#plot holes?

[strawberrycarat]

Is it me or episode 3 lacked of continuity with Aegon and Helaena? (Specially Helaena)

In episode 2, we see them in the middle of their grief, Aegon wanting to kill anyone and anything and Helaena mourning and giving us a glimpse of mad queen Helaena (the one that jumped out of the window after Mysaria told her how the people teared Maelor’s body apart).

In ep 3, there is a sudden change.

Aegon wants to go to war but he doesn’t seem so eager as last episode (not that sad, not that angry) like how much time passed after Jaehaerys? When there were the leaks, I wanted to believe the reason he mocked Aemond was because it seemed like he didn’t care about the death of his nephew (and, now that we talk about it, I first thought that Aemond went to seek comfort in the brothel AFTER Jaehaerys’ death… but he seemed more guilty for Luke than his own nephew? He had already visited the brothel - like what is his dynamics with Helaena and her children?)

And with Helaena…. I hated the lines she had in the episode: ‘children die all the time, they’re fragil’ (something like that)…. Like, honey, your son didn’t got sick, didn’t trip from the stairs, didn’t bump his head with something heavy…. HE WAS MURDERED IN HIS BED! It had nothing to do with children’s fragility!!!? Also, Helaena not wanting small folk around her because she doesn’t know them but then thinking their feelings are more valid than hers? It doesn’t make sense. Also, how are writers going to justify her throwing herself from the window when she seems more reasonable than many other characters?

At least we knew Rhaenyra had 2 weeks to grieve Luke, but how much time passed since Jaehaerys’ death? It seems like no one care now… does it have something to do with different directors in both episodes or am I missing something ?

[neon-kazoo]

Honk Honk (The briefcase-pt. 2) as requested o7

Choo Choo (part 1)

He had led them all the way back to the depot, weaving through discarded train cars and criss-crossing tracks like it was his second home. They had stopped at a forest green two-door Chevy in a gravel—Hero was really starting to hate gravel—backlot. The truck was old enough that Villain had to twist the key in the lock and rattle the handle to pry the door open. He had shoved Hero past the steering wheel and climbed in after them and the vehicle roared to life after two tries aggressively turning the key in the ignition. Twisted ankle screaming from the uneven terrain, Hero had all but collapsed onto the fabric bench seat, endlessly thankful to not be tossed in the back in a body bag or an equally-claustrophobia-inducing enclosure.

Hero assumed it was his car, given the fact that he knew the key would be left in the rear wheel well and the heavy aroma of tobacco. Hero swore they were getting lung cancer just smelling it.

Wrinkled nose aside, Hero sat obediently in the passenger seat of the truck, busying themselves with a roll of gauze Villain had fished out of the back and thrown at them carelessly. Since he had such great care for their well-being, he even mentioned he hoped the switchblade was clean—which thankfully it was.

He did, however, refuse to offer assistance in the wrapping of Hero’s inconveniently-located gashes, which led Hero to sport several loose and stray loops of gauze around their arms before they shrugged their jacket back on. Clearly, he was still mad they interrupted his smoke break.

They were just glad he had not actually pushed the blade into their thigh, because there was no way Hero would be removing their pants to care for a leg wound next to Villain in this tiny cab.

They were able to wrap their rib wound with a little difficultly, tucking their shirt up and holding one end of gauze with their chin and praying Villain wouldn’t take the next curve too hard. Hero didn’t know how much good just dressing the stab and slices would do healing-wise, but it was their only option, and at the very least it might staunch the bleeding.

The belt across their lap did little to help hold them in place as they worked, and they found that most of their muscles protested their continued usage. Finally good enough to hold, Hero tore the wrap with their teeth and shoved the tail between the layers above their stomach. Only then could they relax.

Well, relax was a bit of a strong word.

Exactly how mad was Villain, and what did that mean for Hero? He certainly didn’t seem too shy about dealing fatal blows a few hours ago. They realized tiredly that they should probably be trying to figure out a way out of this before he made good on his previous threats.

