#monty python had the right idea but its not enough

[lunaticsandidiots]

What do you think Chris' movie knowledge is like?

I've been thinking it'd be kind of limited, due to his dad being controlling and stuff, but on the other hand, the thought of movies being Chris "guilty pleasure" that he knows way too much about is making me insane.

-🍃

THIS IS SO TRUE! oh man my brain is going haywire with ideas right now (also i had to use this gif i promise its relevant later)

chris + movies…

first of all, you’re so correct in saying that chris’ film knowledge would be limited due to the circumstances of both his childhood and adult life (missions, prison, coma etc).

i think all of his comfort movies would be from his childhood/teen years. he was born in 1982, so my examples are gonna be based around that knowledge.

it makes sense to me that the movies he did watch with his dad would be ultraviolent in nature, just stuff that you shouldn’t watch as a young, impressionable kid.

i think chris probably would have sat through more controversial films auggie watched like Cannibal Holocaust (1980) and A Clockwork Orange (1971)

auggie wouldn’t have cared in the least though, he would have watched what he wanted to, and if chris happened to be in the room or he ‘behaved good enough’ auggie just would have let him watch.

i think chris’ favourites from all of those would be films like Die Hard (1988), Predator (1987), and To Live and Die in LA (1985).

i also have this heartbreaking idea that the one thing they’d all do together (Chris, Keith and Auggie) was watch Monty Python (Life of Brian, The Meaning of Life, The Holy Grail) and that it was one of the rare moments that all three of them would be together, laughing and having a genuine, enjoyable, wholesome time.

i also think Keith and Chris would have snuck out to go see midnight matinees together, films Auggie wouldn’t approve of, those of which would be Chris’ other favourites.

films like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989), Army of Darkness (1992) and Child’s Play (1988).

now, if you made the effort to introduce him to more current films, i think he’d be very vocal with his opinions on them.

you cannot deny that if the MCU somehow existed, episode 1 chris would be one of those ‘thanos has a point and he did nothing wrong’ guys.

i think chris would adore action/stoner comedies like Hot Fuzz (2007), Pineapple Express (2008) and Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014).

(tbh he’d eat up any and all seth rogen/jonah hill films and you know it).

i also have this vision of you guys watching Hacksaw Ridge (2016), and you hear a sniffle, and you look over and see him absolutely bawling his eyes out. i think it would hit him like a tonne of bricks and move him deeply, and maybe even inspire him a little bit to resort less to violence (he’d never admit that aloud though).

[disneytva]

Nic Smal and Lucy Heavens Talk About Their Path From Cape Town To Disney’s First South African Creators.

South African creators and executive producers, Lucy Heavens and Nic Smal are behind Disney Television Animation’s upcoming animated buddy-comedy, Kiff, which follows an optimistic squirrel whose best intentions often lead to complete chaos, and her best friend, a sweet and mellow bunny, and was inspired by the people and places the creators experienced growing up in Cape Town. 

They gave some details for the series such as that the show uses a hybrid Toon Boom Harmony and hand-drawn animation

Animation Magazine had a chance to speak with this talented duo during a recent interview:

Can you tell us a little bit about the development history of your new show?

Lucy Heavens: We both always dreamed of having our own show, but it also seemed kind of outlandish and impossible for such a thing to happen to a pair of self-taught South Africans. It wasn’t that long ago that we just had no idea how to pitch a show — to who, where? It was always something reserved for people far away, over there in the U.S.A. But when we met, we were both so desperate for a creative outlet, that working on the idea was wonderful whether it got picked up for development or not. It was its own reward.

Nic Smal: When the series was optioned by Disney (only five short months after we created it) no one was more surprised than us! Development can always be a long road, so we really appreciated the fact that we each had a co-creator to walk that road with, and we poured ourselves into a pilot animatic and animation test. It has been, and continues to be so, so fun! Throughout the process we have found a very collaborative way to work, and the voice of the show really comes alive when we are working together. We have always enjoyed feeding into each other’s primary disciplines in a really productive way. Lucy is a writer who’s an art person.

Lucy: And Nic is an artist (and comedian and musician!) who’s really great at story

When did you two begin working together?

Nic: We met at an animation studio in Cape Town in 2017 and quickly realized we spoke the same comedy language. We have quite different sensibilities, but a very similar sense of humor. There aren’t really any opportunities to work on this kind of comedy in South Africa (as yet!), so we just decided to create a series that would be the most free, fun world for us to sink our teeth into in terms of story and comedy — and just enjoy that process.

What was the inspiration for the show?

Lucy: We really wanted to create a world and a tone that was very free to tell all kinds of stories about being a human; friendships, family, society, frustrations, joys! Ultimately we wanted it to be extremely universal and relatable, filled with rich, flawed characters where we can explore human nature (with talking animals, obviously)! So really the inspiration was: What’s the most perfect vehicle for us to tell endless, and (hopefully) very funny stories? Kiff is the result.

Where is the animation being produced and how many people are working on it?

Nic: Titmouse is the wonderful and amazing studio producing the show.

Lucy: We have a number of team members in both L.A. and New York

Which animation tools are being used by the studio?

Nic: Toon Boom, Storyboard Pro etc. The show uses a hybrid Toon Boom Harmony and hand-drawn animation style, so we can be efficient but also have those sublime, unique moments by pushing key poses and expressions.

Tell us what you love about this show!

Lucy: Every aspect of the show is a joy and a pleasure. Visually, we have poured our love of nature and the natural world surrounding Cape Town into the geography and design. Tonally, it’s a very free space for all kinds of stories to be told. Musically, it is so fun to write songs and play with every musical genre imaginable, and in a way that doesn’t speak down to kids (we write the songs together but Nic is the really accomplished musician). And of course our characters are hilarious to us. We sort of see them as different parts of the human psyche; the lust for life, the sensitive and vulnerable parts of ourselves, the self-centered, ego-driven parts of ourselves — they are all represented, and intersect in interesting ways.

What is your biggest challenge right now?

Nic: Working across three time zones isn’t the most sustainable way to work as showrunners. We’re based in Cape Town and production is happening between L.A. and New York. It is such a collaborative medium; there aren’t enough meeting hours in the day.

What is your take on the global animation scene in 2021?

Lucy: We’ve never been in a more rad time for animation; important, real, existential, funny, rich and beautiful shows for all ages are coming out. There also seems to be a breakdown of the more rigid genres and age groups that you had to target previously, and an understanding that the right audience will be able to find your show on streaming platforms.

Nic: It’s also a time where big broadcasters are taking risks on outsiders like ourselves — thank goodness (and Disney) for that.

Who are your biggest animation heroes/influences?

Lucy: We’re millennials, so we communicate solely via Simpsons references. But we’re also children of 1990s Disney films,  TV and (not animation but) Monty Python as well.

What kind of advice can you offer animation newbies who dream about creating their own show?

Nic: Persistence is the lesson of our lives. Don’t wait for other people to create opportunities for you — just make, create, do!

Lucy: Development is a long road, so make sure you’re making a show that you really want to watch.

Kiff is slated to premiere on Disney Channel in 2023.

.

[starlightervarda]

Why is Nicky so much headcanoned as being a poor language learner and not knowing a lot of languages ? I understand why Joe is unanimously seen as a skilled polyglot but why is Nicky seen as the complete opposite ? And same for literacy ? (Though this part can easily be explained by writing being important in the Islamic world and the numerous misconceptions about the Middle Ages in Europe.)

Hi nonny <3

Short answer? Luca Marinelli’s accent. 


Long answer?

— Anglophones have a bothersome habit of interpreting anyone who has a thick accent while speaking English as being dumb or lazy.

Someone with a thick accent is usually a joke. Or they’re evil/fetishized, but that’s another topic.

— Crack-theories and jokes can, over time, unironically become fanon.

Jokes about Joe killing anyone who looks at Nicky wrong became ‘Joe is a large, possessive, aggressive partner who wouldn’t let small, delicate Nicky forgive Booker’. (There’s also an undercurrent of racism to that)

Jokes about Nicky being a grouchy alleycat and refusing to speak English out of spite made it into the ‘he was illiterate, dirty, dimwitted and vicious’ fanon.

Joe had every right to break Keane, it’s not a symptom of him being a Hypermasculine Scary Brown Man anymore than Nicky’s accent is a mark of his intelligence.

— The idea Joe and Nicky haven’t changed a bit since they became immortal.

Like you said, misconceptions about the idea of the Dark Ages. I think that’s why the ‘people thought the Earth was flat’ is so popular.

Media loves to portray Medieval Europe as just England, or when it was in a shitty state from the Black Plague. The aesthetics of dirty people in rags being dumb seems old enough to be parodied in Monty Python and the Holy Grail:


Like, the Byzantine Empire was still chugging along in Southern Europe and had recently been in its own Golden Age. The Moors were in Spain—Cordoba was a big deal—and Italy had a bunch of maritime republics, Genoa among them.

They were all also in contact with the Islamic world, which was in it’s Golden Age at the time of the Crusades. Be it through conflict or trade, they had some kind of exchange. Their advancements and culture did impact Europe. (I mentioned earlier that courtly love was influenced by Arabic-poetry staples picked up during the Crusades/Andalus). All this happened before the Renaissance.

The Mediterranean was, in general, pretty busy. I’d see Nicky not knowing much if he was somewhere landlocked, but he wasn’t. 

Nicky had to have at least been bilingual because:

He was from a maritime state.

How did he and Yusuf connect if they didn’t share a second language?

Lingua francas are a thing.

Look, guys, you can speak multiple languages and have an accent. I have a Saudi auntie who’s a highly-educated academic, has been fluent in English for decades, and spends a lot of time in England itself, and she still has a very thick accent. It happens.

[belphegor1982]

For the WIP ask: untitled dead parrot fic?

Yaaayy 💖

So this one started as a giant nod to the famous Monty Python skit (as will become obvious), but then a little later down the fic it evolved into showing the state of the Black Pearl with one captain (Sparrow) and a half (Barbossa) and the tensions aboard the ship post-AWE. The inspiration petered out for that one essentially because I still can’t find a way to wrap it up and the voices are gone :( But here’s a chunk bit of what I’ve got so far!

Over a Dead Body (title in progress)

(...)

It was Marty who found him crumpled near the foremast, wide-eyed and unblinking. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared, slightly unsettled.

“Oh bloody hell,” he muttered, bending to check if there was any sign of life, however small, left in the body. When he was absolutely positive that his find was stone cold, he grabbed the first pirate he could lay his hands on.

“Oi, Pintel – c’mere, will ya!”

Since Marty, in spite of his diminutive size (or perhaps because of it) had a death grip no-one could escape, Pintel did the sensible thing and followed him under the foresail, dropping the swab he’d been using to clean the guns with Ragetti. His curiosity piqued, his one-eyed mate glanced at them, and, typically, followed Pintel.

The corpse was a sad sight. Pintel cocked his head to the side while Ragetti’s mouth fell open. Marty disappeared in search of the captain, or failing that, the first mate.

Pintel crouched down and prodded the body with one hesitant grimy finger. Ragetti winced.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his long scraggy fingers twiddling with his swab in the usual way that made Pintel think his brain had actually nothing to do with it. “Maybe ’s still alive.”

“’Course it’s dead, ye daft old softie.” Pintel’s voice was its usual rough, but it was lower, with a quiet sort of undertone to it. “Wouldn’t be lyin’ there with its eyes open, for one thing.”

“Yeh know, there’s animals what sleeps with their eyes open,” the gangly pirate pointed out, sounding a bit more sure of himself. “Maybe that’s one of ‘em fings we’re not s’pposed to understand. Myst’ry of nature, so to speak.”

“Don’t be an arse. Look, if you put your finger there –”

“’M not touchin’ it!”

“Don’t tell me yeh’re afraid of a dea–”

“Little blighter might bite me, is why.”

Pintel’s shoulders sagged, and when he spoke again, the unusual gentler undertone was quite gone from his voice. “Look, you silly bugger, its heart’s not beatin’! You know what that means, dontcha?”

Ragetti shrugged, his head still down. “It’s a small heart. It don’t beat like ours. It’s wossname – fainter.”

“Fainter?! I’ll give ye bloody fainter! It don’t beat, thasswhat it is! You got more stupid ideas ‘bout why it only looks dead?”

The lone blue eye flicked around a few times, as though indeed searching the air for something to say. The more uncertain and sheepish Ragetti looked, the more smug Pintel got. When nothing came, the stocky pirate turned back toward the small corpse with a satisfied, there-you-go-I’m-right expression on his face.

“So, how d’you reckon it –”

“Maybe it’s pinin’.”

“What!?”

Ragetti’s gaunt face was creased in thought again, his one eye squinting from both the sun and the much-engrossing process of justifying denial. Pintel just stared up at him incredulously, gaping openly.

“I’m just finkin’… We ain’t make for land in a while. Maybe it’s pinin’ for the rainforest. Must come from there, I guess. So maybe it’s missing trees and stuff. Or, y’know, maybe it ‘ad a mate in that forest and it’s all sad now and everyfin’.”

“Pinin’!?”

“Yeah, pinin’.”

Pintel let out a sort of angry bellow as he sprung to his feet and drew himself to his full height. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make his old mate, though much taller than himself, recoil suddenly. He picked up the small body and shoved it in front of a cringing Ragetti, roaring, “No, it’s not pinin’, yeh great big twit! It’s not doin’ anything right now! It’s dead! Deceased! It’s snuffed it, kicked the bloody bucket and it’ll be feeding the crabs in a minute! If ya really wanna be a pain in the arse about it, yeh can fink it’s gone to whatever heaven you want and it’s singing in bleedin’ invisible bird choir now! It’s a dead parrot!”

Funny how a lad so tall could make himself so small if he really put his mind to it. Over the years, Ragetti had become quite the expert at that.

When Pintel finally stopped hollering, his old friend’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. In fact, as he gradually became aware of as he cooled down and he could actually do something else than pant heavily and glare daggers at the younger pirate, it seemed that the entire ship had gone silent. A little bit too silent.

Eerie, he thought.

Glancing around himself and Ragetti out of the corner of his eyes, he could see now every single crewman staring at him, each with a different level of shock on his face. And, sure enough, following the direction of his bulging-eyed mate’s wordless gape, he saw Cotton.

And he realised he was still swinging the dead parrot in his hand.

“Erm.” Pintel blinked a few times, racked his brain for something intelligent to say, but any attempt at speech died before it reached his lips. “Huh. Er.”

The old mute pirate seemed even more mute than usual, if such a thing was possible. His face might have been carved out of wood for all it moved. There was nothing remotely threatening in it, or even angry for that matter, but it made Pintel wish very, very hard that he were elsewhere right now. Possibly the other side of the planet. Even the giant waterfall at world’s end didn’t seem far enough.

Pintel felt something tugging gently on his fingers, and became aware that Ragetti was trying – probably doing his damnedest to be as inconspicuous as possible; typical of the lad, that was – to prise the corpse out of his hand. He let go gratefully, and the scrawny pirate handed the dead parrot to Cotton, with as much tentative respect and deference as though it was the body of a very dear, old friend – which it very likely was, come to think of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled – so quietly that Pintel barely heard, and he wondered whether Cotton had. For some reason it seemed important. Even though Ragetti had not been the one brandishing his dead parrot like a cutlass to prove a point. For once the pirate was grateful for his mate’s annoying propensity to apologise for whatever reason. He wasn’t sure he remembered how, himself, when it counted.

All he could do now was avoid the old mute’s piercing eyes and shuffle his feet a little bit, most likely doing a striking impression of Ragetti being all shy and defensive. Which was bloody ironic, if he thought for ten seconds about it.

_______________________

Man, I miss these idiots ^^ Poor Cotton, though...

[kettle-on]

All right, here we go. My first Monty Python fanfic, and only my second attempt at writing fanfiction since 2005. Bear with me.

This one is Eric/Mike/OFC. I do hope you enjoy! Here’s Chapter 1 of I don’t know how many yet, and it’s a bit of a slow start.

Chapter 1/? January 1978 Heron Bay, Barbados

          As the taxi pulled away and he got his first deep inhale of ocean air, Michael Palin quickly discovered he’d made a very good choice indeed to join his friends and colleagues for a working holiday in Barbados.

          At first, the idea of travelling abroad just to continue working around a table on their typewriters had seemed mostly unnecessary and rather expensive. Together with Terry Jones, he believed they’d made – as usual – the sober and sensible choice to stay at home in England and finish the script for their next film there. Much more convenient and economical.

          Unfortunately (or, fortunately, in this case), their colleagues Eric Idle and John Cleese could boast enough enthusiasm to coax Terry’s curiosity, and bend even Michael’s righteousness. Now they found themselves outside an enormous coral stone villa, and surrounded by trees and grasses that reached up into the bluest blue sky that either of them had ever seen.

          An elaborate Victorian door creaked open, and from inside emerged a red-faced John, an especially golden Eric, and the rarely seen but often spoken-of Y/N, who Eric had now been seeing for many months and with whom he declared he fell instantly in love.

          “So you’ve come to join us at last, have you?” called John, striding toward them and lazily wrapping a warm drunken arm around Terry’s shoulders. “Did you really need quite so much convincing?”

          “I suppose I did, yes. Mike not so much,” Terry admitted, coolly slipping free of the Cleese grip. He surveyed the impressive stonework and columns in front of him, and slowly he, too, warmed to the idea of a working holiday in the sun.

          “How are you both?” Eric greeted them in an unusually relaxed tone. Clearly the combination of sunshine, warmth, and probably a good woman by his side had done wonders for him.

          “I hope the trip was awful,” he added.

          “Absolutely dreadful,” said Michael, “I’d packed all twelve of my favourite books, ready for the flight, and hardly got past a chapter before I conked right out and missed everything.”

          He could feel the jet lag slowly sinking in, but a warm laugh from Eric and Y/N kept Michael alert, and he gazed wide-eyed at his surroundings.

          “You’re looking well, Y/N,” he said, taking in her now familiar appearance.

          “It’s so good to see you, Mike,” she replied with a disarming smile, and tried to remember when they’d last seen each other in person. “That’ll be all this sunshine and fresh air, I think.”

          “Yeah, sunshine, eh? What a concept!” said Eric, “Christ, if I never see snow again, I’ll be a happy man for the rest of my life.”

          “I suppose it does have its charms,” Terry conceded, already very pleased that they’d decided to travel after all. “Come on John, show me where I can find whatever it is that’s got you like that.” 

          His and John’s voices followed them through the door and down a corridor, echoing off of the stone walls and floors as they headed to the nearest drinks trolley for a cocktail.

          “Ooh yes, that’s a good idea,” squeaked Eric. “Now come on, love, I’ll show you to your room.”

          “You’ll do what?” Mike exclaimed with pretend outrage, “You mean I’ve come all this way, to this big grand mansion which has seen the likes of Churchill himself, and I don’t even get to choose my own room?”

