different jobs and talking to people from all over. He’s decently educated and is just full of scraps of weird, specific facts.

HOW DO THEY DRESS FOR WORK? FOR THE EVERYDAY? FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS? DO THEY CARRY ANY WEAPONS OR OTHER SPECIAL ITEMS?

He wears pretty much exactly what you’d expect most of the time: canvas doublet and breeches,cotton waistcoats and drawers, stockings, linen shirts and boots. None of it really fits well and it’s always mismatched, since a lot of his wardrobe is either stolen or half of it once belonged to a different crew member. Special occasions mostly just mean that he’s wearing something that vaguely matches and has been washed recently, but he does have one particularly gorgeous long coat that he stole off a some rich asshole. He saves that for really special stuff. 

He always has cutlass and a pistol hanging from his belts, and he keeps a dagger in a sheath at the small of his back. As for special items, he keeps a bone charm in a small pouch that’s been sewn closed. The pouch is sewn onto a short leather belt, which Phelim wears tied around his bicep. The whole thing isn’t very big, and since he’s so skinny and his shirts are usually so big you really can’t see it at all. His mother crafted it and gave it to him when he started as a powdermonkey, for luck, and he’s had it ever since. He’s not entirely comfortable with it honestly - it terrifies him that he can actually hear it humming and he’s afraid of what could happen if an Overseer ever caught wind of it - but he’s more afraid of what could happen if he rejected and got rid of something clearly magical. 

WHO ARE THEIR FRIENDS? DO THEY BELONG TO ANY POLITICAL OR SOCIAL FACTIONS (THE CITY WATCH, THE ABBEY, WHALERS, STREET GANGS, THE ARISTOCRACY, OCCULT SOCIETIES, ETC)?

His oldest and bestest friend is Jules Lynch, who belongs to @theladyjokaste. They grew up together, lost touch for years, and then reunited in Not-Nassau. Jules probably can’t believe that he has to put up with Phelim’s shit again, and also that people are apparently calling him Phlegm now and he likes that.

The other Golden Hagfish crew members are like family of course, but he’s especially close with one of the other riggers. Dixie “Rook” Blakemore has a harsh voice, sharp eyes, and cannot be trusted in a game of chance because she doesn’t leave anything up to fate. She and Phelim have all sorts of rigged games together, from shell games to the Serkonos favorite ventiuna. 

Back in Dunwall he ran with another one of @theladyjokaste​‘s children, Micajah “Cage” Tanner. They were in the Dead Eels together and Phlegm had a terrible, obvious, unrequited crush on him that Cage used to his advantage.

ARE THEY IN A RELATIONSHIP? IF SO, WITH WHOM?

Nope.

DO THEY HAVE ANY CONNECTION TO THE CANON CHARACTERS? FRIENDSHIPS? RIVALRIES? RELATIVES? BRIEF ENCOUNTERS?

Obviously he worked under Lizzy Stride and Edgar Wakefield. He didn’t like Wakefield or the way he took control of the gang, but he didn’t stick his neck out in Lizzy’s defense - not like he could get her out of prison, and he didn’t want to end up dead - which is how he lost a finger. He probably briefly saw Daud after Daud broke Lizzy out of Coldridge and was there when the Brigmore Witches attacked the Undine, which was easily the most terrifying experience of his life so far.

WHAT DO THEY THINK OF THE OUTSIDER AND THE VOID? OF MAGIC AND ITS PRACTITIONERS? 

His parents instilled in him a fear and respect of magic from a young age, as both of them were superstitious. He views magic in the same way I think a lot of people irl view faeries - shit’s real and capricious and dangerous, so best not to fuck with it. He can deal with smaller things like the bone charms his mother gave him, and the charms a lot of other sailors keep, but anything more powerful than that he wants nothing to do with. (Even then he wouldn’t ever try to make his own charm or use one made by someone he didn’t have total and absolute faith in.) 

WHAT DO THEY THINK OF THE OVERSEERS? DO THEY ADHERE TO THE ABBEY OR DO THEY HAVE A DIFFERENT BELIEF SYSTEM? IF THEY’RE NOT DEVOUT, WHAT DO THEY VALUE OR PRIORITIZE IN LIFE?

