#she just has a doppelganger like in their vicinity??

[laylawatermelon]

I have thoughts about this ep...

(It's not good... But not bad)

911's writing of this storyline seems to be teetering in the wrong direction and it may cause a disconnect with some viewers.

Hi! I literally took a nap and woke up with an essay 🙃.

But let's get to the good stuff.

This season has been phenomenal. The acting and writing has all been consistent with the original past 4 seasons. (Season 5 and 6 were good just had a different tone)

This has been due to the show runner returning.

Now that we've gotten all the facts out of the way here's my opinion.

I'll be honest, the twin/lookalike story that came up is causing me to pull away and not in a good way.

If I objectively look at it as a fan this cones out of left field and may intrigue a set of fans. Those fans are likely in the higher age range. (Nothing wrong with it but just an observation)

(i keep up with updates online so it didn't bother me that much)

But for me as I was watching it and the scene came up and then The Grey's Anatomy came up I don't know why but a flash pinged in my brain of this feels like a Telenovela/Soap Opera.

And it is in fact a storyline commonly used or mentioned of the long lost twin or the doppelganger who's back to destroy, seduce, etc. to shake up the main characters life.

I will say that what 9-1-1 has been doing is a good job between toeing the line between supernatural and realistic.

This is leaning a bit to close to the former and can lose some people.

(i will say that this storyline isn't hitting like it usually does the others, even if I wasn't an buddie fan. Hell as an Eddie fan I'm still confused)

The tone of the show this season has been lighter so of course the storylines do reflect that.

My only gripe is what makes 9-1-1 compelling in the first place is the odd fact that the characters don't die and they're realistic (enough) in their cases and drama.

They're gripping enough that they can use these cliches to grip the audience backed by stellar performances and direction.

I just don't like the soap opera-y feeling I got from the trope. (Personal preference what can I say)

Now the next episode will probably expand on this storyline and will cause the conclusion to be touching and heartfelt.

I'm just a bit sour about the lead up to it because it's like oh this woman who looks exactly like my deceased/missing partner appears in the same vicinity as me (despite living in a very big very populated state) so I must get to know her better. I end up throwing away my morals and then something bizarre happens and then something else happens and I find out she's insert - (illusion/twin/stalker/literally anything out of pocket you can think of).

The audience swoons because of course she is (bad/evil/plotting etc).

It's not gripping me.

Emotionally however I'm intrigued how this will eventually effect Christopher as it he sees her he's screwed for life.

In addition to his dad talking to her in the first place, therefore unintentionally enforcing his women all leave/slight lack of respect for their feelings as they're replaceable (she would literally replace his mom in name and face) or disposable (Marisol as the woman left behind).

Yes Eddie's happy but he's also being more reckless than he usually is.

He's always been aiming to find what they had but his actions have implications.

(imma put on my buddie hat for a second this is all/j)

Like how he leaves his son with his dad and goes on a date with another person constantly. 😤 Rude

(no lie they are good coparents though even if they are platonic. They work better than some romantic straight families on tv)

Back to analysis mode though, this action has dangerous implications on both how relationship with Christopher and how he can harm him and eventually how their relationship can decline because of this.

It's not just the disloyalty to both his current partner and son but the example he'll be setting.

Chris probably may end up listening to Buck more as a result because he wouldn't/hasn't hurt him in the way his father currently does with this situation. For relationship advice and such.

Yes it's good drama (in an emotional/analytical sense) I'm just sulky about the telenovela feel of it don't mind me.

I'm positive their performances will make it lean more towards the procedural drama movie feel the show is known for.

Hell this had to happen some day right? The soap operafication of 9-1-1.

Hope is a beautiful ride at least. 🤷🏾‍♀️

(ps this episode was great all things aside)

[lumenflowered]

[A video is attached. Given that both Maria and the strange, noodly bat thing Mallory has become are visible in the frame, it seems likely that the camera is still being held by Dee.

What's more concerning is the fact that there's no sign at all of Lugia—but the cavern is suddenly filled with a lot of people in black with giant red Rs on their chests, and standing before them all is none other than a man in a black fedora.

It's none other than Giovanni, walking out to where Lugia—and Ho-oh—had previously been.