          “Well, I figured if I left it up to you, darling, you’d wanna kip with me, and we can’t be having that,” replied Eric in his favourite Mumsie voice. “Well, not just yet, anyway,” he quietly added with an exaggerated wink.

          Even on holiday, the lads of Monty Python took any opportunity to jump into character.

          “Oh Mike, you’ll just love it,” Y/N encouraged, herself adopting a strange and posh character of her own creation. “There’s a simply marvelous view of the road from your room. Truly inspiring!”

          Michael returned her phony sentiment with a squinty, full-cheeked smile and shifted his bag strap onto his shoulder before following Eric up the front steps and indoors. Y/N stayed behind, choosing to give the two old pals some time to catch up alone.

          “I still think we could finish the script much more quickly in London, but I see why this place is so enticing.” Michael conceded to Eric, who had returned to the soft and kindred version of himself that Michael knew very well, but only ever when they were alone. In a crowd, Eric was loud and gregarious, with endless jokes and witticisms to keep his company rolling with laughter. But there was a side of him, reserved for only his closest confidantes, that was quiet, thoughtful, and romantic. Here was the man behind the madness.

          “Pretty special, eh? I told you you’d have to see it for yourself.” Eric smiled. “I dunno if it’s the walls, or the porticos, or something about the way the breezes sweep the sun in through the windows… I think this must be what being a god feels like, y’know? Do whatever you please, driven by nature and desire, with absolutely no thought as to the consequences. Brilliant.”

          “That’ll be the Jagger effect, then,” said Michael, hinting at his friend’s rockstar associations.

          “The what?”

          Michael looked at him with all-knowing raised eyebrows.

          “Do you – do you know?” Eric questioned with hushed concern. Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones had asked Eric’s help in hiding him and model Jerry Hall somewhere beautiful and discreet, out of view of the press and public. Jerry was the girlfriend of singer Bryan Ferry, and in a very rock ‘n roll fashion, they had met up, gotten cozy, and ran off together. They were staying nearby in a fairly glamorous hut, and Eric and Y/N had already been enjoying villa visits and beach terrace dinners with the scandalous couple for a few weeks.

          “Of course I know. You bloody well told me, you silly fool!” Michael tutted, and recalled a phone conversation he’d had with a fairly drunken Eric a fortnight earlier:

          “‘Come on, Mikey,’ you said, ‘you’ll love it down here. Mick’s here with Bryan Ferry’s girlfriend, and we’ve all got our tits out!’”

          “Blimey. Trust me, eh?”

          “Never mind, Eric. Your secret’s safe with me,” Michael assured him with a sturdy pat on his shoulder before turning into what he decided would be his room for the length of his stay.

[frenchfriesoverguys]

my review of ‘cursed’ (spoilers)

i have a degree in film and visual culture with no use for it in the pandemic so

i’ve seen a lot of comparison to bbc merlin. it would truly be odd to compare the two shows as merlin is a light hearted fantasy action while cursed is more of a drama fantasy. they fit into two completely different genres within fantasy. in general, never judge a show based off of another. the intentions in making merlin and making cursed are obviously different. i’ve seen other people talk about the character arcs being flat and the characters being boring. again this is a drama. most of the conflict is within the characters instead of in the fighting. i will say that while i do like arthur and gawain, their characters are not truly explored. i enjoy gawain being fae as it does add to the character but he has no true arc and is more so there for a plot device. meanwhile, arthur fits into the lover dilemma of only being seen as the love interest. i admire the twist of the man being the flat, love interest character. however, with this being the first, that i’ve seen, depiction of arthur being a black man, it would have been nice to see more character development. 

pym was THE best development in my own opinion. the reason being, she is so shy, so scared, so complacent. she embodied everything women are taught they have to be. she is resigned to her own duty to be aaron the fisher’s wife. pym lovingly chastises nimue for wanting escape their destinies of their mundane village life. yet she escapes the raid of her village, hides with aaron’s nets, finds an opportunity to leave and does so. she sneaks onto a viking ship and begins stitching up the men and women there so she can survive. she survives being a red paladin prisoner, the same red paladins that raided her village. iris tried to manipulate her and she saw right through it. she ends up being incredibly powerful without ever welding any power. underrated character and need more of her.

now nimue. i really like her depiction in this series. she is shown as powerful but not overly so. she cant end the war with a summon of the hidden’s power, yet she can kick some major butt. she first comes across as the damsel and quickly proves the audience wrong. however, the talk of her from peasant to queen seemed to escalate out of nowhere. it was a little rushed and could have been paced out better. that being said, it was a welcome change. it helped show her power, a rarity for female characters. morgana was also an interesting character. her conflict and growth relied graciously on her own self. having her be attracted to women was the biggest game changer in terms of her character. she seems abrasive and cold until her love is discovered. that moment with nimue was beautiful and the definition of women supporting women. it was a moment that defined their entire relationship. a friendship, by the way, that was so powerful it became a driving conflict within morgana.

by far my favorite thing about this series is the names. people familiar with the arthurian legends know these names. each name carries weight and defines who that person is, was, or could be. waiting to reveal said names by cleverly misleading the audience is significantly more powerful. i’m looking at you morgana and lancelot.

okay lets talk about the red paladin. people are probably uncomfortable talking about religion but ‘cleansing’ sanctioned by the church is based off of real events. this stuff actually happened. so awkward but necessary conversation when bringing up the red paladin. the church is supposed to be operating with kingdoms but instead we see the church as its own power, its own army. they manipulate the kings in order to continue their raids and serve their own agenda. by definition, they represent the patriarchy. or at least they are one of the representations of the patriarchy, the kings being another. they belittle nimue by calling her ‘the fae peasant girl’ while she takes down most of their men. they exclude iris who truly seems to be the only one efficient enough to kill fae and her own sisters. their blatant abuse of said sisters. ect. in later seasons it would be nice to explore the kinder side of christianity. people use god’s name in vain to defend their own ideas of hatred, it would be nice to see a character that spread love instead. (arguably morgana does this but as she rejects god and the religion by throwing her cross away, i’m not quite sure she’s the best example)

everyone wants to talk about the weeping monk so lets get into that character. one of the best character arcs on the show. i love redemption arcs - especially well done ones. so lets be clear, this is not and cannot be the entirety of his arc. he has only just begun. i want to be surprised that he is fae kind but dude showed his magic throughout the series - still a nicely done reveal. this man has been heavily abused and manipulated. and to see that dynamic between cardon and him explained everything (gotta love daniel sharman playing an abuse survivor - dude kills it every time). especially why he doesn’t kill kids as that is a line characters just cant come back from. love him and squirrel but curious as to how he will continue to recover. i personally would love to see his mental health thoroughly explored.

stepping away from plot and characters for a minute, we need to talk about graphics. i cant tell if they got better over time or i got used to them but in the end they didnt seem so bad regardless. the transitions are based off of medieval manuscripts. this may seem like a strange comparison but monty python and the holy grail did a similar thing. that film took more of a comedic route but the idea is still the same. its interesting and different but i think they could have done a little better. they seemingly tried to mix art forms while keeping with the style of medieval art and in the end, they modernized it.

the flashes were incredibly well done. every character defining moment had a flash of green, which is incredibly detailed. the flash forwards were dramatic and jarring and i loved it. by allowing the music to shift and the actors expressions to shift before the flashes, it created a beautiful transition. elevates the series into a more cinematic piece. 

all in all, this series has great potential. the women on this show go from passive characters into decisive leaders. as for the next season, i hope to see more character development and exploration for arthur, kaze, and the red spear. all were underrated and need more screen tie. especially kaze.

[starryknight09]

Friendly Fire

Febuwhump Day 4: impaling

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

Peter dodged the drone that tried to ram into him and kicked it as it passed by.  It fell to the ground in a clump of metal.  These things terrorizing Manhattan weren’t hard to destroy but there were so many of them the sky practically looked black.  It was the Avengers first mission since they’d defeated Thanos after Captain Marvel had snapped the gauntlet.  It was too bad she’d disappeared back into space a few weeks ago because they could really use her right about now.

Peter swung closer to the main battle where most of the drones seemed to be amassed.  He shot out a taser web along the way taking down another five drones that were crowded too close together.  

“Nice shot kid.” Tony said as he flew by.

“Thanks Mr. Stark.” He grinned under the mask and shot out another web at a drone that had ventured too close.  “Is it just me or does it seem like we’re not even making a dent in these guys?”

“According to FRIDAY we’ve taken out about ten percent of them.”

“Wonderful.” Clint complained over the comms.  “So at the rate we’re going, we’ll have these things cleaned up by tomorrow morning.”

He wasn’t wrong.  They’d been at it for almost an hour now and the sun was about to set.

“Anyone have any bright ideas?” Rhodey asked.

“We could really use Thor right about now.” Clint said.

“Yeah well point break’s off philandering with Quill and his merry men, so we’re going to have to make due.” Tony said.

“It’s too bad we can’t just EMP them.” Peter said, all his skills being tested as he dodged drones, webbing up as many as he could and striking any that got too close.

“We’d have to take out a significant portion of New York's power, and mine and Rhodey’s suits, for that to work, so let’s try to avoid that.” Tony sniped.

“Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way then.” Clint said.  Peter briefly caught sight of the archer on the top of nearby rooftop as he swung past.

To be fair, there was a lot going on, so what happened next wasn’t completely Clint’s fault.  Or Peter’s.  

A handful of drones attacked him simultaneously, and they were too close to use his webs.  He landed a hard hit on one, but when he did, he got too close to another one and his spidey sense flared as it shot its lasers at him.  He yanked hard on his web to dodge out of the way and narrowly avoided getting hit, but the moment he moved his spidey sense wailed at him.  Before he could figure out why, his leg jerked.  What?

“Oh shit.” Clint swore and a second later the pain hit him.  His leg felt like it was on fire.  He looked down at it and it took a moment for his brain to process what his eyes were seeing.  One of Clint’s arrows had speared through the fleshy part of his calf.

Oh.  Ow.  Ow ow ow.  The shock and the pain of it had distracted him enough that he’d forgotten to throw another web out to stay in the air, so now he was falling on top of bleeding.  He managed to focus and fire a web onto a building, just in time to slow his descent so he skimmed across the ground and landed on his good leg without hurting himself any further.  He slowly crumpled to the concrete, staring at his skewered leg stretched out in front of him.  Blood leaked out and stained the pavement.  The sight made him dizzy.  Luckily, none of the drones seemed to have followed him.

“Uh, anyone got eyes on the kid?” Clint asked over the comms.  Peter knew he’d fallen out of the archer’s line of sight.

“Why?” Tony asked immediately, and Peter could sense his tension.

“He might’ve, sort of, just a little bit, gotten in the way of one of my arrows.”

“What?  You shot him?” Tony yelled.

“It was an accident!”

“Where is he?  Peter!”

Oh right.  He could talk.  “I know how a shish kabob feels now.” He groaned.  “Can’t say I’d recommend it.”

“Where are you?” Tony asked, panicking.  “Never mind.  I see you.”

Ironman flew toward him and landed with a clang.  The helmet retracted and Peter could see the man’s eyes widen as he took him in.

“It’s not that bad.” Peter tried to reassure him.

“Not that bad.  We need to work on your definition of those words.  You’ve been impaled.” Tony said, crouching down to get a closer look at his leg.

“It’s just a flesh wound.” Peter said and let out a hysterical laugh.  He couldn’t help it.

“Not funny.” Tony had gotten touchy about him getting hurt ever since he’d come back from the snap.

“No but seriously, it’s just the fleshy part.  I think if you just pull it out it’ll be fine.”

“Pull it—” Tony stopped and took a deep breath.  “You never pull it out.  If you ever get stabbed or skewered or whatever you leave it in.  Capiche?”

Peter nodded.

“And you’re supposed to be a genius…” Tony muttered to himself and then the next moment the helmet of his armor formed back into place.  “Try to hold still kid.”

Peter frowned.  “I thought we weren’t taking it out.”

“I’m not.” Tony said and one of the fingers on his armor uncapped and Tony aimed it at the arrow.  A focused laser shot out of the finger and sliced off one side of the arrow, near enough to his skin that Peter felt the heat, but it didn’t burn.  Tony repeated the same process on the other side so now only about an inch of arrow shaft stuck out on each side of his calf.  For just hitting his leg it sure was bleeding pretty profusely.  The puddle of blood under his leg had been slowly expanding.  Looking at it made him feel a little ill.

Tony seemed to notice the same thing in the next moment.  “Let’s get you out of here kid.”  Before Peter could protest, Tony had lifted him up in his arms and taken off.

“What about the fight?” Peter asked, starting to feel lightheaded.  They’d barely been winning before and now they were losing Spiderman and Ironman.

“Don’t worry about it.  They’ll be fine.” Tony answered, sounding distracted.

Peter wasn’t sure he believed him, but he didn’t have the energy to argue.  He closed his eyes.

“Stay awake Pete.”

“I’m awake.” He responded, opening his eyes with a reluctant sigh.

The rest of the flight passed in a pain filled blur.  By the time they made it to the compound he wasn’t feeling the greatest, but he was still awake, and he wasn’t crying or screaming in pain even though he kind of wanted to.  Every jostle had sent sparks of agony up his leg.  Who knew how much an arrow wound hurt?  He had a new respect for Hawkeye and his primary weapon of choice.  He never wanted to end up on the wrong end of an arrow again.

“How are you doing?” Tony asked as he deposited him on the waiting gurney on the roof.  Peter gave him a weak thumbs up and the man gently pulled off his mask before they started wheeling him to the elevator.

“Don’t worry.  I’m going to kill birdbrain.” Tony growled.

“Don’t.” Peter said with a wave of his hand.  “It was an accident.”

“He should’ve known better than to be shooting those things so close to you.”

Peter knew it wasn’t worth arguing over.  Tony was acting like an angry dad, and when he got like that, nothing Peter said would change his mind.  They descended and as soon as the elevator doors opened, they pushed him into the medbay, Tony following alongside the bed.  Dr. Cho was already waiting at the exact spot where they stopped and locked the bed.

“I saw the scans from FRIDAY.” Dr. Cho said, more to Tony than him, as the medical personnel started helping him out of the suit.  “It should be an easy enough fix.  We’ll put him under to take the arrow out and stitch up the artery and everything else, but he should be back to normal in a day or two with his healing ability.

Tony let out a relieved sigh.

“You should go back and help.” Peter suggested once he knew the injury wasn’t too severe, even though he didn’t really want Tony to leave his side.  He winced as they finished carefully peeling the suit away from the arrow, guiding the ends through the holes in the suit, but unable to keep from jostling it slightly.

“I’m staying.” Tony said, adamant.

“But—”

“They’ll be fine.  Trust me.”

Peter acquiesced with a sigh, hoping Tony was right.  He tried to ignore the flutter of motion around him as the medical people worked, attaching an IV and all the necessary wires to him.

“Hey Mr. Stark?” Peter prompted and Tony purposely didn’t acknowledge him as he continued to stare at a monitor over Peter’s head.  Peter sighed.  Right.  He tried again.  “Hey Tony?”

“Yes?” The man looked down at him with a smirk.  Peter rolled his eyes.  Ever since the snap, Tony had been relentless about Peter calling him Tony instead of Mr. Stark, and Peter had been working on it, but it was a work in progress.

“When I wake up will you watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail with me?”

Tony shook his head in consternation.  “You’re a menace kid.”

Peter grinned.  “Is that a yes?”

“We’ll see.”

“It’s a yes.” Peter said confidently.  “Because you love me.”

Tony’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly but Peter noticed it.  “Sure do.” He confirmed, something Peter was pretty sure the pre-snap Tony never would’ve admitted, especially around other people, but this Tony was different.  He was softer, gentler, more willing to share his emotions and show affection.  Peter was still trying to adjust.

Tony ruffled his hair.  “But don’t tell anyone I said so.  I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Peter snorted.  Ok, maybe he hadn’t completely changed.

[swamp-world]

anyways. if... (1968). how to talk about it. tired ramblings below the cut. again, big TWs for a lot of stuff.

im slowly in the process of rewatching it because i just havent had the time lately. it just...strikes me as such a strange film for what it is. i dont remember much, frankly. i remember the general idea, the general vibe, i think there was a lot i was too young to understand the first watch.

the first thing that comes to mind in this film is the idea of the school shooting. they didnt call it such, no, but that’s what we would call it today. as a film made in 1968, it’s morbid and horrendous that they created an event in an overdramatized film, clearly meant to be divorced from reality, clearly satirical in every way, and that by the end of the century, Columbine would happen, and within the 21st century, school shootings became a regular event in america. a cursory search shows that there certainly were instances of school violence before this (a man shot a student in a dorm; a principal shot colleagues, etc.) but none so sensationalized or arguably senseless as those in Brenda Spencer, as Columbine.

and that’s where this film walks a tightrope. there are multiple ways to see the film and all of them are true in at least part.

1. many will recognize malcolm mcdowell from his role in A Clockwork Orange. many will recognize that as a film that white american men tend to look to aspirationally instead of with horror, as it was designed. same vein as the matrix, fight club, the joker, etc. this movie is where he got a lot of his character inspiration from. and there’s definitely that same idea of the disillusioned loner who, if given a gun, can make enough of a revolutionary difference in a world that has wronged him

2. is this supposed to be a good thing? the film seems conflicted itself at times. the teachers are in the wrong, certainly. oh, that’s without question. it doens’t paint the violence as aspirational, i dont think. i do think that there’s this idea of a fictionalized, sensationalized and glorified revolution, fighting back against the school system and society

3. this was part of a “series” that was satirizing british school, healthcare, and capiatlism. make of that what you will.

4. it predates monty python as well but absolutely demonstrates much of the same humouor and influence and aims. i can’t explain the surrealness of it.

5. the disillusioned students aren’t disillusioned for no reason. the school system strips them of their character, reduces them to family names and no personality, turns a blind eye to abuse at the level of peers, encourages harmful hierarchies within the student body that involve active abuse and corporal punishment, and aims to produce machines instead of people. this is an understandable reason to be upset. it’s something we still grapple with today.

6. the context of the school shooting in the film absolutely must, for my intentions here, be separated as much as possible from our modern conception of the school shooting. the ones that we encounter in the modern world are certainly a product of the issues that the film brings up, but i want to do my best to look at it in its own time, as much as i am able to with my limited knowledge

7. the modern school shooter tends to be a “lone-wolf” domestic terrorist, and i will not hesitate to call them such. they tend to be incels, white, straight, young men who perceive themselves as being rejected by women, or who are motivated by alt-right and fascistic beliefs and goals. these are acts meant to inspire terror in those populations. i would certainly classify these as hate crimes, since that’s their primary motivation. in If... on the other hand, they are very clearly attacking the system of british education itself and the people who perpetuate it. (in a lot of situations, this isn’t inherently much different from the way that a lot of modern school shooters see themselves: important to consider.) rather than being violence deliberately directed at the students, it’s specifically on Speech Day, where parents, administration, faculty, etc. are all present. These are the people in power; these are the ones who send their children to these schools, who fund them, who run them, who allow, encourage, and enact the violence. it is not an aimless violence, nor is it a hate-motivated violence.