Dangerous and terrifying, also to be avoided at all costs even if their dogs are very cute. Besides the fact that he doesn’t want to get caught with a bone charm, he thinks they’re creepy and that their scriptures are weird bullshit. He prioritizes himself first and foremost, and just does whatever it takes to survive and have fun.

HOW DO THEY FEEL ABOUT TECHNOLOGY AND SCIENCE (WHALE OIL, TALLBOYS, WALLS OF LIGHT, THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, CLOCKWORK SOLDIERS, ETC)?

He knows that Walls of Light and Tallboys made his life nightmarishly difficult for a while but mostly it’s well beyond his understanding or interests.

DISHONORED

WHAT DO THEY THINK OF EMPRESS JESSAMINE AS A RULER? OR DO THEY NOT CARE?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He didn’t care.

HOW ARE THEY AFFECTED BY THE RAT PLAGUE?

He was technically homeless when it started, Slaughterhouse Row attracted plenty of rats, and security in the area became brutal so that was a pretty fucking bad time. He had to move around a lot to avoid the city watch, and he pretty much accepted that he’d almost certainly contract the plague. Like, he was genuinely surprised every morning he woke up and wasn’t bleeding from his eyes. That’s part of the reason why he took the risk of looting the Flooded District so often; he figured if he was sure to die, he might as well try and die rich. On the bright side he did make a killing and it lead him to the best people he’d ever meet. Once he was set up with the Eels in Drapers Ward, life totally turned around.

DO THEY HAVE AN OPINION ABOUT CORVO? DO THEY BELIEVE HE’S GUILTY OR INNOCENT?

He doesn’t pay much attention to politics but everyone heard the rumors about Corvo, and Phelim had not reason not to believe them. While he didn’t really care one way or another about Jessamine, he loves Dunwall and ends up partly blaming Corvo for everything that happened while the rat plague ran unchecked and for all the changes that the Lord Regent implemented.

IF THEY LIVE IN DUNWALL, HOW DO THEY FEEL ABOUT THE LORD REGENT’S GOVERNMENT AND THE AUTHORITARIAN CITY WATCH?

“That guy can go fuck himself with a whaling harpoon.” 

WHAT IS THEIR FATE IN A LOW CHAOS ENDING? WHAT ABOUT HIGH CHAOS?

His canon is set in a low chaos universe, so he ends up joining the Dead Eels and then ends up in prison after that. In high chaos he’d probably contract the plague, considering how he was living. 

DISHONORED 2

DO THEY SUPPORT EMPRESS EMILY AND LORD PROTECTOR CORVO OR THEIR CRITICS? OR DO THEY NOT CARE? DO THEY BELIEVE THE CROWN KILLER STORIES?

He’s happy to see the Lord Regent go, but support is a strong word. Empress Emily is the reason he loses his family and ends up in prison, so while he’s happy about many of the changes she puts into effect he’d still probably tell her to go fuck herself if they ever met. Though to be fair, he’d say that to basically any politician. 

He’s heard that the Lord Protector had to do some shady shit to get Emily her throne back so he had no trouble believing the Crown Killer stories. Frankly he thinks they’re pretty badass and it’s made him respect Corvo a little more.  

HOW ARE THEY AFFECTED BY DELILAH AND DUKE ABELE’S COUP?

He’s in the city watch at the time and while he’s not really loyal to the royal family, he loves his city and there’s no chance he would have been on board with letting some foreign shit waltz in a take over. So I mean, the coup very nearly kills him. 

IF THEY LIVE IN KARNACA, HOW DO THEY FEEL ABOUT DUKE ABELE’S GOVERNMENT? ARE THEY AFFECTED BY BLOODFLY INFESTATIONS OR SILVER DUST STORMS?

He isn’t in Karnaca but I imagine the rest of Serkonos wasn’t doing much better. Not-Nassau is totally independent, being a pirate republic and all, but I doubt Duke Abele would be too happy about the situation. Attacks around the archipelago went up, more pirate ships were lost, and any ships that had made port in Karnaca had to be quadruple checked for bloodflies. Phelim is just so sick of this shit, was it not enough to live through one coup????? Why do these people need to make their drama everyone elses’ problem?