"Oh, what the fuck, why are you back, why are you here," Mallory hisses, the spikes on her back visibly bristling. Giovanni spares her a glance, and a raised eyebrow, but nothing more.

Why would he, when he's got a significantly larger grudge towards an entirely different Faller in the room?

"How lovely of you to join us at last," Giovanni says. "I'm sure you're wondering several things right now."

"...Yes," Maria says tightly. As bad as this situation is, she looks far less stressed out now that Lugia is gone. "The grunts of yours that weren't accounted for—this is more than there were. How..."

"That's what you're wondering? Really?" Giovanni laughs. "Well, when a powerful organization such as mine goes down, another enterprising one might be able to get something useful out of the remnants. This goes both ways, of course. I've been spending some time in Kalos, as of late, and it has paid off quite significantly."

"...Kalos," Dee whispers, under her breath, behind the camera. "Eileen...?"

"Now, now, there were quite a few people quite desperate to get away from an entirely different group of pesky Fallers," Giovanni elaborates. "You, Maria—and... whatever is going on with your doppelganger and that thing—are something that those formerly of Team Flare are far more willing to try their luck with."

"You're going to regret that," Maria says calmly. Too calmly.

"No, I don't think I will." Giovanni's smirk is unmistakable. "I had no idea the technology that Team Flare was developing until I brought some of them into the fold! Most of it's useless to me, I'll admit—I have no use for something so unrefined as that 'Ultimate Weapon'—but there's one particular little innovation that came too late for poor Lysandre to make use of, gods rest his soul. Would you like to know what it is?"

Maria sighs. "You are going to tell me regardless."

"I have in my possession," Giovanni says, "a device that forces every Pokémon within the vicinity to return immediately to their Pokéballs. And, unless they have been pre-registered, no Pokémon can be retrieved from that ball until I have disabled it."

"Hm," Maria says. She looks to Mallory. "I've had worse odds, even unarmed. These aren't beasts."

"Nope," Mallory agrees. "Just shitty people. Just—what is he doing."

What Giovanni is doing is bending down, almost directly where Lugia had vanished, and pulling a Master Ball out of the water. A Master Ball which he promptly opens, releasing Lugia, who does not turn on him immediately as one might have expected.

"Lugia," says Giovanni, "works for me. Even the gods have a price, and unluckily for you, I discovered Lugia's long before you climbed a certain mountain."

Maria freezes. In shock, or in terror—for how stoic she normally is, it's all too obvious now how stoic she isn't here, with Lugia behind Giovanni and looking directly at her.

"That is why you attacked me," she says shakily. "Not because... not because of what I did to—"

She cuts herself off, because Giovanni is looking a little too interested in what she might have to say.

"Why?" she says instead. "Why Lugia? Why Ho-oh?"

"It's quite simple, really," Giovanni replies. "If the gods of this world have chosen to meddle in my affairs, then I'll need that power myself to prevent them from doing so again. Lugia alone could suffice, of course—but Ho-oh will be a lovely bonus, and you've brought them right to me."

Giovanni pauses, bending to pick up another Pokéball—except that there isn't another there. Solaire's isn't there.

His eyes scan the water uselessly for another few moments before he looks back at Maria, his face contorting in rage.

"Where is it?!" he demands. "It should be here?"

"Um, sir," one of the grunts near him says. "The teleportation part of the tech's... a little finicky. Ho-oh's ball might still be in her bag. Or wherever she's keeping it."

"Give me the ball," Giovanni says, "or I will have Lugia visit upon you a world of pain!"

"I cannot give you," Maria replies, "what I do not have."

Giovanni stares at her. Glares at her. Maria holds his gaze, unblinking. Unmoving.

"If you'll pardon my interruption," Dee says, "if she had Ho-oh's Pokéball anywhere accessible, would she not have used it instead of forcing them to fly down here?"

"Then where," Giovanni roars, "is it?!"

"No force you possess," Maria replies, "can make me tell you."

Somehow, Giovanni looks even more furious. "Fine. Fine! Ho-oh will have to return here if they ever want to see their pesky little Chosen again!"

The threat would be laughable if he hadn't snapped his fingers, if every other grunt in the cavern—of which there are dozens—hadn't released their Pokémon, all at once. Maria, and those with her, are surrounded.

"...Ah." Maria looks less thrilled.