8. the shooting in the film is meant to be farcical and satirical. who would have imagined, in 1968, that this scene, meant to be the pinnacle of overdramatized and hyperviolent revolution in a satirical manner, not meant remotely to approach reality, would become something that people avoid watching because it has in fact happened to them? in 1968, who would have predicted Brenda Spencer, Columbine, Stoneman Douglas, Sandy Hook, Virginia Tech? there was one significant school shooting in 1966, in Austin, that killed 28 and was the deadliest mass shooting for 18 years. but, and while this doesn’t diminish the violence, i want to emphasize that that took place at a university in america, not at a boarding school in england. the fundamental difference between the concept of adults, former military, gunning down 28 people; and a set of schoolchildren taking over the boarding school’s armoury and shooting at the headmaster, having been taught how to shoot those very guns on that very schoolground, is an extreme difference.

9. so, the shooting is designed to be an act of violence, targeting a system that the film paints as being actively harmful and deserving of a takedown, using the very weapons that the school taught them to use but never anticipated to have turned on them, and created in a farcical light: the idea that “this won’t happen, it’s too outrageous to be real”.

10. how do we take this these days? it seems, in many ways, like very little has changed. oh, corporal punishment isn’t practiced (or at least, not sanctioned, but certainly practiced). students are still molded to machine standard on the basis of class and aspirations spoon-fed to them by their parents. there’s still a significant divide between the working class and the capitalist class. there’s still rage simmering at the way that students have been abused by their schools. the violence that was seen as being overexaggerated at the time became a reality for a completely different set of revolutionary reasons, and the film balances the same tightrope as the matrix, as fight club, etc., between being commentary and satire that violent men will mark as aspirational and true rather than satirical and a warning

11. (that’s not to touch on the misogyny of the film)

this is apparently voted one of the best british films of all time, but that doesn’t mean much a lot of the time. it being a best voted doesn’t mean it’s popular or common or well known among people outside of britain, or outside of that generation; it doesn’t mean it was understood and received as intended.

the other thing i want to bring up about the film is the question of reality. the whole thing is so surreal and strange that the line between reality and imagination begins to blur regularly, but particularly near the end. there’s the question of whether this shooting actually happened in the film, or whether it was merely a twisted fantasy of mcdowell’s character. frankly, i would say that it doesn’t matter if it’s real, according to the movie or not. it genuinely doesn’t. this is what we as the audience see, and the intent is the same: either the boy is so driven to this violence that he actually does it, or he’s so driven to it that he fantasizes vividly about doing it. the point of it is still the same. it isn’t our job to know reality from fantasy; it’s possible that if it’s made up, the character himself isn’t aware of that. of course the film won’t make sense, it’ll be muddled and confusing and unrealistic, it’s satire and meant to bend the rules of reality to make a point. (those rules of reality included: schoolchildren do not use semiautomatic weaponry on their own schools. except for in texas, it does not happen.)

so what’s this to do with dark academia? let me answer that when it’s not 4am.

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 14: Sam’s Recipe for Success

Full of Beans

~

SAM YAO: Hello, listeners! Sam here, coming live from Abel's kitchens. We're going to kick off another workout in a minute, so while I'm talking, why not do a little warming up? Dance about, or jog on the spot, something light and fun. Now I'm not usually allowed in the kitchens because of a little... incident with some marmite shortbread which I thought was a brilliant idea but Janine said was a waste of resources, especially after it caught fire in the oven.

But anyway, as some of you may know, we've had a bit of luck with the giant super horde besieging the countryside. A landslide hit the horde's east flank, scattering a huge chunk of the zoms, so we've got a little window to send runners out with supplies. Dozens of small communities were cut off by the horde, and we're sending care packages to everyone. It's been all hands on deck in the kitchens prepping the deliveries, and we're almost ready to go.

[paper rustles]

So to celebrate, today's first exercise is one I've really started to like. The instructions call it dead bug walking, but I like to think of it as happy puppy flailing. Just lie on your back with your arms and legs in the air, then walk them up and down as fast as you can for one minute, like an excited Labradoodle on its back. Ready? And go! Okay, that's 15 seconds down. Keep those paws wiggling. And that's it, halfway done. Yeah, I-I really think this is a good sign. You know, the horde weakening. A few more natural disasters and it-it could be gone. That's 15 seconds left. Yeah, not-not that we want natural disasters, obviously. Just little disasters. You know, zom-only disasters. And that's it, you're done!

Feel that Labradoodle energy. Okay, yeah, I'm gonna scoot the last crate of eggs and flour down to our dispatch runners, then I'll come right back. Meantime, I'll play some music. You can relax or keep flailing. I've borrowed Runner Seventeen’s latest good times mix, so this song should be perfect for keeping up the good vibes.

~

SAM YAO: All right, that's the last load of supplies delivered to our runners. They'll be leaving any minute. Now I tell you what, Runner Forty-Three has been baking some great treats for each package. You should see the cupcakes! It's amazing what Forty-Three can do with an egg and some scavenged Nutella.

Actually, I've been using the lockdown to work on my own baking. Yeah, well, first it was crochet until we ran out of yarn. Then it was photography, but Maxine wanted the last camera. So Forty-Three has been helping me practice recipes instead, by miming them to avoid wasting supplies. Janine made me promise not to get in the way in the kitchens today though, so I've mostly been carrying cans and crates out to the runners, which gave me the idea for our next exercise, running with cans.

So find yourself two cans or any two objects about as heavy that you can grip, and take one in each hand. But if you're not absolutely sure you've got a solid grip, put each one in a strong bag with a good handle, hold them like that. Then run on the spot, swinging your arms to get your heart pumping, okay? Yeah, let's try one minute of that. And go! Now that's 15 seconds down. Okay, 30 seconds left. Like Forty-Three always says, practice makes perfect. 15 seconds left. Actually, Forty-Three tends to say, that's weird, practice usually makes perfect. Cooking lessons could be going better, to be honest. And you're done. 60 seconds.

Time to rest, unless you want to keep running through... [device beeps] Uh, hold on one sec. Oh... okay. Um, just got an urgent message from Janine. Better take this off the air. I'm gonna cut straight to the next music break, okay? Dance along or run some more, if you fancy it. I'll be right back after this.

~

SAM YAO: Um, hello folks. Uh, I've uh... I've got some bad news. You might want to keep can running to distract you. Really wish I didn't have to say this. Apparently, we're not the only ones who decided to take advantage of the weakened horde. There was this group of runners in New Canton, vigilantes going against orders. They figured this was the perfect time to fight the zoms, rounded up a bunch of people, charged at the horde's weakened flank with guns and bombs.

Only well, the zoms got scattered by a landslide, didn't they? So loads of them were buried under rocks, which this lot charged right over. Zom hands came reaching up from the ground, scratching and pulling. Some of the vigilantes went down, some bombs went off early. Zoms got freed from the rock while the rest of the horde honed in on the noise. Basically, it was a bloody mess. And now the horde's as strong as ever. So no supplies going anywhere today.

Well, I know you must be feeling frustrated, listeners, because I am. But, but I've got another exercise that might help channel that. Yeah, uh... [paper rustles] Ah, yeah. Well, this one's pretty simple. Bicep curls. You need weights. Take your cans or whatever you were running with and if you haven't already, put them into bags, one per bag, and make sure each bag has a good handle you can hold. For heavier weights, add more cans. Then press your elbows against your flanks with your hands by your sides and your palms facing up, one hand holding each weight. Bend your elbows to bring the weights up to your shoulders and then down again, okay? Yeah, we'll do 60 seconds of that.

Ready? And go! That's it, 15 seconds down. [laughs] You know, Runner Twelve, stuck in a pub with a pinball machine? He swears this exercise helped him to top the high score. Ah, unless he was tilting it. That's it, halfway done. Concentrate on those weights. It must have been that. That would help, actually. 15 seconds left. And done. Now I hope that gave you all something else to focus on for a bit. Uh, I'm gonna play some music now, do a few curls myself. Because honestly, I've got a lot of frustration that needs channeling here.

~

SAM YAO: Uh, welcome back everyone. Yep, I've just had final confirmation from Janine. No one's going out anytime soon. [sighs] I feel sorry for those vigilantes, I really do, but how could they be so stupid, charging a super horde like that? Now they've gone and made things worse for everyone, [sighs] because they couldn't stand staying in and feeling useless, I guess. I get it. Yeah, I mean, I-I want to be doing more too, but we can't go off half-cocked, not when the stakes are this high. It's like Maxine says, right? The Z-virus is a medical problem and medical problems need patience. [laughs] I know it's a really bad pun, but it's true.

Anyway, in case anyone out there wants to reinforce their barricades now that the horde's been strengthened, we're going to do an exercise that's good for lifting furniture: squats. I bet most of you know this already. Stand with your arms at your sides and your legs hip-distance apart, then squat down like you're sitting on an invisible chair. Make sure your knees don't come out further than your feet and your bum is sticking out. And we're going to go for one minute of those. And go!

15 seconds down. Imagine you're lifting a sofa. 30 seconds down. Get that barricade reinforced. 15 seconds left. Just a couple more cabinets to lift. And done. Good job, everyone. I'm gonna play some more music for anyone who wants to keep going, but remember, you need to look after yourselves as well as your barricades, so don't be afraid to stop and rest.

~

SAM YAO: You know what, listeners? I always try and look on the bright side, but the truth is this is, um, this is getting to me. Yeah. I really thought it was going to be a good day, and then you know, wham. Janine's checked with the settlements we were going to deliver to and they've all got enough supplies to last a while longer, so... so that's something, at least.

I've uh, I've actually been secretly baking something for Janine. Banana bread based on Runner Forty-Three’s lessons. It was going to be a surprise to celebrate the deliveries. Guess them being cancelled doesn't make a difference. Come out all burned and blackened anyway, like that shortbread.

Oh boy. Ah. I think I need some cheering up here, listeners. I'm um... spiraling a bit. Tell you what. Yeah, there's this one exercise, it always looks sort of silly picturing loads of people doing it at once. Well, it'd put a smile on my face. It's called doing high knees. Just march really fast on the spot for one minute, pumping your arms and bringing your knees all the way up to your waist with each step, like something out of the Ministry of Silly Walks from Monty Python. Ready? And go!

15 seconds gone. Keep those knees up. Halfway done. Honestly, I don't miss a lot of Monty Python, but did you hear Runner Thirty-Four's radio reenactment of Holy Grail last night? I's brilliant. It was brilliant. 45 seconds, almost done. And that's one minute! Okay. That, that did make me feel better, imagining you all doing that. I couldn't help joining in towards the end, I admit it. [timer dings] Oh, and uh, yeah. That's the oven timer. Right, I'm gonna get my blackened, burned mess, listeners, but it's okay. I'm feeling more like I can cope with it now. You guys rest or keep marching to the music until I get back.

~

SAM YAO: [laughs] Right, you're not gonna believe this, listeners! I mean, I don't believe it. The banana bread, it's-it's perfect! The top is all nice and brown, and the inside's soft and spongy, and it has that delicious banana-y smell, and it's-it's just... perfect. Possibly thanks to Runner Forty-Three, who left a note on the oven saying set to 180 degrees, not 300. Guess you caught my secret project, Forty-Three. Couldn't have done it without you.

Or you, listeners. You really helped me today. I know this lockdown's tough, but we have to keep reminding ourselves the one thing we can do without going off half-cocked is just... be there, even at a distance. Be willing to help each other past dark days. And we can share the little victories that help us through, like Maxine's photos or Thirty-Four’s radio plays, or banana bread. Because if one of us scores a win, and we're all in this together, it's a win for all of us, isn't it? No matter how small it seems.

Now I'm gonna take this banana bread to Janine. She won't admit it, but it will cheer her up. And I'll put the recipe on ROFFLEnet in case you want to try it! Well, if you don't, that's okay, because exercising is a little victory too, so you're already winning today. We'll get through this, everyone, I know it. And maybe after, we can have some banana bread together. Until then, stay safe. I'll be back on air soon and I promise I'll share all my little victories and I'll cheer for all of yours.

~

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Fated to Love You here reaffirming my long held conviction that no pure romance drama should be 20+ episodes.

This show is... really something. It is, in the fullest possible sense, A Lot. It starts out as an all-out screwball comedy wrapped around a troperiffic romance fluff plot. Wall to wall clichés, but not in a bad way; in a meta, self-aware, peak performance, finest Velveeta way. And if you’re not familiar with screwball comedy, think ‘light-hearted crack fic with slapstick and farce’. There is nothing believable or grounded about any aspect of it, it starts at Bonkers Level: Platinum and it only climbs higher as it goes on.

(On a side note, this results in the leading man being possibly the most memorable love interest in romcom history. His introduction scene is nothing short of batshit insane and you can't reliably predict how he will respond to anything. I have never seen a main character like this, he is all over the shop and utterly singular. Your first reaction to him is ‘wtf?’, your second and third reactions are ‘really?! this guy??’, your fourth reaction is ‘okay he do be mad hot tho’, your fifth and final reaction is ‘I cannot believe this performance exists, I have no idea what he is doing, but it is amazing.’

Appropriately(?) the actor who plays him is an uncanny Korean doppelgänger of Johnny Depp and- between the resemblance, the mannerisms, and the fearless total commitment to a bold as fuck acting choice with the very serious chops to back it up- I’m not convinced they aren’t half brothers separated at birth.

They do sabotage my happiness several times by starting to randomly style his (long, beautiful) hair very weird, fixing it right when the plot is rapidly circling the drain so he looks his hottest just as the show becomes briefly unwatchable, and then ruining him for the entire second half of the series by shearing it all off. WHY, my anguished cry goes up. Why do you do this?! Why does he have like seven hairstyles over the course of the show? Much later they even briefly give him that ubiquitous Kdrama Second Lead haircut with weirdly forward combed fringe in a solid straight line across the brow all the way back from the crown. It looks terrible on everyone and I hate it so much. This version was less bad than most but it is still bad. Anyway.)

So it’s an incredibly fun time to start but there are some problems with the tone and plot even in the first 9 episodes, including when the lovers start getting along really well right away and they’re both thoroughly decent people so there’s nothing keeping them from having a lovely time together making the best of the circumstances (forced/fake marriage). And, instead of introducing new conflict or advancing one of the dozen conflicts previously established and actually moving forward, there is a painfully contrived rehash of something they already dealt with which is then just never resolved. They make the hero leap to a conclusion his wife is nefarious after he’d already decided once that she isn’t (though it was completely reasonable for him to think she was- the fact that he decided to trust her so quickly just speaks to what kind of person he is), never try to find out more or talk to anyone about it, start pushing her away because of it, and have all this come to absolutely nothing. It only exists so he’ll stop being so incredibly nice to her and they won’t fall in love too fast.

You’d think they would have to eventually clear the air before the romance advances right? No. It wasn’t a real plot point, it was just a reset button to get them estranged and hostile again after they connect over their kindred spirits and we’ve spent a bunch of time showing how profoundly supportive and honourable our hero is. He’s being beautifully mature and selfless because he’s a really good dude (unusual for a romcom drama, right? for the main guy to be nice and considerate? to accept responsibility even if he doesn’t have to? Gun’s weird but he’s wonderful), but the writers need him to be cold and standoffish, so they just make him act like an unreasonable idiot for a while. He’s been thus far hugely proactive and direct and honest about everything, it’s one of his most prominent character traits, but suddenly he’s going to avoid confrontation in favour of being super passive aggressive?? Then the writers never solve it. Never! It just goes away. He got over it, I guess? He decided he doesn’t care if she’s a gold digger who deliberately trapped him? God forbid we have motivations that make sense and organic character drama, right? It's not like he didn't have totally valid reasons to be suspicious that could have led to legitimate conflict our heroine would struggle to vindicate herself from.

But anyway, apart from that kind of lazy bullshit, it’s a fine romance plot with extremely endearing characters who have great chemistry. They are fun and well-rounded and incredibly human despite all the silliness and OTT antics. Their relationship is hugely, hugely engaging and the dynamic is perfect, they really complement each other as characters and organically drive each other's arcs. There's the genuine depth and warmth and quiet pathos so often lacking from this kind of show. Things progress at a semi-reasonable pace. They work up to confessing their mutual feelings and get into some cute shenanigans before making out. It happens soon enough that you are not frustrated, but there's still plenty of build-up. Then- uh oh! We’re only 9 eps in and we have another 11 hours to fill with this fluffy plot!

Time for a bunch of absolute fucking nonsense. Time for our show, which has been so goofy and removed from reality it occasionally resembles a Monty Python skit, which has been so light it asks you to ignore the frankly incredibly fucked up implications of its premise for the sake of comedy (they were both drugged and proxy raped resulting in a pregnancy- the FL was a virgin prior to this and Gun had a girlfriend he wanted to propose to- and it was the FL’s family who did this to them: SUPER FUCKED UP), so farcical that it makes Some Like it Hot look like a gritty crime drama, that show to cover a bunch of serious heavy shit.

First, the rankest of melodrama. The families and the world all turn on our couple, but their love is true and will conquer all- UNTIL, he randomly collapses and gets convenient Soap Opera Amnesia. He’s forgotten their entire relationship and a series of coincidental pieces of misconstrued evidence, the machinations of his scheming ex girlfriend, the Soap Opera Doctor’s advice, and his closest confidants all going along with this conspire to make him believe (AGAIN) that his wife just wants his money.

This whole terrible episode is mercifully brief, but it just gets worse after his memory returns. This is where we get into the Noble Idiocy. The ‘pretend you don’t love them to “save them” from getting hurt by hurting them and making their important life decisions for them as if they don’t have a basic fucking right to decide that themselves’ kind. Which goes on for three FUCK years in the show. He wastes three years of their lives they could have spent together because he’s worried he might die young (in a terrible way) and doesn’t want to put her through that. And, of course, they inevitably get together later, so all he did was make it infinitely worse for her either way. To say nothing of how he thus couldn’t be there for her through the loss of their child. Possibly my most hated fucking trope of all time when done this way.

And, yep, you read that right. This show that has the single most batshit bonkers over the top slapstick I have ever seen in a kdrama, this show has a storyline where the fluffy romcom trope accidental pregnancy ends in massive trauma. Because she was standing around in the street after realising he does remember her (he continued to pretend he had amnesia after his memories came back, it’s all part of the stupid noble idiocy so I glossed over it) and gets hit by a car in the middle of their angst staring.

It is nearly Meet Joe Black levels of hilariously abrupt and incongruous.

so, blah blah, they lose their baby (there’s a very stupid whole thing about her telling everyone to save the baby instead of her- the baby is not far enough along for this to have been remotely viable. She is like 3 months pregnant. They all act like there’s a choice to be made between them and she’s mad at her husband for choosing to save her, but there was NO CHOICE. Either she lives or they both die! ffs I’m so irritated about this) and then he dumps her ~for her own good~~ because he loves her too much to make her go through losing him? So she loses him sooner?? right after their baby died???