IF THEY LIVE IN DUNWALL, HOW DO THEY FEEL ABOUT THE CITY BEING CONTROLLED BY DELILAH’S BRIGMORE WITCHES?

UMMMM THAT IS LITERALLY THE NIGHTMARE SCENARIO. He’s not in Dunwall at the time and I cannot even begin to describe how lucky he feels when he hears the news, and how equally angry and upset he is that the city he loves so much is being desecrated this way. 

WHAT IS THEIR FATE IN A LOW CHAOS ENDING? WHAT ABOUT HIGH CHAOS?

Low chaos he makes it to Serkonos. High chaos he dies at the start of the coup, killed by his partner in the River Patrol. 

IF YOUR OC WAS AN NPC…

WHAT WOULD THE HEART SAY ABOUT THEM?

Dishonored:

He used to feed the Hound Pits dogs, and wept over each night’s casualties. He tries not to think about where the hounds are now.

At night he sits with needle and thread, patching threadbare clothing the way his mother taught him. He has not seen her since before the plague began.

His parents gave him a charm carved from bone. He pretends he cannot hear how it whispers.

Dishonored 2:

Sometimes he swears he’s seen something from the corner of his missing eye, but when he turns to check there’s nothing there.

He still dreams of a red uniform, and all the ways he could kill the man wearing it. 

He’s lost so many friends and each night drinks to all their memories.

WHERE COULD THEY BE FOUND IN-GAME?

With the other Eels in Draper’s Ward, during the Brigmore Witches DLC, or around the docks in Karnaca in DH2.

WHAT LINES WOULD THEY SAY WHEN IDLE OR NOT ON ALERT?

Dishonored:

“C’mon already. I’m itching for a fight.”

“Can you believe how people lived here? How can anyone need so much shit?”

“Drinks are on me tonight.”

Dishonored 2:

He’s singing Drunken Whaler to himself while cleaning things up on the deck of a ship.

Occasionally he’ll mutter:

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” sniff, then ask, “Is that me?”

“Can’t believe Shen left me with this shit job. What a choffer.”

WHAT LINES WOULD THEY SAY WHEN REACTING TO THE PLAYER?

Either game:

“Nice sword.”

“You looking for a fight?” if the player gets too close. 

In DH2 he occasionally says, “What’s with the mask? Pretty flashy way to hide your face.”

WOULD THERE BE ANY REWARDS, CONSEQUENCES, OR SPECIAL EVENTS DEPENDENT ON YOUR CHARACTER (LIKE CALLISTA GIVING YOU AN HEIRLOOM FOR SAVING GEOFF CURNOW, GRANNY RAGS GIVING SIDEQUESTS, ETC)?

This could happen in either game, but it’s funnier imagining it happening with Daud. 

He calls the player over and is obviously embarrassed, but he powers through and asks if they could deliver a letter to a certain apartment. He’d do it himself but he’s got work to do here. (He’s alone on the ship in DH2 and mentions that he doesn’t wanna ask one of the other Eels in DH.) He gives you the letter and tells you not to read it but obviously you do anyway, and it’s a really shmoopy love poem. Once you drop it off and let him know he rewards you with a big river krust pearl.  

IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU’D LIKE TO SHARE ABOUT YOUR OC?

He loves dogs and no matter what is going on in his life, he will always stop to feed and play with any dogs he comes across. The captain of the Golden Hagfish, Agnes King, owns a mangy little rat catching terrier and he’s so fucking in love with it that he’s basically stolen the dog from King at this point. He’s also been blessed by a stray polydactyl black cat that lives in Not-Nassau and visits his house whenever he’s around because he feeds her. 

[recentanimenews]

Failed Tanuki and Half-Baked Tengu: Identity and Community in "The Eccentric Family"

Failed Tanuki and Half-Baked Tengu: Identity and Community in The Eccentric Family – Part 2

By Dee Hogan

“Tengu, tanuki, humans... why are all of you so foolish? I'm completely surrounded by fools!”

In Part One of our winding two-part Tour de Kyoto, we talked about the assumptions and expectations attributed to the tanuki, tengu, and human populations that inhabit The Eccentric Family's world, as well as how the pressures to live up to an unattainable group ideal affected Akadama and the four Shimogamo brothers. Here in Part Two, we'll take the show's exploration of personal and group identity one step further, looking at the characters who defy their “natures” and deny their names, and how the lines between the three groups get blurrier as the series progresses.