"Either of you may leave," Giovanni says. "Or, I suppose, whatever that thing is—"

"That thing," Mallory growls, "can understand you perfectly well."

"Return here, with Ho-oh," he continues, "and those who remain can go free in exchange. Or we can all wait here, or you can try to fight without Pokémon and without other weaponry of any kind. The decision is yours."

"Do you honestly believe," Maria says, "that I would ever accept—"

"I accept," says Dee, and Maria's head snaps around to her, a look of utter betrayal in her eyes. "On the condition that I may speak privately with my friends for a moment before they go."

The video ends there—or, rather, Dee ends the video there.]

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Intertwined - Chapter 14 - Cannibal

Laudna holds the freshly de-scaled fish under the surface of the running river, its underside slit open from gill to tail, dyeing the water around it in crimson tendrils that are shaped by its current, decorated by errant tumbling shining scales, sparkling like stars on a red-skied night, motion fast and twisting so it creates shapes more akin to bolts than clouds, magic-

Blood strikes away from her pallid skin; carries down the river back towards their camp nestled in the alcove of giant tree roots.

Laudna had insisted that Imogen stay on her bedroll that morning, to try and get the rest adequate to fully heal-over the puncture under her ribs. She woke with no nightmares to report, but all of the tossing and turning Laudna watched her conduct in her sleep had her grimacing when her own slumber had abandoned her, fumbling for what to do and ending up paralysed within arm’s length of Imogen in her own bedroll.

Last night was-

well.

Laudna had made a choice. Exposed herself, past how much she already did so by travelling with a telepath; that still felt remarkable in and of itself (Imogen is remarkable).

exposed

like the freshly removed fish guts on the bank of the river

Laudna drops half of them into the stream organ by organ, leaves the other a platter on the floor for whom or whatever finds them.

Out of innards

Torn and bare, bared, raw. Imogen had seen the molars through the ripped flesh in Laudna’s mother’s cheeks, had last night seen her attempt to just peel her whole face off, remove the ability to be a doppelganger for an elf with tan and pink skin. 

Mourning. Veiling. What she had or what she had lost. She was never sure if that was for one or the other or both. Probably more.

Either way, it was inspiring. She kind of enjoys it, actually, now (especially now. Excited, even, at how she perhaps has an audience to appreciate her fine outfitting).

Laudna will make them both breakfast. Fish fried in butter with chickweed - she had seen a fair amount tangled in the vines.

Moss, she should collect and dry out more moss. A lot more.

(bandages)

Silt is disturbed on the calmer slight-bend at the bank of the river.

A larger fish with rough and warted skin like a toad crawls out on hind legs from under flat rocks that are surely slick with algae and moss.

moss

bandages, bandages

rivers of red

It has whiskers like a catfish, though much longer, must have noticed the disturbance in the water with such, using them as rods to lasso swimming organs into its gullet.  

Laudna had scooped the offal out of the clean line of dissection she had made, scraped against fleshy ribs with the tips of her talons.

She could have plunged a finger into the tear in Imogen’s side, the gap was accommodating enough. Could have felt the life and warmth of her insides press around her finger. Could have searched and hooked with nail. Could have pulled out her intestines in one long string and gathered them like rope under her arm-

Not that she would

Someone else, maybe

Maybe her, if she were under their rule

(she can’t have her. she can’t give her the chance.)

It feels like heartburn

It’s not warming

Laudna is always cold, numb.

Last night Imogen's breath came out as mist when she stood in Laudna’s vicinity. Veil covering, buffeting the touch between Imogen's hand and her shrapneled jaw. Warm flesh on bone. Delightful. Laudna does not think on how bone should be able to receive the feel of the touch without the nerve endings-  

Perhaps she muses on it for a moment. Magic. Violent. Violet. Lavender. Lilac. Glowing. Warm-

One of the living-fish’s antennae breach the skirt of the riverbank, smells and touches over the pebbles and foliage and splattered blood with a whisker and soon enough glossy dinner-plate eyes and blubbering mouth are being hiked over the ridge too, webbed feet and hind legs balancing on an exposed root sticking out of the muddy bank.

“I think it’s time to go~” Laudna sings, scooping up both the gutted fish and Pâté - who had been on knife-watching duty on a boulder - under the same arm and briskly walking back towards camp, the toad-cat-fish hybrid scarfing up the remainders of the innards.