Why do people in these stories always think being betrayed and abandoned for no reason and being incredibly angry at someone you love while also not getting to be with them is somehow less painful than making the best of your life together and then losing them against their will? ‘I will make her hate me and then she won’t be sad we broke up/I died!!!!’ is such a fucking galaxy brain take and I despise it with the heat of ten thousand suns. Fuck you, Spider-Man. You aren’t protecting anyone, the villains still know you love MJ and will still use her against you, you clod. Emotionally torturing the person you love is not going to make them not a target because the villains are not as fucking stupid as you two. Anyway.

Amnesia was right where I started fast-forwarding and skipping around (because I couldn’t bear it), but it only goes downhill from there. Maybe I would have toughed out more of the wretched middle part plot twist if they hadn’t cut all the hot guy’s hair off. If I’m going to watch total nonsense tedious melodrama, I need it to at least be pretty. I understand it was a Symbolic Haircut but damnit! Let me have this!

And it ultimately does the thing that kdramas seem obsessed with and which makes me want to claw out my own eyeballs with frustration. There’s a giant time skip, the female lead gets a personality transplant, all narrative momentum is lost, and the characters who eventually (at ENORMOUS length) get together permanently are essentially completely different characters with a completely different dynamic than the couple you were shipping for 90% of the story. It is so FUCKING unsatisfying and it is EVERYWHERE.

Not so much with this one because this one still had a lot of very romantic scenes late in the game, but most that do this, it’s also like all the romance is sucked out of the post-time skip episodes and the ending is a consolation prize instead of a triumphant culmination. Inevitably, the heroine abruptly cools off and is suddenly wary of the hero and wants this Important New Career she never mentioned until the penultimate episode but is now her one true life’s dream. What the apparently irresistible appeal is of these contrived separations and demure conclusions is I CANNOT FATHOM. I’m here for the fucking romance guys, you have not made Citizen Kane, please just indulge me with a big schmoopy finale.

And if not that, it’s frequently that there’s been so many random mood swings and so much shitty behaviour by the end that the relationship doesn’t make sense and you don’t know why they even bother to get back together.

I’m not inherently against all misunderstandings (they are the bread and butter of low stakes romance let’s be real) or attempts at noble idiocy from misguided characters, but the duration and seriousness of the drama these generate needs to be in proportion to how ridiculous they are. If your entire plot can be solved by a thirty second conversation there is NO REASON not to have and the continuation of the misunderstanding is a result of someone just NOT SPEAKING UP when any functional human being would have spoken up seven times by now IT’S BAD.

Do little cliff-hangers, whatever, but don’t draaaaagg out silly misconceptions into Shakespearean tragedy, it’s just wearying. It makes me hate the characters for acting like emotionally constipated toddlers with terminal stupidity. If there is so little trust, so little understanding, and so little basic patience between these people, they probably shouldn’t be dating, so try fucking harder, writers. And noble idiocy that is more than an impulse they fairly quickly see the error of is just insulting. You are not helping the other person, you are being domineering and selfish. I have a whole complex about wasting time and seeing endless parades of characters flushing years down the toilet for literally no reason gives me hives. Especially when the whole issue is about time!

(And, btw, so much of the plot is about how desperately the family needs an heir and everyone still wanting them to have kids the second time they get together- while the ~dilemma used to keep them apart is a GENETIC DISEASE which could STRIKE AT ANY TIME. Do you SEE THE PROBLEM WITH THIS WRITERS????? NO, I KNOW YOU DON’T. ommmmmmmmggggg that’s awful! So they’re just dooming more kids to Soap Opera Brain Disease? And maybe growing up without a father just as Gun did? And no one even considers suggesting adoption??? He never considers that he shouldn’t have biological children despite thinking he shouldn’t have a wife?)

ANYWAY. Please do watch the first nine episodes and the last three, it’s bananas. They are cute as fuck, Gun is The Best, and the tropey romance scenes are top quality. You don't get those things executed so well, it doesn't happen, so you need this in your life. The acting is of a calibre you never usually see in modern romcoms; these are people at the top of their game committing utterly and taking these characters completely seriously. In that way it is pure wish fulfilment for me as someone who loves romance and is almost always disappointed by popular romance media, and thus the show is incalculably special. But skip the middle. Just skip it. It's not worth the suffering. I find the tone whiplash honestly just this side of crass.

I’ve been thinking about it for over a week and I truly love the main characters so it did plenty right, but I just cannot with wedding the two things this show is trying to be together, especially when it goes so hard in two mutually exclusive directions. but also the Meet Joe Black sudden car accident device is not redeemable under any circumstances. Can we never do that again, please.

[0poole]

Humor in Writing

    Most of the time I feel like dismissing what might seem like “faults” in writing because I haven’t actually made anything myself, and especially haven’t gotten any attention to what I make, but every once in a while something really ticks me off. Of course, I still try to take it with a grain of salt because of my lack of true experience in writing, but considering I’m hoping to actually become some degree of a writer I feel like it’s worth actually trying to explain what I think is a fault with things and why. 

    There always seems to be one specific thing that bothers me a lot when reading/watching stuff, and it’s the hard switching of tone from comedy to sincerity, or something similar to that, or vice versa.

    Honestly, even though it sounds like the motive of a cartoon villain, I kinda think there’s too much humor in the world. It’s probably just entirely driven by opinion and preferences, but I feel like so many people are striving and looking for comedy that it hinders so many other things. I feel like, both in real life and in writing, having so much humor everywhere creates a pretty big gap between that tone and sincerity, which is pretty much always needed at some point. The big line between comedy and sincerity makes it so much harder, emotionally speaking, to feel good about the switch. I’ll try to explain…

    First of all, this whole line of thought, even though I’ve been thinking it forever, was spawned by me watching Epithet Erased. Took me long enough, because I’ve seen some of the characters around and really loved their designs, but I finally watched it all, and I gotta say… It was interesting. Also, this is probably just going to be very ranty and opinionated but I will (hopefully) have something more valuable to say after. But, anyways, for one, it felt just barely too close to some of the premises for the stories I’ve thought of in various ways, but I guess that’s just bad luck on my part. Second, I feel like its humor really brought it down for me. Some episodes felt so long winded (although not necessarily “boring” I guess) because I felt like I got the joke they were trying to tell relatively quickly after they started it, but carried it so far. It didn’t help that, at least for a few of them, some of the characters felt like archetypes that I’ve seen a lot around the internet, or at least were simple enough that I understood what they were instantly, and when they are carried out through long character-focused moments it felt like nothing was happening. I feel like some of the characters are fine enough, even if I may not like them, but Giovanni and Indus were the two big ones that I thought had a little too much time given to them…

    But more relevant to what I’m trying to say, sometimes the writing jumps way too far from the very comedic tone it’s trying to put out and into it trying to be sincere. The worst case of this was when Sylvie met Mera in the museum storage, and Sylvester tried to out Mera’s nightmares, only to see that her nightmare was the reality she was already in. With the scene change, and Indus becoming more serious with Molly, it felt like a good enough departure from the usual comedic tone to warrant the deeper motive of the character. But, then, of course, they had to trash the whole tone by adding the line about her also being afraid of ducks. There was absolutely no good reason to warrant that line and I will die on that hill. Not only was it just humor, but it was spontaneous “random” humor, and so on… I honestly hope people could just understand where I’m coming from there by how out of place it seems. I feel like the only defense they could use, apart from “just liking it,” would be that it’s comedic relief, but I genuinely feel like since practically the whole thing up until this point was comedy there was absolutely no need for comedic relief. The scene itself is like the opposite of comedic relief, like “Sit down and pay attention” or “Turn your brain back on” or whatever. The climactic point of the scenes before it were reached, meaning the sincere conflict there should be focused on, and apart from that one tiny little line it worked well enough. The fact that it was so tiny and insignificant is basically why I hated it so much. They literally could’ve just scratched it off of the script and only good things would have happened. 

    Something a bit similar happened before when Molly revealed her backstory to Giovanni. It wasn’t quite as bad, but when a scene goes from comedy to “my mom’s dead and my life sucks” you do feel the shift a little too quickly. I feel like it’s not as bad because it could just be Molly’s character, seeing the tragedy of her life as just sort of normal and not really that remarkable, meaning she’s more likely to just randomly bring it up. 

    But I definitely wouldn’t be going off this much about it if there wasn’t at least a little bit more. Zora was literally the reason I wanted to watch the show, because I saw a drawing of her a while back and thought she was just some random OC, but when I heard she was from this show I instantly wanted to watch it a lot more. I think the same thing happened with Molly, but I think I knew she was from the show to begin with. Anyway, Zora was the main character who I loved from the get-go and loved even more the more I learned about her. She’s such a perfect amount of diversion from being a generic cowboy in the little design details, while still being 100% cowboy material. Then, when I saw that her power was “Sundial,” or more generally just time powers, I loved it. The big thing that seems little conceptually is making her key term “sundial” instead of just “time” or whatever, because of how much it relates to her cowboy-ness, with it being associated with the “sun” people often associate with Death Valley and the Wild West and whatnot. Not to mention, it’s just a cool power.

    But that’s kinda the thing, though. She’s so insanely strong. She could literally kill anyone on a whim. I don’t see how anyone could be cracking jokes in her presence. It’s kinda more general of a gripe, but when she aged up Howie it was borderline terrifying, and yet… right after, they’re cracking jokes again. It’s just so jarring. She could have literally reduced him to dust, and they’re so casual about it. I know Percy is supposed to be kinda blind to some obvious things, but I feel like even she could see the horror. That said, though, Percy is also one of my favorites. Her powers feel so natural yet interesting for what she is for some reason. 

Frankly, the visual character designs alone for this show are all really good. Whether or not I’m into the writing, I can’t deny that the show kept me coming back just because it feels so good to just look at it, you know? The minimal animation, vocalized stage directions, and top-down scene view was really interesting to watch, since I’ve never seen it before, and seems like a perfect way to produce more content with less budget. It made everything feel super crisp and tidy, despite being animated so simply. Not to mention that the general lack of animation meant the few scenes where there was traditional-level animation felt really good. The voice acting was also amazing, (again not directly tied to the writing) especially when the voice actors carried their character and emotion from the scene into the stage directions, instead of just reading them out plainly. And, at the very least, the premise of the show is also really interesting (at least to me, mainly because I created 2 stories with a similar idea without even knowing anything about it. Simplified, specific superpowers are just perfect for character designing, you know?) 

But I am kinda acting like the writing was bad, but it really wasn’t all things considered… I’m just not really into comedy, and when the comedy I don’t like is paired with writing and practically everything else I do like it doesn’t sit right with me. Considering this idea and some of the story beats were adopted from a DnD(-esque?) campaign, I feel like it’s much more fine. Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t realize it sooner. Once I read about that, everything just fell into place. I’m not really into DnD either, though…

So, I feel like there are things to gain from thinking about this. While Epithet Erased is still on the mind, I feel like I’ve realized something about the juxtaposition of comedy and sincerity, that being that comedic characters can exist in sincere surroundings, and vice versa. Zora specifically could be one of these characters, because she’s so powerful that she probably sees everything around her as trivial, while the other characters have more sincere reactions to her obscene power. She could easily crack a sick joke that no one laughs at because she’s the only one who can find humor in whatever’s going on. By contrast, the thing about Mera’s fear of ducks was a product of the scene and not of the character, so it just ruined things. Nothing about it was made to be funny to the characters, it was made to be funny to the audience, even though the audience should be in sincere mode then. 

Another character that I think works like this is Charlie from Hazbin Hotel, who is the sincere personality in a world of complete and total insincerity. She’s basically a more unique kind of straight man (despite being neither straight nor a man), who are always the grounding in comedic casts, like Squidward in Spongebob. I guess in sincere stories there are comedic relief characters, and in comedies there are straight men. You know, these are probably all things other people have figured out already… at least I can feel good knowing I sort of reached them on my own…

    I think a good solution for stuff that’s primarily meant to be a comedy is to make it almost entirely comedic, at least with the inclusion of a straight man if needed. The big name that comes to mind is good ol Monty Python, the backbone of 14 year old boys’ humor style. At some point I realized why I like the humor of The Holy Grail, at least above other comedic movies, is that they don’t hold back at all. At no point whatsoever do they pull back the veil and put in a sincere moment. And, of course, since I can basically recite the entire movie from memory I think it did wonders. I think when it comes to comedies like this, trying to be too sincere at certain points makes it feel even less sincere than if it didn’t have the sincere moment at all. This might be a product of the 00s American family-rated live action comedies who all feel like they fall into that same boat, where the entire movie is hijinks, but then at the very end they pull that all back and have something really impactful happen, with the idea being having some shoehorned message about “family” or whatever. I can group so many movies into that category that it feels almost corporate how many there are like that, and because it’s both overdone and geared towards too generalized of an audience, trying to capture the comedy-lovers and sincere-lovers, it really just fails in both ways. Or, maybe people love them because they’re just barely bad enough to enjoy it in a so-bad-it’s-good sort of way. I dunno. If I wasn’t a little nostalgic for the time those types of movies might be my all-time least favorite.

    But I’m a stick in the mud who hates comedy so I’m not really equipped to tell anyone how to do it right. Instead, I feel like there’s some seriously untapped potential in other forms of “feel-good” tones, like casual lightheartedness and just plain fun. I feel like those two things really work towards creating sincere stories that are still enjoyable, and not just one shot of sadness after another, while still having a dash of impactful emotion in them.

    I feel like this is where Pixar really shines. People say “It’s not a true Pixar movie if you don’t cry at the end” because I think Pixar movies are great at making the audience lower their guard, and when the moment is right, hitting you right in your heart to make you feel the right emotions. For example, what I’d call my favorite movie of all time (for intents and purposes, if not for real), Inside Out, is all about emotional sincerity, where it’s trying to get across how it’s okay to feel sad, even though the world around you tends to say happiness is always what you want. For most of the movie, it’s a pretty casual romp around the inner workings of Riley’s mind, with some jokes thrown in (because it doesn’t have to be completely without jokes). I’m not really sure how to explain it, but the various jokes in Inside out feel like they’re sort of blended with the interesting workings of this fantasy mind-world, like the fact that earworms are just the little blobby workers in our minds sending the memory of the song back up to the control panel for the hell of it, or that our dreams are a product of a Hollywood-like place in our minds. These things definitely are there for humor, but something about them feels much more fun than just any kind of generic comedy. 

    Then, I feel like the most important thing about fun and lightheartedness is that they feel like they blend so much better with the sincere moments. Obviously if it’s too quick it’ll still be bad, but I think it’ll be much less bad than with comedy. Maybe you could think of it like a spectrum with pure comedy at one end and pure tragedy at the other, with fun and lightheartedness just barely crossing the midpoint towards the comedy side. Since there’s less of a gap between it and tragedy compared to pure comedy, it feels less jarring. Plus, it just feels more reasonable logically speaking, since comedy sort of puts up this insincere barrier to sort of suspend the disbelief that the events in question are supposed to be taken seriously, which makes breaking that barrier harder once it’s established. With fun and lightheartedness, there may be an expectation of it sort of maintaining itself but there isn’t as much to say there isn’t something hiding in the background. In Inside Out at least, throughout Joy and Sadness’ journey they are pretty determined to get back to the control panel to save Riley, but they’re for the most part confident they can do it (or, you know, just Joy’s confident), so they sort of interpret the world around them in a more casual light, but with that lower-level need still there. But when Joy falls into the abyss of forgotten memories and the hopelessness sets in, you feel it much more, because it was sort of already there to begin with, and it was just made perfectly clear at that moment. I think Bing Bong’s emotions during the scene also make it pretty emotional, since he’s being casual about his death while also being sincere about his sacrifice for Riley’s sake. Not to mention his inner sadness was outed while talking with Sadness.

    I feel like if I were trying to write an actual essay I could probably phrase all this a lot better. I just think there’s a ton of value to lightheartedness in stories, as opposed to comedy, for the sake of “feeling good.” Pretty much all of my favorite things have that tone to them to some degree, like Wander Over Yonder, my for sure favorite TV show. It definitely feels fun in a way that can elicit laughs, but it’s not a lot like “This is a joke and you should laugh” most of the time (Disregarding the Evil Sandwich, my least favorite character in the show). I also think Steven Universe succeeds very well with that tone, creating an extremely comfy atmosphere when it comes to the less climactic episodes. 

    I also vastly prefer the lighthearted resolutions to the conflicts in lighthearted stories. Frankly, I am infinitely more likely to cry to a comfy and happy resolution than I am to the actual sad parts. I’m not really sure what it is about them, but I guess the characters finally being happy again after emotional turmoil warrants a happy-cry. I swear, if I think too hard about the scene where Riley finally admits her sadness to her parents and just sits in their warm embrace, I tear up. It feels so much better than hijinks-danger-hijink resolution. 

    But yeah, the stories I want to write the most will all inevitably have that sort of lighthearted flair to them, unless of course I choose to go more inherently serious with a story. There’s nothing wrong with that either. 

    With regard to the really big claim I made before about there being too much humor in the world, the themes of Inside Out, and what I said about comedy’s insincere barrier, I really think the world as a whole would benefit from valuing humor a little less. It feels like there are so many situations where people sort of want to maintain their good feelings with humor instead of more directly dealing with issues in a sincere mindset. For example, if people say something disagreeable (but not insane), It feels like too many people resort to making jokes at that person’s expense and not dealing with the issues directly. Obviously if someones saying some insane bullshit it’s fine, but when the more reasonable takes that are just barely put under the same umbrella as the insane shit are made fun of, it really deepens the trench between the people of different opinions. Of course, humor isn’t the only thing deepening that trench, but it really feels like one of them a lot of the time.

    Apart from that, I feel like using humor as a way to distract from general negativity and negative emotions like what Inside Out sort of warns against can be pretty detrimental too. Obviously happiness can still be around, but putting up that kind of barrier between you and the necessary sincerity for emotion with comedy just makes the unpleasantness of the unpleasant stuff that much more unpleasant. I’m saying this one at least out of personal experience, since I have sort of developed to be too subconsciously against super sad and sincere real world scenarios. I haven’t personally felt too many of them myself, but I definitely feel myself blocking off some of my own emotional vulnerability, especially around other people. I can consciously talk against it, like I’m doing now, but I feel like it’s going to take a long time for that barrier to really break. Is humor to blame for that sort of thing? Maybe, with a dash of toxic masculinity and other buzzwords people often avoid for reasons I mentioned in the last paragraph. 