Hero eyed the door handle beside them. Before they could commit to any less-than-stellar ideas, Villain cleared his throat. That was when Hero finally spotted the gun resting in his lap.

“I think you’ve had enough abrupt departures from moving vehicles for the day, don’t you?”

Hero tried to slump, but quickly shot back up at the pain in their ribs. They threw Villain a sideways glare.

Knife-happy bastard.

Hero just hoped he wasn’t going to be so liberal with the use of his bullets.

“Are you gonna tell me what this is all about?”

Are you going to kill me?

Villain answered only with silence, so Hero closed their increasingly-heavy eyelids and tried to work through the situation in their head.

A strange meeting, a black briefcase, an angry Villain.

It didn’t make sense.

Despite the uneven rocking of a poor-suspension system and the rumbling of a questionable engine, Hero eventually drifted off with their head rolling like a rag doll and filled with unanswered questions.

They awoke to almost smashing their head open like a watermelon on the dash as Villain pulled aggressively into a spot at a rest stop. Hero saw poorly-lit vending machines and restroom signs between heavy blinks they tried to use to clear the sleep from their head. Lagging back into reality, Hero turned to squint at Villain…who was somehow now wearing jeans and a hoodie?

They blinked a few more times just to be sure, and the figure in the driver’s seat didn’t change. It was still him—and Hero had not hallucinated their failed mission because they could still see the remnants of gel in his hair—but clearly Hero had been out long enough for Villain to do a quick change or something. Hero cursed themselves for falling unconscious when they should have been worrying about an escape or finding the case. Not to mention, they didn’t trust Villain as far as they could throw them, and they would much rather be awake in his presence.

Hero assessed themselves, and found they remained exactly as disheveled as they were before they left the waking world. The hastily-wrapped gauze was even still poking out of their sleeve.

“Sleep well?” He mocked.

Judging by the massive crick in their neck, the answer was yes.

“Right up until you almost gave me a traumatic brain injury,” Hero replied, slightly mumbling as they rubbed at their eyes and dragged their hands down their face dramatically.

“Had to wake you up somehow,” he replied with a trace of mischief as he exited the car and started walking around the hood towards their side.

Hero froze in confusion when their door was opened.

Villain leveled them with a look that screamed ‘where-are-your-brain-cells?’ and threw his head back towards the scary looking building and rolled his eyes.

“Bathroom? You know, bodily functions?”

Hero did not feel very intelligent as they unbuckled the flimsy lap belt and walked under the flickering street lights.

Left to their own devices in the poorly-maintained family bathroom, Hero silently thanked Congress for the hand rails that helped them limp around the room. Outside, Villain could be heard talking on what Hero presumed was a phone, considering how deserted this stop was.

Hero, of course, eavesdropped. Blah blah, fifty miles north, blah blah, should have known, blah blah blah—Something about a blue cab?

Briefly, they considered locking the door and trying to wait Villain out, but they decided the chances of him having a lock picking set or just plain being able to bust the door down himself were too great to risk losing their privileges. Plus, if they were being honest, the bugs attacking the light in the corner scared them more than going back outside. They were unnaturally large. Giving the infested corner a wide berth, Hero hobbled back out and was led back to the truck.

“Great news,” Villain began after they were settled, “I’ve got a lead for you.”

It took Hero a second to realize he was talking about the briefcase. So he was serious about sending them after it, but to already have a lead? How long had they been out?

“Good morning to you too,” Hero spoke, even though it was clearly the beginning of the night. Crickets chirped outside the window, removing any doubt. They weren’t even sure what day of the week it was anymore, and they definitely weren’t about to ask.

In response, Hero was pelted with..something. They flinched back before they realized whatever had been launched in their direction hadn’t done any damage, and they found the mystery object resting in the floorboard. A bottle of Advil rattled in their hand as they feveredly twisted it open and downed two pills dry.

“I had water, you know?”

Hero said nothing, simply grabbing the offered bottle and chugging it all in one go.

Villain, looking rather horrified, slowly handed over a bag of chips that were immediately ripped open.