What does it mean to be a tanuki? A tengu? A human? Is there any real distinction at all? Our characters insist there is, but their actions tell a different story.

“Tanuki Don't Do Horrible Things Like This” - Stereotypes and Falsehoods

“A tanuki who boils tanuki in a hot pot? We're not talking about tengu or humans here. Such a cruel tanuki does not exist in this world.”

It seems like for every individual who's the epitome of what a tengu, human, or tanuki is “supposed” to be, there's another who doesn't fit that generalization at all. Akadama is fierce and proud to the point of hurting himself because he refuses to ask for help or admit he's lonely, but his retired tengu buddy is amiable, looks after others, and is more than happy to join tanuki on a leisure cruise without making a big fuss about it. Likewise, Friday Club leader Jyurojin is a self-serving human who uses others and takes what he wants, while Professor Yodogawa sacrifices his career and throws himself in front of a gun in order to protect tanuki.

And, of course, standing opposite the “magnificent tanuki” Shimogamo Souichiro is his estranged brother, the embittered Ebisugawa Soun. Clinging to his goal of becoming the Trick Magister, there's no question that Soun sees himself as a tanuki even as he sheds (sorry) the characteristics that supposedly make tanuki what they are, going so far as to conspire to have his fellow furballs boiled in hot pots.

Soun makes for a dangerous antagonist not just because he's the antithesis of assumed tanuki behavior, but because he's aware of those assumptions and uses them to his advantage. When Yaichiro publicly accuses him of conspiring with the Friday Club to have both him and his father killed, Soun argues that “no tanuki would ever do that,” so clearly Yaichiro is lying. That his words echo Tousen's from the previous episode shows that the rest of tanuki society is inclined to agree with him.

The fact is, though, that Soun did do everything Yaichiro says he did. So either he isn't a tanuki even though he calls himself one, or the image that tanuki have of themselves is at best over-simplified and at worst flat-out wrong. Just as a “self-serving” human can risk their life to defend a tanuki, so too can a “peace-loving” tanuki betray his own. And if that's the case, then what does it mean to be a tanuki, or a tengu, or a human at all?

One obvious answer is that it ultimately comes down to that “blood” which is so important to the Shimogamo family. After all, despite not perfectly matching the stereotypes associated with their groups, no one ever denies that Akadama is a tengu, Yodogawa is a human, or the Shimogamo and Ebisugawa clans are all tanuki. Others might call them “pathetic,” “outcasts,” or “failures,” but they don't question their places among the three Kyoto spheres. So maybe “to be a tanuki” is simply to have been born to a couple of raccoon-dogs, and there's nothing more to it than that.

Except, well... there might be more to it than that.

“I Am (Not) a Tengu” - Birth and Choice

“I'm sure you'll become a sly old tanuki someday.”“And you'll become a magnificent tengu, Nidaime.” “I'm not going to become a tengu.”

Just when it looks like we might have a neat, tidy explanation of how to define the three spheres of Kyoto, Akadama's two “kids” have to come along and throw a wrench in the works.

Benten and the Nidaime are a pair of mirrors, identical and opposite. They both have all the fierce pride and elemental powers associated with tengu, but while Benten was originally a human forcibly trained to become a tengu, the Nidaime was originally a tengu who chose to reject that role. In so doing, they both challenge the idea that one's birth determines one's place on the “ladder” of Kyoto society—but they also imply that the price for breaking away is a great deal of loneliness.

Benten flies between spheres and worlds, a force of chaos existing everywhere and owning little. The Nidaime holes up in an isolated mansion, a force of order surrounded by a mountain of possessions.

Benten accepts and collects identities (Suzuki Satomi, Benten, human, tengu, half-tengu, celestial maiden, demon) as if they're gifts she doesn't hate but isn't all that attached to. The Nidaime won't take any identity at all, rejecting “tengu, tanuki, and humans” alike as unrefined fools. He doesn't even have a name, really, as “Nidaime” is just a title meaning “second generation.” He denies this title but never offers an alternative, leaving him functionally nameless. His lack of identity stands in sharp contrast to Benten's surplus.