    Even though this one is much more unreasonably generalizable than the last two things, I feel like the popularity of self-deprecating humor across the internet also (probably?) takes a toll on some people. Obviously some people might just use it to their genuine benefit, but since it seems so common surely some people are putting on a self-deprecating face to get along, and eventually maybe even believing what they used to joke about themselves. Either way, it might be a product of an extreme departure from any kind of narcissism, making being self-confident and self-loving just that little bit harder for people.

    But, while I’m not the most equipped to judge writing, I’m even less equipped to actually debate for the existence of all those things, so just know I’m kinda speaking with my heart and not my brain here. People obviously want and need different things, and I’m probably just projecting. Hell, maybe that’s me self-deprecating to not make me seem weird to everyone else. I dunno.

        No matter what, all this reliance on humor really just shows who is and isn’t funny. Sometimes, people really need to get a grip. Frankly, I don’t think I’m that funny either, which is why I’ve kind of had the humor beaten out of me by one too many awkward silences after a weird joke in my elementary/middle school days. I guess that’s my cartoon villain origin story. 

[mindwideopen]

Disclaimer: anyone embarrassed of my cleavage, please bypass this post. Thank you. (Again, repeat this disclaimer out loud, and say it like Steve Martin being his insane yet loving character “ruprecht” in “dirty rotten scoundrels”)

Faux Monty python auditions:

Disclaimer 2: NOT based in reality, because the actual members of Monty python are gentlemen, and are kind. No character assassination intended. My intention for writing this is harmless satire because of my admiration for their group. And, the fact that as women, they are prettier than I am.

(Lights up on a very large board room with a very long table. All of the members of Monty python are sitting in a row, facing Kari.)

Kari: hey! Nice to meet you all! (Shakes their hands) you guys are fantastic! I’m so happy to get the opportunity to audition for you, and be considered for your group.

Monty python: nice to make your acquaintance. (Whispers amongst themselves at the long board table they’re sitting at, evaluating Kari) who is she?! A bird. What kind of bird? I don’t know... let’s analyze... pull up her headshot. A “headshot” is a picture for you people who don’t know what a head shot is. We don’t mean an actual gun shot to the head.

(To Kari) Ok. Let’s...

Kari: let’s what?

Monty python: look at your portfolio of character work.

Kari: I write, mostly, but these are silly pictures of me for fun.

Monty python: we love fun. Quite.

Kari: we have that in common then!

Monty python: quite.

Monty python: no. Ok. You are not a bird. This is not you, is it? No, it can’t be. You are a cat woman. Unusual.

Kari: oh, that’s a filter on Snapchat.

Monty python characters: Snapchat? What’s that?

Kari: it’s an app that makes you into different creatures.

Monty python: what’s an app? Our show is based primarily in the 1970s we think, we have to look it up to be reminded, and haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about. Well, regardless, let’s all pull up a better picture of you, since you are not really a cat. We’re quite sure, yes, quite, that you are a human being, although not sure, so no. Next slide, please! (We’re British, so we’re polite about our requests...)

Monty python: ok, no. In this one, you are a shocked and lacey, bear creature. Are you a biological man?

Kari: no.

Monty python: one of the criteria of joining our group is that you are a man.

Kari: well, I’m not. See the next slide.

Monty python: please discuss something amongst yourself while we confer about you, in front of you.

Kari: ok. (Kari starts talking about ray rayner, and chelveston the duck to herself...)

Monty python: well, we’re not sure why she’s here if she’s not a man. We play all the women in our sketches. Um, also, we hate to bring this up and look naive, but is she writing us? We don’t know. Some of us aren’t even alive, so it’s hard to determine what’s happening in this case, as we’re all speaking the same words at the same time. If she is writing us this is highly irregular, which is a state that we’re used to being in. The words keep coming. Yes, but she never differentiates the difference between one of us, and all... so we sound like a men’s spoken word chorus. Do those exist? They do now, we are it. Who is this insane woman? God only knows...

God: no, I don’t.

Kari: well, I’m done with my conversation with myself, are you guys done as well?

Monty python characters: yes. Quite. ok, well, next slide pleeeeease.

Monty python: oh my.... yes. Not a man. Ahem. Yes. Clearly. Right. Kari, would you please excuse us again, as we need to confab about you yet again.

Kari: ok. (Kari discusses her love of Kurt Russell and Goldie yawn amongst herself. Both national treasures, both not in the movie, “national treasury, or whatever it’s called...)

Monty python: all in favor of her being in our group, say we! Wait! Before we vote, oh. My... (they Hub hub hub hub peas and carrots. Please say the hub hubs and the peas and carrots like all of the characters in the movie “waiting for guffman”.)

Monty python: Kari, We need a moment to discuss you.

Kari: do you want to discuss me, with me?

Terry Gilliam: yes! Absolutely eventually at some point not now no yes. But we need some privacy at this time.

Kari: ok. I need to take a shit. I’ll be back.

(Monty python all sit and analyze this photo. 4 hours later)

Monty python: yes. Quite. ok! Next slide, please.

John Cleese: um, I’m not done. You all proceed. I’ll hang back a bit, because she looks like she could get rough. I will protect us... because she’s evil... I hope.

The rest of Monty python: very well, next slide, please.

Monty python sans the John Cleese cause he went off to shoot his cameo in the “great muppet caper” 40 years ago...: jooooohhhhnnnnn..... she is evil....

John Cleese: on it! (Mumbling to himself but half to us, the reader, which is me only, cause I write for my own amusement) But not, because she’s married and I think I am but I’m not sure, cause she’s writing this, and unaware of my marital status...) I will call, the only ghostbuster she isn’t pissed at right now because he’s dead... and doesn’t ignore her insane writing because he’s unaware or aware that she writes... oh Egon....

Egon Spangler (as portrayed back in the 80s, by Harold Ramis, or, as Kari lovingly refers to him, Hamis.): yes, this is a classic class F case of a “she be piiiiiiiissed” poltergeist, fairly common around these parts as of late, shouldn’t be an issue. I accept rubies (not to be confused with a ruby gem stone) and zorks currency as payment. Payment due up front.

John Cleese: (yelling) well I don’t have a ruby or a zork on me?!? What do you think I am?! The queen or something?!

Queen the band: definitely not.

John Cleese: (yelling and flailing his arms around like Kermit the frog because he idolizes him, and just worked with him, in the great muppet caper, so he’s heavily influenced by his dynamic personality) see?!?! Now how are we supposed to exercise her?!? She’s the devil! She writes insane things not unlike us, but we’re fine because we’re men that dress like women, and that is socially acceptable, but a woman who acts like a man, is not! And she sometimes acts like a black man, and that is doubly not acceptable, not in a way that cancels itself out, but in a way that emphasizes my point profoundly. She MUST be exercised!

Richard Pryor: have you tried walking her around the block after meals?

John Cleese: (still yelling per the ush) what the hell are you talking about??!? Walk her around the block after meals?! I couldn’t get a harness around her if I tried! She’s writing me flailing around like Kermit the frog! The woman must be stopped!!!!!!

Richard Pryor: just a suggestion. You need to relax, Jack, ok? Cause you’re more than a little uptight.

George Carlin: British.

Richard Pryor: ok. Got it.

Carlin: and isn’t it, exorcised?

Richard Pryor: not as funny.

Carlin: ok. got it.

Eric idle, who stands idle to the fact that his last name is also “idol” when said, and also leaves too many questions like others who suffer with the same affliction have... which idol are we discussing? The sun god, Rah? The sacred cow? American?

Eric idle character: oh god.... scene...

God: I love Kari, I do, because she believes I love everyone, so yes, scene is fine.

John Cleese character: yes! Quite.

Egon Spangler: 70 zorks, please. No personal checks.

Svengoolie (not his son, just him): yes. No.... personal.... checks.....

(Kari walks into an empty conference room)

Kari: um, hey guys? Anyone here? Oh well, I feel better now that I’ve pooped!

(Monty python jump out from underneath the long board table)

Monty python: Boo!

Kari: oh! You startled me! Good thing I just pooped!

Monty python: yes, quite. So, here’s the thing; we’ve reviewed your portfolio and you’re brilliant with the exception of a few things.

Kari: what’s that?

Monty python: well, the first thing is that you’re a woman.

Kari: yes, I am. I saw proof of that in the bathroom.

Monty python: ah, yes. The second thing is that according to Wikipedia, a website we have never heard of at the point in which we were in the first picture, let alone the fact that the internet as we know it was not conceived yet either, and all we had were encyclopedia brittanicas, our show ran from 1969–1983, 1989, 1998–1999, 2002, 2013–2014. All years past. You were born, when?

Kari: 1974.

Monty python: ok, now see? We were in full swing at that point in time. You were a bit too, not available for us, and also too much of a woman for us all, and that’s great! Because you’re way more intelligent than we imagined, we can tell by your pictures, and truth be told, we’re more than a little afraid of you, because you write for us, even though some of us have ceased to exist on this celestial plane. And although we enjoyed our time chatting, we are going to have to take a pass.

Kari: that’s ok! It was nice watching you chat about me a bit while I talked to myself. I’m going to get a soy pumpkin spice latte now from Starbucks. Care to join me?

Monty python: no, thank you. As Starbucks isn’t invented, and neither were pumpkin spice lattes.

Kari: ok! Maybe in 2020 after the Covid shit subsides a bit.

Monty python: yes. Quite.

Scene, scene... (whisper this one) scene.

The aforementioned scene was not real, nor was it endorsed by the real Terry Gilliam, Michael Palin, Eric Idle and John Cleese. But, I think terry jones and graham Chapman (who is a chap, and a man, making him a double man, which is very manly indeed, loves me, Kari Keillor, for who I am. Not egoic, but loves herself enough to write still, even its for her own pleasure, and to herself. ❤️)

[eeveevie]

dirty wastelander phrasebook

Madelyn and Deacon find themselves in quite the predicament after being captured by Gunners and must rely on an old Railroad secret Deacon bullshit—the Dirty Wasteland Phrasebook.

For them, it was just a regular ol’ Tuesday.

x - x

This was so not prompted, and is completely self-indulgent and full of all the things I have always wanted to write for myself lately and that makes me the happiest. I hope you enjoy, even if you don’t go here. Also, if you aren’t familiar with Monty Python, please watch this sketch or a lot of the references made here will not make any sense. 

Deacon x Agent Charmer (Madelyn Hardy)

1713 words (under a cut) | Ao3

The last thing Madelyn expected to happen to her that Tuesday—was it a Tuesday? One could hardly tell anymore post apocalypse—was to be abducted. Stowed away in some dingy storage room with her hands behind her back, blindfolded by what was likely the most dust infested piece of cloth possible. At least Deacon was there with her—though she wasn’t so sure of that being a positive, considering their circumstances.

All she remembered was stalking Boston Commons, heading south towards the hospital—in hindsight a terrible idea. The entire street had been flooded with Gunners, crazed and ready to protect their territory from anybody who crossed into it. Deacon had been yelling, taunting them with his battle-cries as he ran towards them, Madelyn scrambling to reload her laser rifle as fast as she could. All for what? So they could scale the old medical center and install one of Tinker Tom’s sensors on the dilapidated roof? That would all be a tad difficult now—one gas grenade and rifle stock to the temple and it was lights out.

From what she could tell when she readjusted to the waking world, Deacon was tied to the opposite chair against her back, their chest, arms and wrists occupying the same binds. When she shifted, she felt him resist, tugging her a little too sharply so her spine hit the uncomfortable plastic backing of the seat she occupied.

“Ow,” she hissed. Matter of fact, everything in her body ached. One look at her Pip-Boy would likely tell her she was in desperate need of a stimpak and probably some RadAway too. That is, if she knew where her Pip-Boy was.

Deacon shifted, one of his fingers sneaking through the gap in the chairs to poke at her back. “Oh good, you’re alive.”

“I think I’d rather be dead,” Madelyn groaned, still wincing as she raised her head to get a better look at their surroundings. It was the standard ‘bad guy’ holding room—tools on a workbench, junk and trash, and the most awful lingering scent of flesh and blood.

“With a hit to the cranium like that, I’m surprised you aren’t,” he muttered. She felt his head tilt against hers with a gentle bump, a difficult task for him with their height difference, even when sitting and restrained. “You alright though Charmer?”

She sighed, pushing back in her own little gesture. “A massive headache but…yeah,” she smiled and despite it all, almost wanted to laugh. “Thanks Dee. Some shit we’ve found ourselves in, huh?”

He decided it was the perfect opportunity to chuckle. “I’ve been tied up under worse situations,” he stated. “Come to think of it, under much better ones too.”

The nearby door slammed open, two Gunners making their way in. A woman dressed in an old military jumpsuit, and a shirtless man with a bandolier strapped across his chest, the two clearly sent for guard duty.

“Oh will the two of you shut up?!” The one with the bandana shouted, clearly tweaking on some kind of drug—jet, psycho—Madelyn could see it in the wild way he was waving his plasma pistol around. But she also noted the glint of green on his wrist and narrowed her eyes—her Pip-Boy. Now she was alert and her blood got pumping.

Deacon couldn’t resist taunting the man, even though they were woefully unmatched. “Why don’t you make me?”

The male Gunner grumbled while the woman laughed. “Where’d that damn gag go?”

Madelyn stifled her own laughter, wondering if they had actually had to silence Deacon at some point—and if he had found a way to remove it even with his hands behind his back. “You’ll have to find a different way to gag me, big guy.”

“Fuck you!”

Deacon hummed. “Something like that.”

At that, she couldn’t resist and choked back a laugh, pursing her lips so the Gunners wouldn’t take out their frustration on her. Even though she couldn’t see him, she could tell Deacon was beaming. He curled a few of his fingers around hers as the Gunner guards began to pace.

“Come on man,” the rugged military woman urged the other man to back off. “The boss man wants these two alive for ransom. Something about this one,” she gestured to Madelyn. “Being valuable or sumthin’”

“What am I, canned cram?” Deacon mumbled under his breath. As the Gunners fussed over something frivolous, he squeezed his grip around her hand. “This is the part where we escape,” he spoke in a soft whisper, head craned towards her.

Madelyn turned but all she could see was the glimmer of his sunglasses out of the corner of her eyes. “Please enlighten me on how we are going to that.”

Deacon snickered as if she had just cracked a good joke—he seemed to find comfort in her dreary, cynical tone. “It’s time for us to use a Railroad classic. The Dirty Wastelander Phrasebook.”

Even though she knew that it is was more or less one of Deacon’s bullshit creations, she also knew it was sometimes best to humor him. She had learnt his ways, knowing that one day one of his lessons would come in handy—that Tuesday would be that day.

“Operation Cramalot?” she inquired, feeling him excitedly grip her hand. “Or do we want to skip the musical numbers this time?”

He was chuckling, shaking the both of them with his laughter. “Charmer, you know—”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the male guard stomping over again with a snarl, smacking Deacon across the face with an echoing slap. After quickly rebounding, his only reaction was to stay amused, accentuating his words. “Do you have a cigarette? My hovercraft is full of eels.”

“What?” the Gunner growled. “The fuck you talkin’ about cigarettes for?”

While the woman in the corner howled, entertained by it all, Deacon took the time to nudge one of his fingers against the small of her back, signaling her. Madelyn focused her attention on the female Gunner, watching her every movement while she felt her partner nimbly pull at the cords at their wrists.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Deacon asked, voice high-pitched and full of sarcasm. The restraints came looser still. “Bouncy-bouncy?”

The Gunner shook her head, holding her stomach as she continued to laugh. “I think the boss hit this one too hard—he’s lost it!”

Madelyn decided it was her turn. “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?” she eyed the female guard, batting her eyelashes, knowing she was laying it on much thicker than she ever would—but at this point she was well aware the other woman was under some kind of influence and wouldn’t notice. Plus, she had a codename to live up to.

Deacon, meanwhile, had loosened their ties enough to the point that they could make their move, but they would need to time it right. He tapped her once more, this time finding the teeniest sliver of skin where her shirt had ridden up—that was definitely on purpose, the flirt. “You have beautiful thighs.”

Finally, the other Gunner moved towards them with her arms crossed, obviously suspicious of the two. Madelyn stayed focused, steadying her breath and responding to Deacon’s signal. “Drop your panties, Dee, I cannot wait till lunchtime.”

With that, the two jumped up, scream-laughing as they tackled their perspective guards to the ground, not stopping until the sound of energy blasts signified their gruesome ends. All in another day for a wastelander just trying to survive, Madelyn supposed. Though, she wasn’t just another wastelander, but dwelling too much on those thoughts never did her any good. Instead, she wiped the blood and sweat from her brow, sighing as she pushed herself up from the ground.

She turned around just in time to find Deacon already standing with a satisfied smile. “I believe this belongs to you?”

Madelyn was all too pleased as she snatched the Pip-Boy—her Pip-Boy from him, quickly securing it back into place on her left wrist. She dusted off the grime and dust from the screen, sighing when the mechanism recognized its true owner, swiftly alerting her to her many injuries and her location. At least they weren’t too far away from Goodneighbor where they could rest up and get proper medical attention.

“Please fondle my bum—am I using that one right?” she asked.  

Deacon chuckled, nodding as he readjusted his sunglasses and pompadour wig. “You do the Railroad—me proud Charmer. I could—”

She eyed him, tilting her head slightly at his pause. “You could…what?”

Come to think of it, he been cut off earlier too. But Deacon wasn’t that easy of a nut to crack and his smile hardly faltered. He gave a little inconspicuous shrug and she suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline and all sense of sensibility fly out the broken storage room windows. She could only hope she was reading the moment and perhaps his signals correctly.

Without much of a second thought, Madelyn reached out to grab him by the shirt collar, yanking him down and closing the distance between them. He was still smirking when their mouths met, lips threatening to stretch into a grin before they finally responded to her kiss instead. She slid one of her hands and hooked it around his shoulder, bracing herself against him as his arms wrapped around her waist, the two clumsily bumping into the nearest wall.

Only then did she pull away with a small gasp of air, staring up at him in surprise—she had acted on impulse, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t wanted to do that, been thinking about doing that for months. They were still staring at each other with somewhat agape expressions, tangled in each other’s arms when he breathed out, the goofiest smile on his lips.

“My nipples explode with delight!” Deacon exclaimed—not quite using the handbook phrase correctly.

Madelyn snickered, tears of laughter prickling at the corners of her eyes at the hilarity of it all before pressing up on her toes so that she might kiss him again. “I figured you might say that.”

leave a 💙 

[simmancy]

“get to know me better” tag

I’ve been tagged in this by @niympha​ & @samssims​ and its been a while since I’ve done one of these! So! Hi! Thank you both for tagging me!

rules: always post the rules. tag 11 new people you’d like to know better

I am tagging: anyone that wants to do this, because I’m doing this SO LATE and skjkasghaksga

1. dogs or cats? both, preferably, but I guess cats win right now since I have a Cat but don’t have a Dog

2. youtube celebrities or normal celebrities? Normal celebrities....... I don’t follow enough youtubers to care about youtube celebrities

3. if you could live anywhere where would that be? Somewhere with free healthcare!!!! And that’s my only real requirement LMAO

4. disney or dreamworks? Disney, for sure, but I do like a lot of Dreamworks films.