Hero crunched as loud as humanly possible as Villain drove until he finally broke and turned the radio on to some random pop station.

Hero, satisfied with their win, remained silent after balling up the empty bag and tossing it in the floorboard with the empty plastic bottle. Villain refrained from reacting until Hero made a show of licking their thumb clean, then wiping the rest of their fingers on the seat beside them.

“You do remember the gun, don’t you?”

“Shooting someone over Cheeto dust seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

They seriously wondered how Villain managed to remain impassive after all this time. He certainly hadn’t slept, and Hero wasn’t even sure if he had eaten anything. There was no way he stayed that fit with just the half-empty coke can beside him.

In classic Villain fashion, he ignored them once again until they pulled into a second rest stop, this one more populated than the last.

From the spot Villain parked, the area containing semi-trucks was clearly visible. Long, slanted lines marked the separate spaces, with several being occupied by trucks and trailers. From what Hero could see, two were blue, one black, and a couple red with all white trailers. Villain’s eyes were glued towards the two farthest trucks, parked away from the rest.

“You see the one on the right?” Villain asked, pointing towards the semis he had been watching.

“Yes…” Hero answered suspiciously.

He wasn’t planning to get them run over, was he?

“Congratulations, you’re gonna steal from it.”

“You want me to steal?”

Hero whipped their head in disbelief.

“This is what happens when you lose things that aren’t yours. Considering you stole it in the first place, I assumed you’d be thrilled.”

Hero was not thrilled. At least, what Villain had planned was not to dangle Hero by the ankles and have them fish a waterlogged briefcase out of the river—as Hero may or may not have been imagining on the long trek through the countryside—but it honestly might as well have been. Instead, Villain informed them that he was sending them over to a parked semi-truck to break in and locate the case that may or may not be in there.

He didn’t say anything about how he knew it would be in there or who was driving, but if it was any indication he handed back the switchblade before shooing them out of the car.

They considered arguing about their injuries and how he would be a far better candidate for a stealth mission, but that would involve admitting he was in better shape than them.

They couldn’t satisfy the bastard like that.

Besides, they had resolved to keep the briefcase out of everyone’s hands, and that included his.

With no other choice, Hero circled the back of the trailer lot, taking the long route through the grass and hiding behind a trailer when any truckers came too close. They tugged at the annoying watch Villain had insisted—threatened—them to wear.

Reaching the farthest trailer, Hero walked past the sparkling blue cab and came to a stop behind the access doors to the container. Oddly enough, there were no numbers or hazard squares pasted on the back, only mud flaps and a dirty license plate hanging low under the latches and chains.

“Iowa? What in this case is worth taking to Iowa. Am I risking my life for corn seeds right now?” They spoke into the watch incredulously.

Their annoying lookout responded, “Less talking, more thieving.”

Hero rolled their eyes, then—realizing Villain couldn’t see them—groaned audibly.

Regardless, they lifted up the latch and cringed at the sound the metal made when it creaked open.

“Are you sure this is a good-“

“Get in.”

The man did have a gun.

Planting their foot on the red and white striped rebar strip, they threw themselves unceremoniously into the dark container. They fumbled around in the shadows, running their hands across plastic-wrapped pallets. They tripped a few times on the wood, and they cursed.

“You couldn’t have given me a flashlight,” they whisper-yelled into their wrist.

“You’ll live,” came the drawled reply.

“I’m not the one that wants this stupid- ah hah!”

Hero lifted up a smooth leather briefcase, hidden behind a shipment of soft drinks—maybe. It was really dark.

“Grab it and get out,” ordered Villain.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.”

Hero, for some reason, struggled to keep their balance as they back tracked towards the doors. When they stepped down backwards, red lights illuminated right in their face, and they froze with one foot out the door.

“YOU DIDNT TELL ME IT WAS MOVING?!” Hero screeched in realization.

“What are you talking about?”