(you can read the rest at the link. Thank you as always to @distant--shadow for the illustrations)

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if bella was didyme’s doppelganger? Is there any scenario in new moon that doesn’t end up a disaster à la edward for aro?

I mean, this is also a disaster for Aro, because he's sort of in this scenario. Except, now it's even worse, much worse.

An exact replica of his sister greets him first through Edward's memories. For extra angst she has some of Didyme's mannerisms, much of the way she holds herself. This is Didyme transported to this foreign, modern, era that Aro has never pictured her in. He is looking at his sister.

And he's looking at her through the eyes of a monster.

Worse, he didn't even get a chance to truly meet her. Edward Cullen has all but murdered Bella Swan, drove her into despair and made her life a living hell.

Aro's very tempted to give into Edward's request, to kill him as he so desires, to get revenge for a meaningless death that technically has nothing to do with him (because Didyme is dead).

He likely doesn't though. That's not what the Volturi do. The law was broken, yes, but it's over now. Bella Swan is dead, this is Carlisle's progeny, this can be forgiven.

Edward then pulls his sunlight stunt and Bella Swan turns out to be alive.

Aro now faces the world's hardest choice. Once again revolving around his sister.

If he lets Bella leave then he is giving her over to a man who doesn't love her. Not only that, he is handing her over to what's likely to be a gruesome death at Edward's hands. Alice's visions that she shows him aren't just that Bella will be turned, that's simply a possibility, most show that Bella will be eaten. The law is preserved regardless, which is why Aro allows them to leave in the original New Moon, but one of these is better than the others. And even should Bella not die... Aro is handing her to the worst possible man in the world.

On the other hand, this is Carlisle's coven. Aro is sure that Carlisle does not know what Edward is, would not understand. More, if he keeps Bella here... This is not his sister, not really, and he would be forcing this life on her. He murdered her once, would this be any different? He would be tearing this girl from a man she thinks she loves, tearing her from her entire world, and she would never be his sister or understand.

And what about Marcus? Marcus doesn't even seem to notice now, but when she turns, what if Marcus notices? What would this do to him?

I imagine Aro can't do it. He can't send Bella back with Edward Cullen. He has hit his limit.

He justifies it for her gift, for not trusting Edward to turn her, and that the law has been broken enough already. The girl has already given her father an excuse, of sorts, for her disappearance. This is the time and the place. If Edward wants to discuss this, he can send Carlisle, the head of his coven. Case dismissed.

Edward, of course, is beyond livid and in despair. Bella as well as Edward is pulled out of her life again (and now Aro gets to watch as Didyme also becomes a Marcus), and it's all a giant emotional mess. Carlisle likely calls and tries to negotiate, Carlisle will come and pick her up when she's been turned, he understands why she was turned, he does, and he's grateful for Aro sparing the rest but...

Aro then gets to have an emotionally fraught number of phone calls in which he tells Carlisle that he can, under no circumstances, allow Bella in Edward Cullen's vicinity. He can't explain why, Carlisle will never believe him without proof, and all he can do is hint that there's something wrong with Edward. Regardless, Bella cannot go to the Cullens. She stays in Volterra.

On the other end, Edward is no doubt telling the family that Aro intends to seduce Bella and sleep with her. Given no other reasonable explanation, the Cullens buy this. Carlisle is aghast and horrified at the idea of it.

(Down the line, Edward likely plans some horrifying, awful, stupid rescue attempt that will get him murdered. It will be bad. Bella is never told.)

Bella is turned into a vampire, looks exactly like Didyme, Marcus is too depressed to notice.

Aro despairs.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

top five things that happened in gotham

oh god fuck I don't REMEMBER anything that happened in Gotham I didn't even watch it all

when Fish Mooney was auditioning girls to ??? psychosexually torture an old mob boss by reminding him of his mom or something?? and part of the audition was making out with Fish lmao what??? girl you can't do that that has to be illegal. I know you spend every day killing people and giving Oswald Cobblepot swirlies but there has to be a line. this is a hostile workplace. there's a special place in hell for women who make other women tongue them down to get a job.