5. favourite childhood tv show? Blues Clues

6. the movie you’re looking forward to most in 2020? No idea!

7. favourite book you read in 2019? Oh gosh, I don’t know if I read anything new this year... I fell very, very behind on reading this year. I reread A Darker Shade of Magic recently.

8. marvel or dc? Marvel, for sure.

9. if you chose marvel - favourite member of the x-men? if you chose DC - favourite justice league member? Jubilee. Yeah, she’s not like.... that cool, but I had an X-Men Picture Book or something that we got from... Chick-Fil-A? I think? With a kid’s meal???? Anyway, she was the main character, and my first “X-men” and idk I’ve just always really liked Jubilee. 

10. night or day? Night, but I’m old now so no time is good. Only sleep time.

11. favourite pokémon? oh fuck right off with this, hhhhh. Eevee (and all evolutions but probs Sylveon for my ult); Sandshrew; Mareep; GOOMY; Lilligant; Luxray; Piplup!!!!!!!!!!....... my Sword team is Intelleon, Ninetails, Nickit, Corviknight, Boltund and Hatterene and I really love all of them but especially my Hatterene? She’s so slow but she tries so hard.

12. top 5 bands: just bands???? Fall Out Boy, (G)I-DLE, Bastille, PVRIS, BTS

13. top 10 books: Harry Potter & The Order of the Phoenix, Mistborn, A Great and Terrible Beauty, One Thousand Years of Solitude, A Storm of Swords, The Mists of Avalon, A Darker Shade of Magic, Six of Crows, American Gods. I clearly really really love fantasy, in all forms.

14. top 4 movies: Thor Ragnarok is my go-to happy film.  Monty Python & The Holy Grail; Star Wars; Battle Royale? Sure those sound good. It’s harder to name 4 movies than it is to name 10 books....

15. america or europe? well, sadly, I live in America

16. tumblr or twitter? tumblr is for sims, twitter is for screaming into the void. though sometimes I do that here too, so,

17. pro-choice or pro-life? pro-choice

18. favourite youtuber: we watch a lot of Good Mythical Morning, Outside Xbox (oxbox!!) and Bon Apetit videos lately... And Hot Ones, a lot. We don’t have cable so those are our “dinner” shows....

19. favourite author? GRRM, I guess? VE Schwab too

20. tea or coffee? Both. I’m trying, and failing, to cut back on my coffee intake but here we are.

21. otp? Space Parents Kanan Jarrus & Hera Syndulla.... Ron & Hermione. For my own characters, Veriling are on a level of their own.

22. do you play an instrument/sing? I played the flute when I was younger but I don’t anymore. All singing I do now is for myself and probably AWFUL! 

[superchartisland]

Discworld (Perfect 10/Psygnosis, PC, 1995)

The worlds of computer games and fantasy/sci-fi books have long been close together. Early British gaming milestone Elite was one of many, many games to have taken some inspiration from Douglas Adams’s sharp and funny science fiction parody The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. In the other direction, let’s look at Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams fan and the UK’s best-selling author of the 1990s thanks to his Discworld series roughly doing for fantasy what Hitchhiker’s did for sci-fi, but many times more prolifically. Pratchett drew on his lasting interest in computer games in his writing. Small Gods (1992) is a spin on the central mechanic of Populous that gods get more powers the more believers they have, with the twist of considering what really counts as belief. Racist mis-step Interesting Times (1994) ends with its main character controlling a Terracotta Army stand-in via what is obviously the interface from Lemmings. Outside of his Discworld series, Pratchett wrote a whole book about a computer game, Only You Can Save Mankind (1992) in which the main characters are drawn into a game that’s somewhere between Space Invaders and Elite. He takes the side of the aliens.

Meanwhile, alongside Adams and Pratchett’s witty, knowing parodies of genre fiction, in the world of gaming LucasArts were making a big success of point’n’click graphic adventures which served as witty, knowing parodies of genre fiction. There’s no coincidence there: Douglas Adams worked together with LucasFilm Games (as was) on their first adventure game, Labyrinth, a logical extension to Adams’s own interest in computers and his role writing the text adventure version of Hitchhiker’s. Across the Atlantic from LucasArts, the biggest British success in the world of graphic adventures in the early ’90s was Simon the Sorcerer by AdventureSoft, who had originally wanted to make a Discworld game but couldn’t get the rights. Instead they made something in much the same spirit. Title character Simon is essentially an amalgam of Pratchett’s early Discworld protagonist (and useless wannabe wizard) Rincewind and LucasArts’ Monkey Island protagonist (and useless wannabe pirate) Guybrush Threepwood.

By 1995, a Discworld graphic adventure wasn’t just a good idea, but practically an inevitability. Beyond the intertwined background, the format is perfectly suited. The slow, detail-focused gameplay is a perfect delivery vehicle for comedy. There’s a reason why Rincewind and Guybrush Threepwood, self-aware and sarcastic commentators on the world around them, were so compatible, and indeed you play as Rincewind in the Discworld game. The meta tendencies of the genre line up with one of the key repeated themes of Discworld, the idea defined on occasion as ‘narrativium’: narrative is one of the key building blocks of the world and able to exact a powerful force upon events. Things happen because they are expected to happen, and because they make for the best story. At one point Discworld the game plays on one of Pratchett’s best straightforward manifestations of this — “one-in-a-million chances happen nine times out of ten” — getting the player to work out the exact series of accessories that will add up to the hero’s chances being 1,000,000–1.

Lots of games make you work out what their developers want you do as a solution, but few tie that puzzle-solving as directly in to the narrative as graphic (and text) adventures. The actions in question tend more to the detailed mechanics than the grand sweep, but at best progress is a kind of collaborative narrative process between creator and player, tuned to the same wavelength. You progress the story by working out what the story is going to be. Or what the story should be. The player enacts the force of narrativium.

And so in Discworld the game, Rincewind is not just aware, as in the books, that he is the unwilling hero in a fantasy story, and what the rules of that story are. He is aware that he is the hero of a fantasy point’n’click adventure. His ambulant suitcase companion of infinite and terrifying capacity, the Luggage, may not have been written as a parody of game inventories, but it certainly reads like one.

After watching the game’s intro the player knows that it’s a story about a dragon on the rampage in the city of Ankh-Morpork, but Rincewind doesn’t yet. Look out the window at the distant figure of the dragon, labelled as ‘shape’ and he comments that it’s obviously a plot element, or it would have a better label. In that kind of moment the game extends in a worthwhile way from both Discworld and point’n’click games. In others, its puzzles are far too obtuse to give the feeling of figuring out the story, going a long way beyond the standard of the genre in difficulty. That makes for a lot of time going around trying out everything possible, which means that the world and its characters being enjoyable to spend time with is even more important.

Rincewind’s turn as sarky, put-upon man, dealing with a world around him which is obviously mad, is enhanced by being voiced by Eric Idle. I won’t go into the further links between Monty Python and Douglas Adams, because my history bit at the start was already long enough and because Elizabeth Sandifer already did it excellently, but there is a positive kind of obviousness to that casting too. Likewise, given the comedy fantasy-historic setting of Ankh-Morpork, the presence in the cast of Tony Robinson (throw Blackadder into that web of British humour fiction somewhere too). As a fan of the Discworld books, one of the best parts of the game is hearing familiar characters given voice. Tony Robinson’s take on amoral street peddler Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, unflappable in the face of having his cons pointed out, played like Baldrick if his obliviousness was a cunning front, is particularly delightful. As a representation of the daft, inventive, funny world of Discworld, the game is a happy success. It fills its inevitable role very well.

However, as a series, Discworld isn’t just daft and inventive and funny. Well it pretty much was to begin with, and remained that way in much popular perception for a long while afterwards. There was a reason Pratchett kept bringing Rincewind back for lazy romps in new places. Discworld would not be as well-loved as it remains if that was all it was, though.

The plot of Discworld the game draws heavily on the eighth novel in the series, Guards! Guards! (1989), which was a distinct turning point in the tone and range of the series and its satire. In it, a dragon is set loose in the city and is eventually stopped with help from the efforts of the under-funded, under-respected, under-the-influence guards of the City Watch, who gain some self-respect in the process. The book turns away from the typical special one born-into-the-role hero of the previous books, giving starring roles to characters in positions that would previously have made them cannon fodder or comic relief alone. The importance of the life and story of every single person is a strong theme throughout the series. Keeping the Watch as leads would have made for a different and less obvious game, but replacing them with Rincewind — a wizard from the parody of privileged academia that is Unseen University — loses that strand of the message.

The other thing that Guards! Guards! brings through strongly is anger at how society is run, and to whose benefit. In its story a manipulative palace insider uses the petty grievances of a bunch of working men to incite them to summon a dragon. He plans to stage a vanquishing and install a puppet ruler, but loses control and instead himself ends up as puppet to the monster he conjured. Pratchett returns repeatedly to the fickle will of the crowd, influenced via the forces of narrative. When the dragon winds up in charge of the city, the most cutting satire is how easily treasure-hoarding and virgin-sacrificing are accepted as the new normal. The people in power in a position to do something quickly fall to collective self-interest, content as long as they believe they’re not supporting the burning of their faces. That kind of seething argument for greater justice became more prominent as the Discworld books went on.

This whole theme, though, gets minimised by the game’s changes to the plot and its wider insistence on prioritising knockabout comedy. No chance is missed for cartoon logic, and even where aspects of the plot like the dragon’s desire for revenge on its summoners are kept, they’re played for laughs There is parody but nothing like the sharp satire of the source material, and it puts humour above anything, including sometimes fidelity to its characters. Across the series Pratchett has a running joke of the university’s orangutan librarian reacting violently to being called a monkey, but the many times the game has slapstick scenes of Rincewind doing that (or similar to other characters) and being bashed on the head doesn’t ring true. He’s the Librarian’s assistant from pretty early on in the series and regardless, if nothing else, his defining cowardice would make him more cautious than that. The game’s humour goes broad again and again. It may well include more jokes about men wearing dresses than it does women, in dresses or otherwise. That doesn’t come out of nowhere — Pratchett never quite got past the temptation to bite on easy jokes even if they sat uneasily with his moral messages — but the game feels closer to his worst early instincts.

To get completely anachronistic, I like to imagine a Discworld point’n’click based instead on much later books in the series. Tiffany Aching, analytical teenager training to be a witch (a position portrayed as being social worker and midwife more than it is magician) would fulfil a need for a level of unawareness and observation as player stand-in really well, and would allow for a game with a very different tone. That could be more than a cartoon romp in a familiar funny world. As it is, Discworld the game is a well-realised vision of Discworld, but it’s a vision of Discworld which was already old hat by the time of its inevitable creation.

Gallup Compact Disc chart, Computer Trade Weekly 3 April 1995 (chart for week to 25 March 1995)

[balladofthesadcat]

Back From The Dead

Pairing: AC’s Clay Kaczmarek x f!reader

Summary and explanations: Screw canon, Clay deserved better so here we go, angst and pain and troubles, but he is brought back to life and gets his happy ending with reader. (Y/N) means Your Name. There is a part where he briefly sings, that short line is from Monty Python’s Life of Brian (fun fact :3).

Warnings: some swearing, angst, mentions of violence and a whole lot of tears.

Word count: 10.941 words

Author’s note: HAPPY CLAYDAY2019!!!! I am late but... Let’s give this man the love he deserves! Dedicated to @ass-sass-sin-o who thought up this beautiful occasion. Also tagging @marshmallow--3 who was also really supportive. Everybody: PLEASE ENJOY! LET’S LOVE CLAY KACZMAREK! <3333333

-

You sat there, staring at the computer screen, your blood pressure reaching another peak of the recent times, just like on many other occasions during these last few weeks. Actually, it had been going on for a little over a month now. You’d find new and new pieces of evidence, traces, digital footprints and outright records of them, their exchanges, and… The remains.

It started out as just another curious vigilante exploration. You knew Abstergo was plain filth, that was old news. There were times when you had bumped into something shady which you then traced back to them and then intervened, operating from the shadows, making good use of your hacking skills, stirring up a nice little storm for them that was just enough to cut that branch off. On some other occasions, you’d even venture to sneak in to some places where, let’s say, no regular person was supposed to. You’d steal, destroy or just tamper with something to make the whole thing useless for them. So, to put it simply, you had been a thorn in their side for a long-long time now. You were the Faceless, you went by that name. If ever you appeared somewhere physically, you’d take extreme care to protect your identity, hiding your face from view, leaving no fingerprints either. If ever you contacted the Assassins, despite being on their side, you’d never reveal yourself. And even in your hacking you’d be neat and someone would have to be your exact image inside-out to be able to trace it back to you and find you at the root of all chaos to the Templars. All in all, in whatever you did, you were neat and precise. Oh, you loved dealing out a series of good beatings and you’d gotten used to killing sprees as well, but even the way you executed that was like a piece of art, a performance which only you could manage. Naturally, both sides attempted to make a deal with you and recruit you, but you would never join the Templars for you could never share their views and as for the Assassins, you felt that you could be most helpful if you remained faceless even for them, always keeping in touch, always appearing in the right moments, but remaining a myth, sort of. You were like an element in an equation that wouldn’t reveal its full potential until the final showdown, the solution, which no one knew when was to come. And this was working – you easily mended your secret life to fit next to the one on the surface. In the beginning, it was a hobby which then became a purpose, but you had the freedom to be your own boss in both, which was convenient. You could make use of your skills and the handsome money you earned when you needed them as the Faceless, providing yourself with the physical requirements - both bodily and the tools. You didn’t keep track of every Assassin, but whenever you came in contact with one or more of them, you’d gather some intel just to know what and how to say and what to expect.

When the Animus project was only starting out and they had sent him in, you weren’t as involved in this whole ordeal back then as you were now and things between you and Clay had been over for quite a while. Honestly, given what happened, you didn’t even want to get involved so that pushed you away from delving into this mission of his. Your reaction was like when seeing an unpleasant acquaintance in a café – you turned right around and closed the doors behind you, not spending a moment there. You weren’t mad anymore, you were just… Sad, plainly put. You felt a tightening in your chest and an unpleasant acid presence in your throat when seeing him or thinking about him so you just did what you had to to put an end to this – cut him off, turned right away from his direction.

You were emotionally unprepared when you met him. He was intense, always, and he was so vivid and complex and sure that it was a lot for you. That was what drew you in too. It used to be comforting, because he saw right into you and he knew just what to do to reel you in. But it wasn’t like a hunt, he just let you rely on him, allow yourself that relief, and he made you see that you could trust him, he would help you trust him, and he would show you what it meant to be in a relationship, to be – loved and wanted. You were a tough nut to crack, but he told you that he was willing, that he was able, and you wanted just that. It never reached a peak, however. What used to be comforting, turned into the source of worry and anger. You got scared of his confidence? Perhaps. Maybe you were right? You didn’t know. But you began questioning and he wasn’t responding well, he seemed distant and when he actually had to spend less and less time with you because he got seriously involved in the fight against Abstergo, you accused him and you ran. You disappeared before he did, not knowing. You buried yourself in training, earning your way, making a career, entertaining people. Fame and the picture you painted protected you, at least no one would suspect later what you did when you weren’t putting on a show. Really, you were lucky and you even laughed at it, amused by how so in the face of everyone you were, yet also hidden. Perhaps one day it would cause your downfall and you would go down in flames, but it would only be fitting for your romantic nature.

Sometimes you wondered what would’ve happened had you stayed, what could have been… But you would never know. You had your chance to at least send him a message to talk it over, but you wasted it by not acting. And then he was no more. Subject 16, Clay Kaczmarek. On some cozy and lonely nights after coming back from a trip to your home, unpacking your suitcases, looking at all the things you had bought during one of your many travels as (Y/N), as someone normal, someone the masses thought of as an entertainer, who had an image, your thoughts drifted to him, briefly playing with the idea that maybe he was your origin story all along. How tragically comical.

You then began your study of the whole Animus project, backtracking others’s steps and learning all about the machines, the goals, Clay’s sacrifice, Lucy’s betrayal and Desmond’s fateful end. At first it was very emotionally exhausting, but then you went at it with a more surgical approach, distancing yourself, knowing that you had to bear the weight in order to acquire the knowledge. So you dug deeper, deeper, even when sometimes it seemed that there was no more. You’d sneak into Abstergo’s labs to find the currently unused Animus machines and venture into the deep ocean of information stored inside it to see for yourself what Clay and Desmond left behind. It was a difficult task to accomplish, but once understanding the science of the machine as if it was your mother tongue, you unlocked more levels and planes than what you thought was possible, knowing that this was the only place that did not let you leave without a trace and you paid the price, accepting that you could only cover your steps, gritting teeth to continue this for as long as possible so none in the opposition would discover who you were. At this time, you didn’t really have a goal with this, but somehow you just kept going forward, or more like inward. There was a night when you completely missed out on sleep because of your Animus session and had to flee the scene in the morning and it was the most heartbreaking of it all. You found imprints deep inside the Animus which when molded together, showed you the exchanges between Clay and Desmond, like visions, replaying for you as many times as you wanted them to, but without the option to interact. You learned that Clay, at the very end, tried to momentarily cling to something, anything, hoping that maybe he could still come back, somehow. But he couldn’t, he was left trapped inside the machine’s depth, providing Desmond with his way out so he could leave it completely, although reaching his own end soon after in a similar heroic sacrifice. The day after was when you sent a message to Shaun, Rebecca and William, simply saying that you were truly sorry for their loss. A message out of the blue, emotional, irrational, uncontrolled, but it gave you some inner relief. No one comforted you when you mourned Clay, even if late, because no one knew, but at least… At least you could comfort them.

After that you stopped visiting the Animus, only diving into the information you took on memory cards and hacking, in the safety of your own home. But it seemed that you weren’t allowed to settle down. There was always something that caught your attention and you had to look into it. There was always more to discover about what Clay did. Even after you thought you had seen every last trace of him, there was always more. And it wasn’t comforting, because oftentimes it contradicted what you thought you had learned – the Animus deleted the last remains of his conscience, so how was this possible? There was data that suggested the opposite. You were determined not to accept it, not wanting to give yourself or any of the Assassins false hope by contacting them and then having to tell them that it was a false alarm. But you wanted to get to the bottom of this, so as much as you wanted to escape this, you couldn’t so… Back into another Animus you went, diving deeper than ever before. If Clay was still somehow alive in there, you had to find out, not for yourself, but for him. The reason did not matter, the how or why, but the fact did, so you went with a purpose.