“Dammit, you humans really are so nasty...”“I'm a tengu!”“Nope, you're a human. No matter what you do, human.”

In short, Benten defines herself as positive and multiple while the Nidaime defines himself as negative and null. Yet there's an awful lot of similarity in those differences as well. Both struggle to (or are unable to?) establish a single affirmative identity because none of the ready-made labels fit who they want to be. And, when they do attempt to define themselves, Yasaburo denies them those labels, as he initially insists Benten is a human (although in Season 2 he does seem to have accepted her position as Akadama's successor) and teases the Nidaime for saying “tengu-like” things.

Perhaps most importantly in a story with “family” in the title, both exist just outside the three Kyoto spheres. They lack a proper supportive community, with only the tenuous (if not outright hostile) bonds with Akadama, Yasaburo, and one another to keep them anchored to the city at all. Lost as they both are, lacking not just a group but a solid sense of self entirely, it's no wonder they're simultaneously drawn to and repelled by each other.

Rumor has it The Eccentric Family is intended to be a trilogy of novels, and I suspect that however Benten and the Nidaime's stories conclude will tell us a lot about where the series falls on these questions of identity and blood relations. Given the way Yajiro has returned to tanuki society and Yasaburo has accepted his betrothal to Kaisei, it's entirely possible Benten will go back to being “just a Suzuki Satomi” and the Nidaime will accept his role as Akadama's successor.

Personally, though, I hope that's not the case, or at least that it's not that simple. The series has already spent a lot of time blurring the boundaries between groups and suggesting that the lines between tanuki, tengu, and humans are either very flexible or outright nonexistent. Maybe they can't control the accident of their birth, and maybe that birth will affect some of the things they can do, but The Eccentric Family doesn't seem to think it fully defines them, either. It's more complex than that, particularly when those spheres start to mingle and clash—for better and for worse.

“Poking My Nose In” - Blurred Borders and Fallen Walls

“Long ago, a wise, old tanuki once said: 'Tengu getting involved in tanuki disputes...this is no good.  Tanuki getting involved in tengu disputes... this is also no good.' I didn't like that saying.”

In addition to the variety of individuals within a group, there's also a growing sense throughout the series that there's a lot of similarity between groups as well. Despite those allegedly separate spheres of ground, city, and sky, our three groups are not nearly as distinct as they think.

Everywhere in the story we find instances of the groups interacting and interfering with one another. Our “model tanuki”

Souichiro starts this trend when he helps Akadama kick a gang of rowdy Kurama tengu off his mountain. Yasaburo carries this proud tradition into the next generation, as his two “sensei” are a tengu and a human, he's initially smitten with a human/tengu, and even briefly has the “honor” of being a member of the Friday Club.

These relationships can get messy and cause trouble, but they can also be quite beneficial. Despite that “wise old tanuki” who warned everyone to stay out of each other's business, the series itself doesn't seem to be advocating for “like to stay with like.” It's more nuanced than that.

True, humans getting involved with the supernatural has led to Jyurojin taking to the skies like a tengu and Tenmaya being able to trick tanuki. But Yodogawa's connection to Tousen and Yasaburo could spark an end to tanuki hot pots (two years in a row is a good start!), and Akadama's reluctant “adoption” into the Shimogamo family has helped both him and the tanuki  (Yaichiro and Gyokuran might never have gotten up the courage to say “I love you” without his interference, after all). The “good” or “bad” of each relationship all comes down to the individuals themselves.

These blurred boundaries aren't just a matter of hanging out together—it's also about how each character thinks and behaves. Benten may have the pride of a tengu and the fickle possessiveness of a human, but she also has the fun-seeking impulse of a tanuki. Like Yasaburo, she can't resist the urge to get involved in others' disputes, so it's no wonder the two echo each other in their excitement about things getting omoshiroi (a catch-all term the subtitles translate as “interesting,” “amusing,” or “fun” depending on context) in the second season.