the gay social event of the YEAR ie Oswald and Ed breaking up without ever even dating because Oswald killed the kinky librarian who was a doppelganger of Ed's ex girlfriend that he murdered and then Ed told him he was terminally unfuckable. I'm 99% sure that's how it happened. and then Oswald turned him into a fucking conversation piece in his nightclub??? MESSY. all future gay brunches RUINED. the DRAMA the PANACHE the way every annoying homosexual rogue's messenger apps must have been on literal fire that day??? exquisite. that was camp.

uuuuh god fuck did Victor Zsasz ever show hole. that sounds like something he would do. he should have. I would have kept watching the show specifically for that. but in the absence of that I will count literally every time Anthony Carrigan was onscreen being a certified little freak because that was really sincerely hot. I have problems.

do you guys remember when some guy who was like ??? running for mayor maybe and probably fucking his sister decided to honeytrap Bruce Wayne for some reason but Bruce was like 10 so it was just him and a pre-pubescent girl awkwardly existing in the same vicinity as each other? and also that girl's name was SILVER ST. CLOUD??? which is insane for sure but like. listen. she is REAL she's an actual existing DC Comics character who I think was one of Bruce Wayne's very first disposable fake girlfriends way back in like 1939 so having her be one of Bruce's first love interests in the show is kind of a clever nod to that but. uh. her name is SILVER ST. CLOUD which raises more questions about this world than the serial killer who offed people by tying them to extra-strong helium balloons as if he was inspired by that Senan Byrne vine.

also that episode where they got tired of beating around the bush and not using regular degular batman villains and broke out the Scarecrow but he turned out to be a shitty proto Scarecrow who was the mainline Scarecrow's FATHER and Jonathan Crane ie the future Scarecrow was just this gawky pale teenager. I have to assume that when he Scarecrows up in like 10 years the GCPD's first stop will be the son of the guy who was doing this last time, which seems like it's really going to take a lot of mystery out of the whole affair. this one is actually a shitty #5 it wasn't even funny. I'm sorry.

[daydreambouquet]

Zack never survived the Nibel Reactor and therefore couldn't rescue Cloud from Hojo's clutches. From this single point of divergence, the story unfolds.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” - Cid Highwind

Preview of Chapter 23 - The Ancient Temple

“That must be it,” Cid says as he circles the Wutai carrier above a strip of tropic islands. Azure waters shimmer against sandy white shorelines, and rocky beaches press beneath thick jungle canopies.

Despite the otherwise clear weather, dense fog covers an island in the archipelago. Poking above the obscured tree line is the tip of a jet-black temple whose composition alters from glossy to matte with each strike of sunlight.

“Well, that’s...ominous,” Aerith says, leaning against the window.

Cloud couldn’t agree more. The hues of sky near the temple’s apex are sour yellow, and flocks of parrots spiral to avoid its vicinity.

“Can we get on the ground now?” Yuffie moans from the cabin. She’s curled on the floor to stymie her motion sickness while Barret paces and periodically curses Cait Sith.

“I knew that mother-fucker was up to no good,” Barret kept saying, but now that the temple is close, he stands beside Tifa near the pilot’s chair. “That don’t look like something the Cetra could build.”

It’s true. The angle of the crux is perfect. The material has a deep smooth luster that shifts dark colors and mirrors its surroundings like a window into a shadowed world. The Cetra are an ancient race, presumably without the tools or capabilities for such precision. But more importantly, this place does not appear welcoming. And weren’t the Cetra benevolent custodians of the Planet?

Tifa’s arm brushes against Cloud as she points at a clearing near the edge of the fog.

“There, look,” she says.

A Shinra helicopter sits motionless and vacant. Its windows carry a sheen of translucent dust.

“The hell? That it? No troops?” Barret asks.

It’s strange. There should be more Shinra officials or patrolling Turks. But aside from the scurrying lizards, there are little signs of life.

Nanaki stretches and lifts his nose to peer out. Vincent crosses his arms, watching without comment.

“Shinra knows we are coming,” Nanaki says.

Yet maybe not. They have the keystone, so perhaps they’ve already plundered whatever treasure lay within, though judging by the look on Aerith’s face this seems unlikely. She’s concentrating hard as if deciphering a masterful puzzle.

Tifa smiles over at Cloud. He hasn’t spoken to her about last night, but it doesn’t feel necessary. Nothing between her is uncomfortable. Affections turned tangible, and neither has regrets. He likes that he can trust this sensation. It seems the only unquestionable piece of him.