Hero didn’t bother to keep verbally reprimanding Villain for his inattentiveness, instead preparing to practice their new signature move—the tuck-and-roll as they searched desperately for a patch of grass to aim for. They slammed the doors shut as quietly as they could, crossing their arms awkwardly to try and hold onto the door and the case at the same time.

Just when the shoulder turned from concrete to dirt, Hero made to let go of the door, only, something pulled them back. They looked back to find the loose gauze in their sleeve had been closed in the door, and—to make matters worse—the case was stuck on the handle. Truly a comedy of errors, not that Hero could appreciate the humor in their situation as the semi picked up speed and traveled towards the highway. Hero had never seen a large vehicle accelerate so fast.

In a split second, Hero had to decide between freeing themselves or the case.

“Throw the case!” Villain suggested, like the devil on their shoulder.

Hero was not so naive. They unraveled their bandage before lifting the case up and off the lever it was hooked on. When they looked down again, it was now too late for them to drop without breaking a few bones, and the only reason Villain would have to help them was held in their hand. If they let it go, they would be on their own, and there would be no one to stop Villain from doing whatever he planned to do with it.

They were thrown from side to side roughly as they tried to remain attached to the vehicle. If there was a sticker with a number to report this trucker’s driving, Hero would be calling it. Knowing Advil was not all powerful and they wouldn’t last long clinging to the back with this lunatic behind the wheel, Hero set their eyes towards the top.

There were two vertical poles running up each side of the door, and there was just enough room for Hero to shove their fingers behind them and get a good enough grip to start climbing up and away from the asphalt rushing beneath them. Hero was hit with sudden Deja vu for the one handed climbing and moving containers.

They should have asked Villain for some of those stupid shoes, because their nike tennis shoes were not made for ascending the back of an eighteen-wheeler. If they lived through this, they were going to buy a membership to a climbing gym and hire Villain as their personal trainer.

Heavily regretting not wrapping their ankle, Hero heaved up onto the roof and was immediately hit with wind resistance much greater than that on the train. The ground was also moving much faster, and Hero imagined falling now would hurt a lot more. There was nothing up here to hold onto, and stray hairs were flying all around Hero’s face. Trying to stay upright and on top of the truck, Hero surveyed the traffic ahead, or lack there of. The only lights up ahead appeared to belong to a truck pulling a camper, probably belonging to some family making a long drive to some beautiful destination.

God, Hero could really use a vacation.

Now with a second to think, Hero realized the smart plan would have been to try and get back inside the truck while they were still by the latch. Unfortunately, it was too late now. Hero was stuck.

Mind racing, Hero scrambled for a realistic idea. Maybe if they could get to the cab-

They heard the faintest call of “fuck” and they wondered what late-night trucker was cursing so loud at cars on the road. The chorus of swearing continued before Hero realized it was coming from the com on their wrist, and Villain wasn’t yelling expletives.

“Duck!”

Hero whipped their head around, searching for any waterfowl they were supposed to look out for. Just in the nic of time, they noticed the real danger—the low overpass hurtling towards them.

They flattened as best they could and promised to make good on all the promises they had made the last time they were in mortal danger.

Concrete brushed the back of their hood as they tried their best to channel the energy of a pancake, and by some miracle the semi had enough extra clearance for Hero to get by unscathed.

Physically that is. Mentally they were very much scathed.

Hero screamed about how there better be a nuclear weapon or something of equal importance in this briefcase, but it was swallowed by the air.

Hero stayed down for longer than necessary before looking ahead to ensure there were no more surprises coming up.

Path clear as far as they could tell, they army crawled towards the front of the truck, hoping the friction of their clothes would be enough to keep them from flying off. They swore the container was growing because of how long it was taking them to move across it. When the edge was finally in reach, they grabbed it with two hands and pulled, sliding the rest of the way before dropping into the space where the wiring was strung between the cab to the trailer. By the grace of someone, they didn’t trip and face plant after getting tangled in the connections.

Turning to the left, Hero spotted a dark colored shape driving alongside the truck with its lights off.

Hero had never been so glad to see Villain in their life.