There are echoes like that throughout the series, in fact. Jyurojin and Souichiro both like to say that “an omoshiroi thing is a good thing,” and Yodogawa surprises Yasaburo when he blames his love of eating on his “fool's blood.” All of which continues to hammer home the point that the clear lines between tanuki, tengu, and human simply don't exist. Everyone can be fickle, or possessive, or so wrapped up in themselves that they lose sight of others. Everyone has their pride. And everyone has more than a little of that fool's blood running through their veins.

“Everything is Fun to Me” - Eccentric Families and Interesting Lives

“I don't care if you're a frog or what you are. I'm just happy to have you all in this world.”

So if a tengu can be flightless, and a tanuki can boil his own kind in a hot pot, and a human can have a love of the omoshiroi, and anyone can decide to become a tengu (or not), then what the heck makes someone an anything at all? Are we defined by who we say we are? By how we act? By the place we were born? What makes someone tanuki or tengu or human?

This is normally the part where I'd come swooping in with a Grand Conclusion, but the more I examine the series, the harder it is to find a single, succinct answer. Just when I think I have it in my hands, like a wily tanuki or a whimsical half-tengu, it always finds a way to slip free, scrambling into the underbrush or flying off into the night.

And maybe that's the point. Like the doors that fall down between the humans, tanuki, and tengu during the first Trick Magister election, or the train that crashes Benten's chaos straight into the Nidaime's order during the second, maybe it's so mixed-up and muddled that the lines are supposed to disappear altogether.

Yes, there are arbitrary divisions and power structures within this Kyoto, but should there be? Why must tengu be obeyed and respected? Why do tanuki have to accept their fate as part of a human's hot pot? And why do humans need to put tanuki in hot pots at all?

There's no reason, really. Yasaburo proves that when he cheerfully outwits and uses the tengus' pride to his own advantage. Yaichiro and Gyokuran prove it when they crash the Friday Club's party to rescue Yasaburo and Kaisei from the hot pot. And Yodogawa proves it when he founds the “Thursday Club” to keep tanuki safe.

So maybe this idea that tanuki, tengu, and humans are “like this” or “like that” is fallacious from the get-go. Maybe each character's “identity” has nothing to do with the groups they were born into or the arbitrary name they call their own, and everything to do with their individual temperaments and—perhaps most importantly—relationships with one another.

None of our characters are who they are because of some ingrained “truth,” but because of the lives they'd led and the relationships they've had with others. It's enough to be a single person meeting another single person, clashing or commiserating, forming bonds of love or hate or both. A Benten influencing a Yasaburo. A Tousen changing a Yodogawa. Teachers instructing their students. Parents leaving their marks on their children. And on and on.

Ultimately, then, maybe it doesn't come down to broad social groups based on faulty generalizations, but to families—to the community each person decides to trust and spend time with and protect. To the “home I can come back to,” as Yajiro says when he leaves on his journey.

The Shimogamo mom and brothers are so tightly knit and their senses of selves so much stronger than the Akadama “kids” not because they identify as tanuki or share genetics, but because they look after and support one another. Their community isn't defined by arbitrary expectations and stereotypes. It's defined simply by having people who love them.

Our central community doesn't stop there, though. Thanks in large part to Yasaburo's mingling and meddling, he's expanded his family to include the tengu Akadama, the human Yodogawa, and the two tanuki Gyokuran and Kaisei. You could also argue that he's (hesitantly) extended hands to both Benten and the Nidaime, though both are so caught up in trying to stand apart as individuals that they haven't accepted his offer yet.

In The Eccentric Family, individuals and communities aren't about three distinct groups and their rigidly defined spheres. They're muddled: Tanuki and frogs, tengu and half-tengu and not-tengu, humans who eat tanuki and humans who defend them. Unique, messy individuals with unique, messy relationships. “Delicate balances” and “wise old tanuki” be damned, Yasaburo has the right idea here. Watching this diverse, chaotic wheel spin is a whole lot more interesting.

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About the author, Dee Hogan

Dee is a nerd of all trades and a master of one. She has bachelor’s degrees in English and East Asian studies and an MFA in Creative Writing. To pay the bills, she works as a technical writer. To not pay the bills, she devours novels and comics, watches far too much anime, and cheers very loudly for the Kansas Jayhawks. You can hang out with her at The Josei Next Door, a friendly neighborhood anime blog for long-time fans and newbies alike, as well as on Tumblr and Twitter.

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