Cid lands the carrier next to the Shinra chopper because there is nowhere else in the temple’s vicinity, and Aerith asks him to get as close as possible.

When he cuts the engines and slides open the doors, a cacophony of jungle noises and hot muggy air assaults them. Giant insects buzz by, and curious predators slink in the outskirts of their arrival. The Shinra chopper rests inert with one door open, interior console blinking on standby as if the pilot had been in an extreme hurry.

The wall of fog is ahead, and beyond that, the temple rises.

The group hesitates. Yuffie swats at a fat mosquito. Nanaki tilts his head at the screen of mist.

“Is it...safe?” Tifa asks, but of course, nobody knows.

Cloud steps into the fog. Immediately, he’s cut off into another world of compact, quiet forest. The distant chirp of birds is behind him, and the sun is blotted out.

“It’s fine,” he reports, inhaling the odorless mist. “Just fog. Must be a weird weather phenomenon.”

There’s nothing alive in the jungle on this side of the border. The trees are frozen in full bloom, but no wind rustles the foliage. The shades of green seem muted and timeless. Cloud touches the leaves from a vine growing around a tree, and the particles turn to dust in his fingers.

The others enter behind him until the fog encompasses them all. Aerith leads the way forward. The peak of the temple somehow seems more prominent now and dominates the skies.

They follow her in silence, though Cloud insists on taking point in case of Shinra ambush. But as they venture forward, that possibility seems far remote. There is nothing and no one around. The temperature drops as they weave through the jungle in the shadow of the temple. Their boots crunch over dry leaves and brittle vines.

The base of the temple appears like a sudden sheet of milky glass. There are no markings in its facade nor windows or entry of any kind. The mist creates a low ceiling, the illusion of suffocation. As the others wander on, following the structure’s perimeter, Cloud finds himself caught in the intrigue of his reflection. Whenever he glances away, it distends and reintegrates, shimmers and dissolves. Then when he looks again, right at it, the doppelganger disappears and only his own pale blues stare back. He does this double-take four, then five times before a shout calls his attention.

Tifa yells from a distance. The entire party has moved on, and he rushes through the fog along the temple wall, ignoring the sensation of something at his heels.

He finds Aerith equally enthralled nearby. She stands alone, pressing a hand against the temple.

“Did you hear Tifa?” he asks because she’s acting as though she has not. She’s captivated, and his presence startles her.

“I...I can hear something else,” she says. He gets close and listens. Ahead, he hears the commotion of their friends but no urgent cries. No nearby fauna. He hears nothing else.

“The Ancients?” he guesses.

“I don’t know,” Aerith says. “There are many of them.”

Tifa shouts again, and this time it’s in dismay. Alarm. She calls everyone over. Aerith and Cloud move together, and a gap in the mist opens up.

Tifa kneels near a Turk lying on the ground. Red soaks the white shirt beneath the black jacket from a deep slash. He bubbles blood from his lips.

“Tseng!” Aerith runs to his side. “Oh no. No, this can’t be!”

Barret, Cid, and Vincent stand apart, unhelpful, as Tseng sputters a painful-sounding cough. Yuffie and Nanaki are staring at the droplets of blood leading into a narrow archway in the temple. A pattern as if shaken from a long, slender sword. A masamune.

And the entrance, a pyramidal door, beckons into utter black.

Inserted into an indent below is the meteorite. The keystone. Dio’s collector item, unlocking a thousand secrets. Cloud cannot look away.

“Help him!” Aerith says. “Cloud, give me your Restore.”

He pulls his eyes to the suffering Turk. Tseng’s long black hair hangs over a desperate dirt-streaked face. But Tseng is the enemy and a victim of Sephiroth. The General must’ve been here, sought the keystone, and taken it. Which means he’s just ahead. Inside the temple.

“We were wrong...” Tseng whispers. His hands tremble. “It’s not...the Promised Land he’s...”

Aerith soothes him. When the others don’t help her, she explains, “He was always kind to me. The Turks have followed me all my life, but that doesn’t mean any of them deserve to die. Don’t you see?” Her pleading eyes go to Cloud.