Trying their best not to think about the image of them going splat on the road, Hero moved into a lunging stance. All they had to do was wait for the bed of the pickup truck to line up with the gap they were standing on.

They took a deep breath. Almost…

A loud sound sent their ears ringing and them stumbling back on the aluminum grating.

A gunshot.

Apparently, someone had other ideas.

Two more shots later, and Hero was positive they were going to have hearing damage. Judging by the hole in Villain’s windshield, the safest place for them to be right now seemed to be right where they were. They clutched the convenient handle beside them and prepared to wait out the gunfight. That was, until the driver of the semi-truck seemed to abruptly floor it. Hero could see they were pulling away from the Chevy, and they had no plans to stay on this semi-death machine any longer.

Locking all their doubt away, Hero leapt for the truck bed. They hit the rusted metal with a slam and the briefcase attempted to lodge itself in their abdomen beneath them. Gasping, Hero ducked down in case any more bullets decided to fly.

They flipped onto their back, catching a view of the night sky. The stars were bright out here with no light pollution to cloud them.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Hero’s breathing returned to a normal rhythm and the car rolled gradually to a slower pace.

Well, it was now or never.

Hero sat up and threw themselves out of the back and onto solid ground. Clutching the case, they made to run the opposite direction the car was facing. Adrenaline reserves reset, they figured they had a small window to get out and find a place to hide. They followed the pavement while simultaneously scanning the tree line for any thickened foliage they could use to obscure themselves. Realizing they’d need a lot more cover than the sparse forest could provide, Hero started scanning the highway. It stretched past a bend, with freshly painted lines and impressed rumble strips on the shoulder. It appeared not a soul was traveling it aside from Hero and Villain.

Hero cursed their flimsy plan, hoping for a trucker, a convenient cop, or even just a Good Samaritan out for a midnight drive.

The road was so quiet, Villain’s voice boomed when he yelled, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Hero, once again, had no idea.

Making the curve with their feet pounding beneath them, Hero looked back to see if Villain had managed to make a U-turn yet. What they saw were reverse lights and the growing silhouette of his truck, which unfortunately distracted them from what was ahead of them.

By the time they saw the headlights coming from the other direction and heard the loud honking of a horn, they had only a second to dive away.

Once again spared road rash by their clothes, Hero groaned through a mouthful of grass. The other car and its lights continued to barrel around the corner, leaving Hero alone with the forest green truck that was now upon them.

Under the light of his headlights, a hand grabbed and pulled the leather bag up and away from the hero and held it above them.

Only then did they realize the briefcase was brown.

(I hope this part was equally enjoyable <3

Shout out to the semi-trucks I stared at for a few hours and to my beta reader, who puts up with me for some reason)

[raven-moreno]

Here's a thing I was talking about with my mom about a month ago...

We were talking about the old black & white horror movies and "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" was one of them.

Some of that movie was just a tiny bit confusing to me but also I was laughing about it.

1. When the Pod People (or PLANT people) replaced any of the humans or animals in a slow-ish takeover... Didn't the Pod People smell different than the original human??? Their biology is totally different from human/animal life forms native to Earth.... So, how did no one notice that their family member, friend, or pet suddenly smells DIFFERENT? Did every single human just have a stuffy nose during the whole takeover?

2. Where the hell are my aggressive/unhinged vegans at??? Like were the Pod people not plant enough?... were they too sentient? Like those are alien hostile sentient plant beings taking over & destroying what's left of Earth's natural ecosystem. Where are my unhinged vegans coming up with recipes with the main ingredient being alien plant beings? It could have been their time to shine in that movie-verse. lmfao

[elumish]

I think one of the most fundamental plot failures I see across a lot of books is that the person chosen to solve a problem is not a person who it makes sense to choose to solve this problem.

This ends up being true for a lot of YA books where the teenager is the chosen solution to a problem because they need to be for plot reasons, but there is no actual logical reason why anyone would be relying on them to solve this problem (or often even letting them get close to this problem). No, this kid can't work for the FBI or the Secret Service. No, this twelve-year-old won't be a more accomplished soldier than a fully-trained servicemember. No, this kid isn't allowed to practice medicine.