You found the island where he and Desmond met and saw the broken remains of the gateway which no longer functioned, the loose black pieces floated around in the air in a lazy manner. You frowned, turning away, taking a good look around yourself for the umpteenth time. It seemed endless, like a void. There were islands in the distance, like the one you were on, but they did not call to you. You took slow, unsure strides forward until the very end of your feet hung slightly over the edge and your body instinctively stopped. You felt an immense force trying to stop you from what you were trying to do then and it was then that you felt the raw hostility of the Animus. It was terrifying to realize that it was trying to hold you back and sabotage the simple act of you looking down. You even panted when you finally managed, as if you were under actual physical restraints. And it dawned on you that this – this you had never experienced before because the thought never even occurred to you. Below you you saw the endless, impenetrable darkness that somehow still seemed to froth. It was alien, it was wrong, it was screaming at you to go back. Perhaps you should’ve, maybe this was to be your final gateway to madness.

- Clay. – you uttered, voice trembling, but still loud, and then you jumped, hood slipping from your head and your body falling into the darkness, tearing at your invisible restraints, penetrating into the matterless mass that wanted to push you – no, throw you back, but you cut right through it.

What was time? What was light? Such concepts did not exist here. You realized that you could see, you could move, but your brain could not comprehend the means, threatening you with splitting your head if you probed at it any further, barely able to comprehend the fact that it just happened. Were you still falling or were you floating or were you standing? There was no answer. You didn’t even know if your eyes were open or not.

- No living being should be here. – a voice spoke, seemingly close to you. You took a deep breath – or did you? – and you tried to get to the source, feeling that if you could just reach out, you could do that and…

- You are alive. – the voice spoke again in your ear and a hand touched – no, something, something felt as if it vibrated against your shoulder, or what was supposed to be that. You then suddenly felt like you were briefly spinning and then a figure, a shape, a body began separating from the darkness before you, not materializing, more like trying to tear itself away from the endlessness. It never fully formed, no colours or matter were really present and it seemed to be constantly in motion as it was trying to gain – regain? – shape, but the more you looked at it, the more it felt like it was looking back at you, until…

- (Y/N)?! – he exclaimed, terrified, and then his form found shape and colour at once. A scream sprang from your throat in response and seemed to echo all around you until being sucked into the void.

You knew. It was him. He was there right before you. Clay. His face was contorted from not knowing how, what, why this was, only knowing that somehow you were there before him.

- Clay. – you whispered his name. – Where… Where are we? – you asked, but immediately realized that you shouldn’t have because as bodiless as you were, you somehow still felt an inexplicable but enormous pain beyond all bearing, somewhere in your head, causing you to bellow like a thousand hounds, all being beaten at once. Clay’s form appeared even closer to you in an instant and he raised his hands to your head, holding your temples, making you feel the same vibrations again, registering as they snuffed out the pain, leaving your head with a dull throbbing which was, compared to the previous feeling, even pleasurable.

- You are alive and therefore you shouldn’t ask such questions, not here, because in here the Animus will tear you apart for it. You shouldn’t even be here! – his voice gradually got angrier, but it was an exhausted kind of anger which only made your heart hurt.

- How do you know? – you whispered, looking into the depths of his eyes from up close. Perhaps, if you had been outside, up there in the world of matter, you could’ve felt his breath on your lips and he yours, on his. But this place was something else.

- I no longer ask nor look for explanations. I don’t think I can, either. Life is the place for that and I have no right or way to be there anymore. But you… - the colours began fading away from him, draining from his face until he was yet again a frothing shape, getting sucked back into the darkness. Terror and pain were stabbing your heart and you were trying to grab at him, in vain. – Go. – he finished simply, and suddenly he was nowhere.

But the vibrating feeling in your head remained, growing in intensity and it felt as if you were snatched up, pulled with inhuman force and at the same time pushed, but in one direction. You felt your back hit the ground of the same island from which you jumped, but then it disappeared from under you and suddenly your eyes snapped open and you woke with a sharp inhale, sitting right up in the Animus. You looked around in fear, but nothing has changed and you were still all alone in the dim room. You hoped you didn’t scream. Your next instinct was to look at your watch then to check the time, noting that no matter how timeless your experience was, here in the outside world you were still good on that front. You palmed your chest over your heart, focusing on your breathing and trying to control yourself and calm down, your other hand pulling your hood over your eyes again, shielding your identity once again. You would delete all footage of this visit again, naturally, but still, it felt good to conceal yourself again while gathering the energy to get up, clean up and leave.

It was around 3 am by the time you got home and locked your door behind yourself. You took off your shoes and trembled your way towards your bathroom, finally able to allow yourself to shake and lose focus, not having to concentrate on stealth. You turned on the light and looked in the mirror, not even flinching at the sight. Thin trails of dry blood ran from your right ear and your nose. Perhaps you had subconsciously licked it from your lips while making your way back, but you couldn’t recall that bit. You concluded that it could only be the result of when you asked your first question from Clay and felt that horrible pain. You sighed, for now content with only hoping that you did not suffer any serious internal physical damage. From then on the rest of the night was a blur – cleaning yourself and then surrendering to a joyless slumber in your bed. But now you knew one thing: Clay’s conscience was still alive. And you were going to bring him back.

The next few days you couldn’t act yet, being snowed under with your current work project, but at least it was good for a rest. But you already began thinking of your next step. In order to bring Clay back, you needed to find him a body, which was no easy task so at first you were completely devastated, not really knowing what your options were, if you even had any. You weren’t just going to rob a morgue for one and steal someone’s son away, you would need someone whom…  Well… No one missed or no one knew where to search for. So once again you began snooping around in Abstergo’s database, trying to see if there were any unfortunate imprisoned souls somewhere, stolen from the world, who perhaps were crushed under the organisation’s weight and whose body you could… Maybe… Hopefully… Use for your quest. You figured that if you could get the body and you’d put it in an Animus, linked another to it to create a joined session and went in, you could drag Clay’s conscience back out and he’d find the body and anchor himself in it. You could program the device so that in the right moment it would overload for a snap and give him an electric shock to kick-start the heart. And maybe, just maybe, all that together would be enough to… Bring him back to life. You were no surgeon, no medically versed person but even if you were, you would have strong doubts. This was madness and quite impossible. But with all that happened, Pieces of Eden existing and all that wonder, all that magic, all that danger, you thought that if you didn’t give it a shot, you would be no better than the Templars. You heard him yourself, he wanted to come back. And he was a good Assassin too, he deserved to. So, not for yourself, but for him, you were going to try.

You released a long sigh from your lungs, not knowing you were holding one in. It was a beautiful, warm day and you were currently buried deep in one of Abstergo’s many servers, looking for your unknown target. What you ended up discovering though, you really weren’t prepared for.

„Clay Kaczmarek, former Subject 16 of the Animus Project - REUSED”, the title read on your screen.

- Reused…? What the… How the… What? – you mumbled, shaking your head, blinking erratically. But the text did not change. You gulped and moved your cursor over it, clicking after a moment of hesitation. You immersed yourself in the detailed report, reading everything carefully, even though most of what was there you had already known, it was basically his story written down. But at the end there was an update. Your heart almost skipped a beat. Reused. They recovered his corpse they had previously dumped. Using a Piece of Eden combined with a device – the operation of which you skipped reading about for now – they reversed the process of decay it was naturally going through and were now harnessing it for further genetic memory. They wanted to use his knowledge about the Assassins against them and incorporate the techniques into their own training. The body was now kept in Berlin in another one of their secret labs. Location, condition, everything was there.

Reused.

You spun your chair around and stood up, walking extremely slowly into the kitchen. You opened your fridge and took out a tiny jar of your homemade yogurt, ready to be consumed as a treat, finding the cinnamon as well and sprinkling some of it on it. You stirred it with a spoon, licked that, then poured the whole thing into the sink and ran back to your computer. Your skin felt like it was on fire and your brain was basically frying in its place but you never felt more alive. With this information, you hadn’t another moment to waste and you wanted to act as soon as possible. You didn’t even think it through, you just did what your instincts were telling you to do.

You worked furiously to locate Rebecca and her team and Lady Luck seemed to be on your side still, because you found them in Europe. You contacted them in a message, telling the necessary details about your recent discoveries and your plan. The events then followed each other in a rapid pace. Their response came quickly and you engaged in a serious conversation and by the end of the day you had your and their trip organized and covered to Berlin. The plan was to meet up there and infiltrate the lab, follow your mad speculation of resurrecting him through, steal the Piece of Eden, blow up the lab as a parting gift and get the hell out of there. Simple. Easy. Madness.

You cleaned up the yogurt incident in your kitchen with a pounding head, struggling to believe that all of this was happening. Of course, going through with this would mean revealing your identity to the team and thus, the Assassins, by getting into the Animus – no way they would just stand and wait while you were out cold and not lift the hood from your eyes to see who you were. But this didn’t bother you as much as you expected. You came to the conclusion that it had to happen at one point for whatever reason and that seemed to be now, with this. But you needed the help, this wasn’t something you could do alone and if you succeeded… You did not want to be left alone with Clay, you realized. You did not want to be the one to explain it all to him and then sit through the awkwardness that would surely follow, maybe even have your past brought up. You wanted to hand him back to the Assassins and disappear, returning to your role as the Faceless, allowing them to know you but still keeping your distance, functioning as a ghost to the Templars and as an ally to the Assassins, just doing your own thing, leading your life the same way as before until it came to a close, no matter how violent that may actually turn out to be.

You made sure nothing and nobody would bother you until you conducted this brave venture. And soon enough, the fateful day to meet the others finally came. You arrived to the hotel late in the afternoon and claimed your room key, booked under a fake name. The agreement with the others was that your rooms were to be booked right beside each other and you would meet once you were all settled. You didn’t bring too much and you didn’t bother to really unpack, not needing to. You finished that energy bar you were munching on on your way there and then walked out to the balcony, noting the walls dividing each room. You leaned on the railing and looked out over the city, breathing in. You were somewhat tired, and anxious, but you still wanted to follow this through. Thoughts about what was lying ahead and memories flooded your mind and you allowed them to consume you, taking you through pleasant and unpleasant times, only resurfacing when you heard soft chatter from your right. Leaning a bit further out you looked in that direction, spotting the familiar trio. Nodding to yourself, you returned to your room and then left it with the same drive, stopping at the neighbouring door and knocking. There was a light murmuring inside and some shuffling and then the door opened, revealing a slightly uptight-seeming Shaun Hastings who looked quite surprised.

- May I help you, miss? – he asked.

- I don’t suppose you have an espresso machine in your room, do you? – you asked. By your agreement this was to be your code to help them know it was really you. Wordlessly, he stepped aside to let you in. There was the natural surprise and some questions about if and how you knew Clay but you brushed those aside, stating that you would not talk about the two of you. Your eyes betrayed you and displayed exactly how much sadness was churning inside you. But you all had to keep going, you weren’t there to relax. So you sat down and discussed your approach, every step. Infiltrating the underground lab at night would be easy and you decided that destroying that one level where you were to conduct your experiment would be enough, it would destroy all evidence and throw Abstergo off your possible trail. Deciding on whipping up an electric fire, you have discussed everything and got ready.

From then, it all turned into a crazy dream. You wouldn’t call it a nightmare, but it was quite strange nonetheless. Your heart was definitely not beating as it usually did, the closer you got to your ultimate target. And when you were standing in front of the capsule-like object which housed Clay’s body, you realized that you were terrified, the fright was clawing at your tissues from the inside. But you didn’t fear failure, you were actually prepared for that. You feared success, you feared facing him, even if for a minute until you would have to get going and get out of there. Your heart, after all this time, was not ready. You did not want to analyze what you were feeling nor face it, at all. You forcefully pushed on and helped the others set up the connection between the machine and an Animus in which you were supposed to go. Shaun and Rebecca were absolute geniuses and you experienced a short relief while you marveled at how quickly and seamlessly they familiarized themselves with the strange device, discovering how they could produce that overload in the right moment that was to serve as the defibrillator and how they could remove the Piece of Eden after it was all done – successful or not. Now that Piece of Eden, it was a strange artifact, really. It was made of the same material as the Apple, but it was shaped like… It really reminded you of a traditional Japanese teacup. It was thin, but the „cup” walls weren’t that high so it could barely hold any liquid if used in such a way. It emanated a strange sensation and an unearthly, soft but unsettling sort of light and when you gazed at it for a bit longer, you felt a familiar buzzing inside your head. It was situated behind Clay’s head in the device and with a bit of tinkering it could easily be removed as you could see.

Clay… His body was in excellent condition, the river’s toll taken on it nonexistent. He looked like as if he was only sleeping – he just wasn’t breathing and his heart wasn’t beating. He was as beautiful as ever, you thought with fondness, but you violently tore yourself away from that and turned your back to him, settling in the simplified Animus device beside him. It wasn’t made to be comfortable, you noted, but it was the easiest to transport and it would serve the purpose. Once everthing was ready, the others settled down and you went in.

Snooping outside the regular planes inside was now your forte, you could say, and finding that desolate island was easy. You floated and treaded with purpose and even though you could sense the resistance of the system – trying to push you back from reaching the place where you weren’t logically supposed to be because it was actually trying to protect you, even if aggressively –, you slowly but surely made your way to the edge once again. You peered down into the impenetrable depth and knew that you were attempting the impossible again. How could it be impossible if you had already done it once before? But it was, it really was, because you knew that this time you might not be so lucky and come back. Or you would, but without Clay’s conscience. But whatever awaited you, you did not care, you had to go, you had to jump, you had to cut through, you had to reach, you had to find

- Clay. – you said his name, Clay, Clay, Clay, Clay---

You did not even notice when you began your intrusive descent against and into the womb of hostility, but suddenly you just knew that you were doing it. You couldn’t tell when you arrived, if ever, but you just had to trust your gut that you were, somehow, there – wherever that was. There was silence, but it was a peculiar statement to make because what really was there was the nothingness. You still had to try, somehow, to find him. You had to. He must still be there. But unlike the first time, he did not come. In an instant, you were panicking and you had to mentally pressure yourself to snap out of it and stay focused, to not get lost.

- No living being should be here. – you whispered, just like he did the last time. What were you hoping for by this? You honestly had no idea, you just made an attempt so that maybe, just maybe…

- I am no longer alive. – his voice, exhausted, dismal, called somewhere near you. You tried to turn in his direction, wherever that was.

- Maybe not at the moment. – you said and swallowed a huge lump in your throat. You began hearing the loud beating and throbbing of your own blood in your ears. In that moment, you suddenly knew, just knew that you had to be swift now, there was no room for fooling around. You could hardly make out the frothing shape of a body, the image of a man who once was.

- What do you mean, (Y/N)? – he asked you, and then you lunged forward – you hoped you did, but this place wouldn’t let you be able to tell. Your mind, however, was dead set on executing these actions. You looked in front of you, at the unreal figure and extended your arms, wrapping them around him, not knowing if you were actually feeling him or not, but you prayed to all deities that were and were not that you did.

- You are coming back, Clay, you are coming back with me and you are going to return to your body and you are going to live, you are going to live, you hear me?! – you screamed, voice shaking with the tears that never escaped when you parted those many years ago but threatened you now.

The Animus attacked you then. You were attempting to leave and take something with you that you were not supposed to and the system didn’t want you to do that. You felt winds of cold and dark stab and tear at you, attempting to pull you apart, but in response you just dug your nail into the mass of Clay’s conscience you were enveloping. Invisible and unreal electrical charges shot through you, but you just pushed closer, focusing on only one thought: returning to the world. Everything was loud and silent, you felt sensations that were impossible to describe and nothing at all, extremities held you that could not be and you could not tell what actually was and what was not. You could only hope that you were actually moving, somehow escaping, but you also felt lost and you had no way of telling.

In the room, Rebecca, Shaun and William were watching over the two of you. Five minutes had passed, ten, fifteen, twenty… Frustrated sighs left each throat, one after the other. They felt like it was all in vain and they should try to pull you out before you were lost.

But then your vital signs changed abruptly. Your heart was beating twice the speed of what was natural and acceptable in your tense state, your blood pressure was at the same time extremely low and your fingers were twitching, although the rest of your body wasn’t jerking. It was alarming and they all jumped to their feet, but before they could forcefully end the session, the Piece of Eden activated itself as well, the alien light that was softly coming from it quadrupled in power and filled the whole room, coating everything, causing the glass of Clay’s case to crack an then completely shatter, covering him in the softest layer of glass shards – all so quickly that they barely had enough time to register it. But it was obvious that they had to act now. They launched the overload and Clay’s body convulsed from the shock, continuing to twitch wildly, the alien glow making it seem like a lucid dream.

Then, with no warning, you sat up, sucking in air as if you were a second away from drowning and this was your last and unexpected chance to save yourself from suffocating. At the exact same moment, Clay’s body stopped twitching and he himself also raised into a sitting position in one swift movement. Just as you both raised and your eyes were trying to refocus and regain sense, the Piece of Eden’s light died down. For a few seconds you were debating whether you were dreaming, dead, or if this was real and you were back out, alive. You bit the insides of your cheeks and when you felt the familiar unpleasantness, you nodded, accepting the fact that you were alive. You slowly, timidly, turned your head in the direction of the other device to see whatever you had to see there. As if on cue, mirroring your movement not a millisecond late, Clay also turned his head and then your gazes met. Time really felt like it had stopped then, only the beating of your hearts was heard, a thousand tiny needles picking at you inside your veins. You were in a trance, but you desperately wanted to break out, so you began fighting yourself, mentally beating yourself, all in the matter of seconds, to make yourself snap out of it and…

- Come on, let’s pack up. Shaun, help Clay up and William… - you heard Rebecca speak and that was your salvation. You sprung to your feet and frantically pulled your hood over your head. From then on it was another crazy blur, but one thing you could constantly feel – Clay’s eyes upon you. You thanked the fact that he was still too weak to speak to you – or whatever the reason was, really, you were just glad as you were already at the end of what you were able to handle without shutting down. You gathered your tools, Shaun safely removed and wrapped up the Piece of Eden to take it away for further discovery, all footages of your presence were erased and you successfully started up the fire, making sure that it would destroy everything behind you and cover your escape. Shaun and Rebecca took Clay with them in the van while you and Miles senior took a different route, the five of you meeting once again back at the hotel, careful about your re-entry, not to cause a stir and seem suspicious.

You told Mr. Miles to go forward and you went to your own room first. Since you hadn’t unpacked, you only had to wash up and fix your attire and you were ready to leave. You grabbed your bag and entered the other room from the balcony. You walked over to the team, your breathing measured. Clay was sitting on the bed, seemingly fine and Shaun and William were explaining the details of the time leading up to this day to him. When they noticed you, Rebecca greeted you with a tired but warm smile and stood to step towards you but stopped, seeing your bag hanging on your shoulder.

- Don’t. Please. I just want to be short about it now. – you got the start of any protest, taking in one shaky breath before continuing, straightening your posture. - So, everything is as we discussed, you have your contacts here and disappearing once you are ready should be easy. I hope I have provided you with enough financial support. Please, treat yourselves well with however much is left – I hope it’s a lot, I really didn’t play it shmuck. Yeah, all that and… Take care, see you around sometime. Let’s continue to stick it to the Templars. – you finished, striding to the door with only one intention – to leave.