And you can work around this by presenting a reason for them to be involved despite being less qualified--usually that they put themselves in a situation, despite the adults around them, but also that there is something else that makes them suited to a job/role despite their other lack of qualifications (we need someone who can blend in, etc.).

But it's also true for a lot of adult books. I'm reading a book where the ER doctor/medical professor First Gentleman is going to lead the response to a plane full of people who potentially have Marburg virus, and even ignoring the fact that he wouldn't be allowed within a thousand feet of that plane by the Secret Service, that also fundamentally just does not make sense with how U.S. pandemic and quarantine response work (or even how medicine works--an ER doctor is generally not an infecious disease specialist). It's waved away for plot reasons--but it also represents a failure of the plot as a whole.

Why is your character the one who is trying to solve this problem? Is it their job? If it's not their job, what does it mean for the story for them to be trying to solve a problem that they aren't qualified for, may not have access to, and/or aren't allowed to deal with?

If your only answer is "it works because it needs to work for plot reasons" then it doesn't work at all.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[cloudii-skiies]

im literally developing trypophobia from the amount of plot holes in this new season bro

[dungeons-and-dictions]

[tubbytarchia]

In my head this was funny ok

[kazz-brekker]

tolkien's tendency to leave women off of family trees is annoying to me not just because it's an overall trend in fantasy novels that i wish wasn't a thing (to quote arya stark, the woman is important too!) but also because i desperately need to know who celebrimbor's mom was and which elf lady made the bold yet fantastically bad decision to marry into the house of feanor.

[raine-world]

When MatPat came on screen I freaked out (in a good way) and got so light headed I missed the entire conversation and almost passed out until he said "But that's just a theory-" which shocked me out of it like a sleeper agent code word

[factual-fantasy]

conceptsketchesconceptsketchesconceptsketches--

So after I patched up the Princesses a bit.. I realized that the Koopa family has its fair share of plot holes and redesign needs too.. Mostly in Kamek and Bowser--

So I took some time to doodle the koopa kids and experiment! I thought a lot about their body types, their biology, their sibling relationships and dynamics.. and though I still have a long ways to go, I think this was a nice start! :}}

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim with hannaki disease

spending his childhood choking on flowers

Barely able to breathe rejection after rejection

Jason is attacking him at the tower and he can’t stop coughing out flowers

when dick gives Damian Robin, Tim leaves the cave spitting out petals

imagine if he died of suffocation during the Bruce quest

Fuck. I love hanahaki disease.

Tw: death, blood, asphyxiation, fictional disease, dead body description, gore

For those of y'all unaware, it's a completely fictional disease where having unrequited love results in the person growing flowers in their chest. It's usually romantic, but I prefer the platonic versons (especially child-parent angst, holy fuck).

I've seen two types of hanahaki:

The love is actually unrequited

The person only perceives the love as being unrequited

Either way, the progression is as follows:

Person coughs up one petal

They start coughing up more and usually blood

They cough up an entire blossom

They die trying to cough up the entire flower (blossom and stem)

There are four outcomes to hanahaki disease, depending on what rules you are working with:

Love becomes requited

Person dies

They have a surgery to remove their ability to have feelings

They lose (voluntarily or not) their memories about their unrequited love

Some people play with flower meanings of the petals being coughed up. I fucking love those versions so much.

Let's get into the AU! The timeline is mine to fuck around with, so excuse any non-canon progressions.

~~~~

Tim has chronic hanahaki disease from his parents. They visit often enough to quell the worst symptoms and mitigate the damage, but they don't stick around enough (or show enough constant attention) for the petals to go away.

Janet once asked Tim if he'd like to get the surgery. Tim said no. Janet respected that choice and never asked again even though Tim was like nine at the time. It also becomes a fear of his. He wakes up in cold sweat at the phantom idea of just not being able to love anyone. It terrifies him, even if the feeling of asphyxiation is the only other option.

When Janet dies and Tim becomes Robin, he does his best to hide his condition from Bruce. It worsens, from the way Tim adores and loves the Bats, but Tim manages.

It's a rough few years, but slowly, the ice begins to melt. The Waynes show Tim more and more affection. YJ also shower him in so much care to the point that Tim has days of uninterrupted breathing.

It's a novel but welcome feeling.

Jack waking up from the coma complicates shit. His condition worsens again, but it's manageable.

Until Tim's sixteenth birthday.

The teen will never admit, but that test nearly fucking killed him. Bruce never finds out how close he was to killing his Robin, but Tim knows. He'll never forget how thorns scraped along his throat at the idea that he can't trust anyone. He'll never rid himself of the intimate knowledge of how blossoms taste in his mouth and the sickly sweet smell of blood mixed with flower petals.

Tim has to quit Robin, for his safety, health, and as a "fuck you" to Bruce, but realizes he can't keep in contact with Dick, Alfred, or Barbara without it. He can't contact his team.

He has to go back, so he does.

Tim's not sure if it's better or worse that Bruce didn't know about the hanahaki. If the man did, would he still have done the test? Due to him never showing remorse or guilt for his actions, the teen doesn't know.

The question pesters him even when his dad finds out about Robin.

It plagues him through Steph becoming Robin and dying.

It festers into his bones when, while wearing those same damn colors, he hears his father die.

That is one or many reasons "Uncle Eddie" was created.

Tim can't quite trust Bruce, but he finds himself still loving the father-like figure in his life. He finds himself forgiving him. He leans into the hair ruffles, shoulder pats, and gruff words of affection. He lets himself be loved.

Then, an undead asshole in a gleaming red bucket comes to kick Tim's ass. The teen can't help but laugh at the way his life bounces between breathing and dying at the drop of a hat.

He's just barely able to hide the flowers from both Red Hood and the Titans.

A little assassin appears, and each attack brings a petal.

Each new death hampers Tim's ability to breathe. Tim tries, but it's so fucking hard. How is he supposed to live without them?

With the ticklish scrape of petals, Tim doesn't think he's supposed to.

Bruce isn't dead. Tim knows, with every fiber of his being, that Bruce can't be dead. Tim won't survive if he is.

Even if Tim loses everything, even if these damn fucking flowers consume him, at least his death will have a purpose.

That's what he tells himself as he lies in a pool of blood beneath the stars. The sand at his back is soft in comparison to the stem piercing his throat and tongue. The sound of his choking is joined by the bubbling wheezing of Pru.

Ra's peers down at the body already set with rigor mortis. Tim's jaw is pried apart by a bouquet of yellow carnations dripping in blood.

The demon head hums at the sight, a dangerous gleam to his eyes. With the flick of a hand, two assassins grab the young detective's corpse. The other three bodies are taken as well.

Tim's eyes fling open as the teen gasps for air.

It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong. He's empty.

He's surrounded in green.

Oh fuck.

For awhile, Tim just soaks in the soft expansion of his lungs. He marvels at their capability.

He can't remember a time when he's been able to breathe so easily. It's enchanting and allots the teen a giddy sort of relief.

Through the destruction of both the Spiders and the LoA, he finds himself taking small moments to just breathe. It's a simple joy he can't help but partake in.

Tim logically knows there's a price. His breaths cost him, though he doesn't know their price. He should be dead and buried within the flowers.

He is neither.

He is alive. He is free (from the petals. It takes him a little bit to become free of Ra's).

Tim brushes aside these valid and alarming concerns to focus on his goals: escape, take down Ra's, and derail whatever retaliation occurs.

So that's what Tim does. He ignores the insistent sense of wrongness and focuses on the task at hand. He coordinates his friends and family. He faces down Ra's. He gets kicked out of a window.