- (Y/N). – Clay called out to you with such a tender voice that you almost choked on your own breath and that halted your hurried movements. It was the first time in years that you heard his actual living voice and it nearly made you collapse, they could see your legs bump together, making you stumble.

- I beg of you! – you struggled out with trembling lips and wildly shook your head, not looking back. – Guys, I am really not proud of what I am about to do and I will forever try to atone for it, but… This is all I can bear now. I must return to what I was. You know who I am now anyway. I… I cannot do this, Clay. – you breathed out the last sentence and then dashed towards the door like a wild animal escaping confinement.

And with that, you were gone.

You then began your longest hitchhiking of your life and made it across the border. That much caution was excessive, but you needed the therapeutic effect it held. Sleeping in cheap motels, not speaking to anyone besides giving the directions and saying a polite thank you when paying for your food. You had time to start burying this whole experience in yourself and build your walls right back up, protecting your heart, mind and soul.

After the last bit of traveling, you resumed your life back home under your real name, continued working and took some time off from being the Faceless once you have made sure that Clay, Rebecca, Shaun and William were all fine as well, but without contacting them of course. After a month of this, you knew though that you were prepared to open up that part of your life again. You caught up with what was happening at Abstergo and happily noted that they still, even after a bloody month, had no clue what the hell happened in Berlin. It was a serious blow to them which threw them back a great deal.

Life was relatively normal for you and even though you were prepared to be bombarded by the Assassins, in thought you mutely thanked the guys for – you guessed – spreading the message that you preferred to continue operating as an ally, solo. Wherever you went, you knew that when a stare was too long and too strange, it was from these hidden ones, but you were thankful for them respecting your silent wishes. You had your hands deliciously full, so to say, because you were never bored, you always found something to deal with, a way to stir up some trouble for the Templars.

Your heart returned to its dormant state that was oh so familiar from the previous years and you thought that it would now stay that way forever. But on a cold, autumn day, you felt your breath stolen from you once again. Of course, you couldn’t expect to never see him again, but not like this… You were sitting at a table in front of a café, almost empty paper cup of melange in hand and book in the other when a figure took the seat next to you.

- Hi. – a curious male voice greeted you and you looked up at him, blood draining from your face then. It was Clay, Clay Kaczmarek, sitting right there beside you, looking as alive as ever, looking… Looking beautiful, healthy, everything he deserved to be, a brown leather jacket over a hoodie with a pair of dark jeans and boots keeping him warm and simply stylish. His eyes were stormy, however, but you didn’t stop to wonder about the reason behind that.

- Is it something concerning Abstergo? – you whispered after a few moments of trying to compose yourself. You saw him shake his head.

- No, nothing of the sort. I wanted to talk to you about… - he began, but you dropped your coffee and book after his first word. You ran, once again, forgetting your book there, only caring about escaping him. You did everything, tot he best of your abilities, to lose him, arriving home quite a while later. Your legs gave out once you closed the door behind yourself and you fell to the floor. You were breathing heavily, loudly, fighting for every inhale, trying not to pass out. It took quite a while for you to calm down and then you shakily took off your shoes, still lying on the floor. You trembled, almost collapsing when trying to stand up, but with enough patience and determination you managed to stay up and get out of your coat, now just staying in your pants and cozy turtleneck. You took a few steps towards the kitchen when you heard the soft creaking noise of your door as it opened and then closed and your keys were turned in the lock. You were frozen in your spot, one arm raised halfway in front of you as you wanted to thread your fingers through your hair but stopped before you could due to these sudden noises. You couldn’t move so you just waited. A few steps and then the intruder was right behind you. A hand slowly rested on your shoulder – strange, it wasn’t menacing at all and it was oddly familiar.

- (Y/N), please take deep breaths. I do not want you to panic. I locked the door just to be safe, but not to trap you. You can still send me away if you wish. But if you don’t, I will keep my distance, but please, give us a moment to sit down so I can talk to you. And just… Just listen, please. That is all I ask of you. – Clay spoke slowly, clearly, careful not to startle you even further or cause you to react in a way that you would harm yourself. You followed his request and consciously took deep breaths, keeping a steady rhythm. You then slowly moved away from his touch and walked into the kitchen, sitting on the first chair beside the table you saw. Clay, after quickly getting rid of his shoes to be polite, followed you and carefully took a seat in front of you on another chair, keeping a respectful distance between the two of you.

- Alright, I’ll… I’ll listen. – you mumbled, chancing a quick glance into his eyes but feeling a sharp pain in your heart so you immediately averted your gaze. There was no escaping now, it was going to happen.

- So… - Clay began, trying to choose his words carefully. – I… Won’t ask why you did it, but I… I still want to thank you. – He hummed, scanning your face, your form for any sort of reaction. – Yeah. And I… Actually, you know, I am just so damn thrilled because even though I still remember everything, the visions no longer haunt me and I haven’t slept better than since you brought me back. – his sudden enthusiasm seemed to die down here and he looked down at his hands. – Although something’s still missing and… Damn it, (Y/N), I want to talk about you and me, pick up the problem from where we left off, you know? – he confessed, looking right at you again.

And that’s when it happened.

- I ca-, I-hi-I, I ca-, I can’t! – you struggled to spit it out through a series of wild, tearful hiccups, feeling a sudden shortage of breath. The barrier finally broke and the tears you forced down your throat all those years ago after running away from him, in addition to all the frustration and exhausted pain you gathered since then in connection to him, now finally escaped your prison. You wept, hollering in pain as your suffering felt too much to bear and there was no other way for it all to escape. It felt like you were going to explode if you tried to keep it in any longer. Your body hunched forward, your forehead on your knees, your hands clinging to the sides of your thighs, surely bruising your own skin under the pants. Every nerve in your brain and every cell of your body was on fire, was hurting, and you had nowhere to run from this feeling. The tears kept coming like a monsoon’s downpour, completely soaking your face and your clothes. Clay was in fact afraid of such a heavy reaction from you, but he didn’t expect this volume. He debated whether touching you in this state would make it even worse for you but when he saw you slipping towards the floor from your chair, he dropped to his knees and caught you, locking you in his arms. You barely even registered, but you wanted to fight him, to escape his hold. This pointless struggle caused your weeping to increase and you had serious trouble breathing now, threatening you with passing out if you couldn’t calm down.

- (Y/N), listen to me! Focus on my voice! – he said loudly and sternly, hoping to drag you back from your helpless frenzy. – You must reign this in! Step by step, okay? But you must, you have to calm down, for your own sake! – he released a frustrated sigh, his defined brows knitting in the moment of desperation. – Please, I do not want you to hurt yourself even more!

He held your body even tighter to himself, elbows pressing your arms to your sides as his hands he then paced on your temples, making you angle your head so he could get a good look at your face. It was a mess of tears and some mascara, a troubled land in the midst of a war.

- Breathe with me now. Just come back. I am here. Find me, (Y/N). – he attempted to bring you back again. You had your eyes shut tightly and sounds of struggle and hurt were still spilling from you the same way as your tears were, but at least, slowly, you were regaining control over your breathing and as heavy as it was, you were no longer in danger of passing out from the lack of air. Clay held you through it and continued murmuring soft and sound phrases to you, helping you find your anchor back in reality. He was devastated that he could not prevent this, but at least calmness born out of weariness was still better than more turmoil, he thought.

Slowly, you rain out of tears and when you did, your first real thought appeared again – you wondered if that was even possible, but it seemed so. You turned your head, facing away from him and, as if on cue, he stood with you, helping you sit back on your chair. He walked over to the sink and you heard the water running, still not looking in that direction. Soon he was back in front of you, gently dabbing your face with a wet cloth, cleaning as well as refreshing it. You flinched at the first touch but then relaxed, the gentle treatment actually making you feel better. When he was done, he handed you a glass of water and waited for you to drink it all before taking it and the cloth back to the sink.

- I bet you have your answers now, whatever your questions were. – you said dryly. Clay looked at you with a confused expression but you still refused to meet his gaze.

- What do you mean?

- I’m embarrassed, Clay! Just look at what just went down. I’m practically mad so whatever you wanted, I’m sure you don’t want it now. – you sighed in frustration.

- Oh, for fuck’s sake, (Y/N), you should’ve seen me when the bleeding effect got worse and I was acting under the effect. That was madness and fucking ugly. Now this… - he sat down in his chair in front of you again. – This is all me and this is ugly, but not for the reason you think. – his voice softened by the end and he leaned closer to you.

- I want to sit back on the floor though. – you said flatly, already sliding back down to the kitchen tiles. This small act of yours made Clay smile genuinely, it was so undeniably cute even in such a problematic situation as the one you were in at the moment. But he loved your little quirk nonetheless.

- You always liked that. – he noted, joining you, one knee almost up to his chest and his other leg stretched out.

- Yeah.

- I remember it well.

- Aha…

- You often behaved like a cat. This, too, made me think of that.

- I guess.

- It’s cute. – he said, eyes searching your face. You didn’t respond with words, but you folded your hands in your lap. He moved his into your field of vision, aimed at the floor, showing you his palms as a sign that he had no vile intent. When you didn’t retreat, he closed the distance and placed his hands on top of yours. – So… Let me talk to you? – he tilted his head and your bottom lip twitched, but you nodded. – Okay. – he took a deep breath. – I just realized that I probably fucked this up greatly but… I know you probably don’t want to say too much yourself and I did want to let you rest but I do have questions… But anyway. – he chuckled awkwardly, shaking his head. It was a cute gesture and you looked up at him shyly, trying your hardest not to look away again when he locked his eyes with yours.

Whatever he was going to say, ask, you wanted not only to hear but also see that he was honest in it. You often forgot to blink when you were doing this, when you were so deliberately looking for this proof and he remembered that, noticing how your pupils changed in size, registering all your tiniest signs and understanding their meaning.

- I started doubting you. – you suddenly said before he could speak up, surprising both him and yourself. – You were always so confident, so sure, you had everything in you and you were the whole goddamn package and more – did you even realize that? – your lips trembled momentarily, but he stayed silent, wanting to hear you finish this, knowing how important it was. – You were – you are – handsome, smart, strong, but you also had a personality and when I learned that you even knew what suffering meant, how difficult it was to… To rise above a messed-up family background, I felt more connected to you than ever. To know that you would understand me changed everything! And you even said it when I voiced my concerns, you said that it was – that it was okay, you would help me see that and get through and over it and… And I wanted that, I thought that finally, finally someone… But, but then you… - your hands stiffened under his. – You began becoming distant and… And I wondered – he has been through hell and he came out victorious, why the hell would he ever want to do it again with me, suffer through the same by being with me? He didn’t need that trouble, did he? So I… I couldn’t understand anymore why you would ever… And you were even behaving differently so I… I just left because I… I didn’t want to be left. And even if your change in behaviour was caused by your blossoming involvement with the Assassins, I… Even today with a name to myself and success carved by my own hands, I would do the same. Because… Why would you ever… You need someone who’s not loaded with a problematic background and I don’t want to be… Left… But making it work with me is way too crazy so… - you shrugged, losing your energy and not knowing how to finish it so you just stopped. He’d think whatever he wanted to. Sure, you were horrible for saying all of this. But at least he got his explanation he could never ask for. Surely that was the only thing he came for. And even if now he thought you were a real bastard for thinking so horribly of him, it would be… Just okay. You were drained, ready to just accept it.

- So you lost your faith in me? – Clay asked carefully, his voice not giving away anything.

- Sort of, I guess… – you nodded, finally blinking and having to keep your eyes closed for a good minute as they watered painfully. – It was nice to toy with the idea, but you and me together wouldn’t be a heaven-made match, I think. And even if I’ve grown, I’m still the girl with trust issues and a strangely rising and lowering self-confidence inside. And even if I understand the lives we live now and I’d know you were coming and going because of it, the same with I, I just… I couldn’t do it. I’d run, because I’ve always did and… I’m a distrustful coward and I cannot expect you to fix that. Because you shouldn’t. That’s my job and probably a certified and trained therapist’s.

- You’re right about some things but you’re astonishingly wrong about others, (Y/N). – he said, laughing quietly.

- What…? – you tilted your head.

- Sure it’s not my job to fix everything for you but when we met, I didn’t say what I did just to get into your pants. I knew what I was in for, just as always, like with Abstergo. – he spoke clearly and unwaveringly, keeping you focused and unable to look away from him. – And I was ready to be your support, your crutches if you will. Even your home therapist if you wanted. I was willing to cut myself if it meant I could patch you up. Because I knew that you were someone who wouldn’t keep it one-sided. You were always giving and fair so I was never afraid of getting too deep. I wanted to go there. So when I said trust me, let me, allow me – I meant it all. All of it, (Y/N). – he sneakily slipped his hands around yours, fingers intertwined, and gave them a firm squeeze. – Healthy or not, I don’t give one single shit. I never did, I don’t. Because I knew, I know, that the reward was you and me, us. We’re definitely not a heaven-made match but don’t you remember? I’m a hell-hound. – he winked at you, bringing back old memories which you couldn’t fight and you… You blushed furiously, cheeks so red that he had a hard time resisting the urge to kiss them endlessly right then and there. He smirked, but it was not predatory nor scary in any way, it was hopefully confident even if he knew that he was still walking a tightrope with all of this. – Life’s a piece of shit when you look at it… - he half-sang that one line and it made you laugh, so suddenly and freely that it felt like the first deep inhale of fresh air after leaving a smoke-filled house. The sound was beautiful to Clay’s ears and he raised your hands to his lips, kissing each before noticing your gasp ending the laughter. – It really is, but there are some good things in it. We still haven’t lost the big fight, we still have our free will, coffee smells good, tigers and lions are just as silly as tiny housecats but like equipped with murder mittens, you are one kick-ass woman and now that I have another chance, no way in this damn world I’m wasting it. – he pulled you closer to him and you let him. – Can I say something? – he asked and it didn’t really seem to make sense, but you wanted to understand so you nodded, though frowning slightly.

- Sure.

- I’ll tell you what I think you should do. What I want you to do. – he began. – But you have your options, I just want you to trust me on this. I know that it will work if you give it another go.

You breathed in sharply.

- I won’t disappear again, not without you. I’m changing the game because I’m fed up after how it went down last time. We either go together or we go nowhere at all. I want you back with me and I want you to take me back, (Y/N). I will face whatever insecurities stir up some trouble for us and I will weed out every last one of them. You’ll be so sure of everything that you won’t ever feel that horrible pain here… - he released one of your hands to touch the side of your head gently - … or here. – his touch now rested over your heart for an extended moment before retreating but still hovering in front of you. – Just like I said all those years ago, I’m still standing by it today. I don’t care if it takes years, I’m willing and able to do it all. So you should just… Just dive right in. Trust me on this. You’ll see that I’m right, because I have it in me and you have it in you too and… If we just put that together, you’ll be in the best love you could ever find. I bet you couldn’t even write up such a story where it would surpass this.

- Clay. – you breathed his name.

- Nobody else could ever make me feel this weak by saying my name… - he admitted with a smile, the hint of shyness in it, grabbing your chin with his free hand, the other still holding yours. – I want to write my story, I want to tell a different tale and I want you to be and stay in it. I want… - his own composure was breaking now and he just started listing everything that he so missed. – I want you to say I’m yours and I want to say the same, and that you are mine, and I want to punch every bastard who looks at you wrong. And then I want you to scold me for it but feel it in your embrace afterwards that you love it when I get possessive. Then I want to talk it out and agree that I don’t have to go that far, only in extreme cases. I want to go on missions with you and kiss the damn breath out of you after you shoot a bad guy in the head because I’m so amazed and proud and I bet you are incredibly sexy when you do that. – his hands were suddenly all over your arms, rubbing them up and down and groping with growing fever, but still restrained from venturing to the rest of your body. – And I want to argue with you and then fix things because I know we can. And I want to watch you work and be your greatest fan. And I bet we’d almost get kicked out of a cinema because we’d laugh at the most inappropriate moments again during a horror movie. And I want to go to bed with you, I want to watch you shower and see you almost slip when you notice me so I can catch you and keep you safe and unharmed, I want to make a show of me undressing for you, and I want to be anything and everything you want me to be because you already are for me and I want you to know that if you just take that leap of faith… With me… We’d love each other so much that it would be so fucking good… - his hands stopped at your shoulders, gripping you there. Now, it seemed, it was his turn to cry. His sigh was so heavy, it held the weight of a whole world and his tears were even hot, matching his heated skin.

You couldn’t really speak while he talked. It was a lot to take in. But the more he went on, the more you felt different… Better. Hope somehow opened its eyes inside you and Clay’s momentum took you with him and soon you were drinking in his words like a desert’s wanderer the first source of water after the longest walk. And now that he was done, just watching you with silent tears and still holding you, you made your choice.

- Can I call you mine? – you asked timidly. His reaction was everything. He threw his head back in glorious, liberated, joyful laughter and pulled you into his arms. He leaned back against one of the table’s sturdy legs, keeping you tight against him.

- Yes, baby, I’m all yours and only yours and you can announce it to the whole world.

You were still unsure so only after he gave you his answer did you sneak your own arms around his waist as well. – Mine. – you stated, lips slowly stretching into a genuine, loving smile.

- Tell me if I’m wrong but… Mine, so mine that you’re nobody else’s. – Clay said, rubbing slow circles on your back and waist. You just nodded, confirming his claim. – I love you, (Y/N). – he confessed, nudging you so you would look up at him again.

- I—

- No rushing, babe, no need. We’re together now. – he cut you off.

- Never interrupt your woman, you uncultured possum. – you teased him, earning yourself a grin from him, which you easily mirrored.

- A’ight, ma’am.

- I love you too, Clay. – you finished, and in that moment, you felt better than ever.

- And now I’m going to kiss the life back into you because that’s what you get for loving me. I just need to do this in a more… - he suddenly stood, gathering you in his arms and making you wrap your legs around his waist - … comfortable setting, there we go. You’re really in for it now. – he said in that darling rascal of a tone of his, drawing a bubbly, easy laughter from you as you held onto him.

He took you through your house, doing an unintentional, quick discovery until he found your bedroom and after turning the lights on, he gently but playfully threw you on the bed, climbing in with and then over you.

- I bet your couch is nice too but I figured this would be much better for it. And then a nap, which we both undoubtedly need. And whatever else you agree on. – he winked down at you, caressing your cheek and your throat with unmatched tenderness. – If, of course, you don’t mind me staying over…?

- Please. – you said, wrapping him in a firm hug, keeping him close, enjoying his weight on you. It was reassuring, it spoke of comfort and safety and uninterrupted time without words.

- Good. Now… Let’s get this eternal love going. – he announced and his lips finally crashed down on yours.

That night, after you fell asleep in each other’s arms, you were still together even in your dreams. You met on the same unearthly plane of minds and knew that this time… This time it would stay this way.