With a grim smile, his body goes lax and his eyes flutter shut

He's done.

When Tim springs up from unconsciousness, Steph's voice reassures him he's safe. She tells him he's in the batcave.

The tension to bleeds from his body as Damian mutters a demand. Tim's eyes dart from Robin to Batgirl to Batman (Dick) to Alfred.

That sinking feeling of wrongness returns.

Dick's eyes are trained on the teen as he asks Tim, "How did you know I'll be there to save you?"

It's obvious the man is worried. It's obvious he's so fucking glad he caught his younger brother.

The lie falls from Tim's lips as smooth as any truth, "You're my brother, Dick. You'll always be there for me."

Dick's face brightens with fond relief.

Tim watches. He observes the reactions of his older brother. He catalogs the effect of his words on the man he's admired and loved for thirteen years.

He notes all of this.

And he feels nothing.

[bloodymarymorstan]

So yesterday I watched all the historical scenes of Crowley and Aziraphale in chronological order and then feverishly came up with a new interpretation of the "you go too fast for me Crowley scene" so here it is:

Ok so now we know from season 2 that the Dirty Donkey pub where Crowley holds his heist-planning meeting is right across the street from Aziraphale's bookshop. This means that when Aziraphale goes to meet Crowley in his car he literally just walks across the street, but it also means that when Crowley offers to drive Aziraphale somewhere he isn't offering to take him home. The previous implication of that interaction was that Crowley was going to drive Aziraphale back to his bookshop, but Crowley knows that the bookshop is only a 30 second walk away so that's obviously not the case. In fact, Crowley doesn't actually ask Aziraphale if he wants to be driven home, what he actually says is "can I drop you anywhere?" and then "I'll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go".

So now we know that Crowley isn't trying to drive Aziraphale home, the conclusion we have to draw is that he's asking him if he wants to go somewhere else with Crowley. This is kind of a covert way of wording things, but Crowley is still testing the waters at this point in their relationship. He pulled this same tactic in 1941 when he said he would give Aziraphale a "lift home" and then ended up taking him somewhere else which led to them spending the entire evening together. "I'll give you a lift" has essentially become code for "let's hang out". This also explains why Crowley looks genuinely disappointed and upset when Aziraphale turns down his offer (and why Aziraphale acts apologetic about it).

But, considering that we know Aziraphale has fallen for Crowley by now AND that they went out together in 1941, why the "you go too fast for me Crowley" line? My explanation is this: in 1941, Crowley nearly got in big trouble with Hell simply for having been seen with Aziraphale, and not only did he not seem that bothered by it but he is now asking Aziraphale if he wants to go out again even though they've both been directly confronted with the risk this poses for him. I think it scares Aziraphale that Crowley is willing to risk so much just to spend time with him - he's not ready to confront the truth of what that means yet, and he's also not yet at the point where he'd be willing to take the same risk with Heaven. As usual, Crowley is a step ahead of him in terms of his commitment to their relationship, hence "you go too fast for me". Keep in mind that Aziraphale was very caught up in the moment in 1941 and has had a lot of time to reflect since then about the potential consequences of a relationship with Crowley, and he's just not ready yet even if he definitely wants it.

As a side note, I think it makes a lot of sense that this is the point when Aziraphale agrees to give Crowley the holy water (and why Crowley is more determinedly seeking it in the first place), because now both he and Crowley more fully understand the the danger Crowley will be in if Hell finds out what the two of them have been up to.

[habken]

“two eight year olds in a trench coat” version of the fusion au was so good too

[ariemfox]

so, yeah. um. about that new timeline. i think it'll probably be destroyed by another kugelblitz, lol.

since the umbrella academy saved allison's and lila/diego's kids by transporting them to the new & original timeline, i think the umbrella academy inadvertently caused the grandfather paradox to happen, again.

meaning the new universe would have been annihilated by a kugelblitz, again.

this is because if lila, diego, and allison never existed in this new timeline to give birth to their kids, their kids should not exist in this new timeline.

so much for saving humanity, i guess. ✌️☂️

[justyourautarch]

“This show isn’t the same as the book” this

“This show isn’t good” that

THIS is a show made for middle schoolers, and I’m having way to much fun watching this show for yall to act like it’s supposed to be peak media