He waits, expecting her to whisk a healing breeze out of thin air, but she doesn’t. Maybe she can’t, or maybe Tseng’s wounds aren’t that severe. Sephiroth would’ve killed him if he’d wanted to. But whatever lay ahead was more appealing than Tseng’s death. The Turk wasn’t worth the time.

Cloud steps over Tseng’s body and approaches the entrance. Nanaki and Yuffie stand aside, but he pauses at the gaping void. Cold air coils from the other side, wraps around his forearms. Someone says his name. He thinks it’s Aerith.

Behind him, he sees her kneeling with blood on her dress. Tifa crosses her arms, and Barret gives Cloud a wary look. Cid paces, and Vincent cranes his neck to survey the temple’s peak. Aerith won’t leave Tseng’s side.

Cloud pops the Restore from his sword and tosses it to Aerith. Then he crosses the threshold.

An immediate cool disseminates like static across his skin. The world behind fades away. He hears Aerith activate the Restore, but the swirl of green light doesn’t reach him. The void pulls him forward, and the darkness shifts like a tangible being, becoming darker and lighter as if creatures were moving in its depths. The hallway is longer than it seems, extending beyond the visible footprint of the temple.

Then a rush hits him. It isn’t a physical sensation, but he knows he is falling. On impulse, he curls, shielding his head, yet his feet never leave the ground. The surroundings come up instead of him going down.

A harsh light flares, and in an instant he is outside, overlooking a vast complex of labyrinthine structures: staircases and archways, open-air walkways that loop into corners and angles of confusing geometry. Everything is pale stone and unadorned. The ledge where he stands is crumbled and worn, leading into a stairway that seems undisturbed for eons. The sky is a malachite haze.

[benevolentbirdgal]

13 Rules to Stay Safe at the Pharmacy

It's not fun, but going to the pharmacy/drugstore is a necessary part of life for most of us. My commentary on the grocery store being one of the few places you can still go guilt-free still stands, and absolutely applies here. You aren't going to CVS/Rite Aid/Walgreens/Your local teeny-tiny pharmacy because it's where you can get lipstick, candy, bizarrely specific cards, and sketchy supplements, you're going because it's MEDICAL. The "medicinal" nature of your visit, however, does not negate the need for supranatural caution as I've urged in other situations. That's why I'm hear to outline the rules, so you can safely pick up your prescription (and other stuff "while you're out).

If you're looking to avoid trouble, the best way to do so is to pickup at the drive-through window. Check to make sure you got the correct medicine before leaving the premises though - you do NOT want to know what your doppelganger was prescribed. 

Yes, there is a Hallmark card for EVERYTHING. If the cards seem progressively less plausible and veer into the "not possible" territory, go back to the other sections. Sometimes Others and Beings need cards too - you do not have the appropriate currency to buy one of their cards. 

Some of the cards in the regular human section are still weird. If the card is strangely warm or cold (relative to the store), it has odd writing, or is heavier than it should be, put it down. This is at best a summoning ritual and at worst a trapped Being. Both are bad. Don't tell the cashier - they know, why do you think they're trying to offload it? 

Sometimes the candy is off-brand. Sometimes it's dangerously off-brand. Read the ingredient list with particular care for knockoff candy. 

Usually the generic and the brand name medicine is the same, more or less. Usually. Consult with a medical professional before trying something that claims to be the same as the original. Most of the time it is - and is harmless, but occasionally, that's Benadryl-like-substance for 357 pound turtle spirits, or Advil-like-substance for Formarians, not you. 

Don't try on lipstick in store. It's like $4 - do you really want everyone else's germs? Also, check the expiry dates on cosmetics - you don't want them to cause you to expire. 

Don't be obnoxious about give-a-penny-take-a-penny. By all means, use it, just don't be that schmuck who dumps out the whole thing and wants change. Beyond the fact it's rude, any Others in the vicinity will take great offense. 

Yes, the receipts can be VERY long at the pharmacy. The receipts are frequently also coded rituals, don't read the whole thing out loud. 

Getting photos printed professionally is a treat for sure. They want to give you the nicest pictures they can so you'll come back. If you see something weird in your photos, ask the photo tech or manager about it and schedule a chat with a medium on your own time. 

Those blood pressure machines while you wait can be informative. Just don't use them at night. 

Pharmacy staff ghosts are generally harmless. If there's one in uniform behind the counter, be nice, and he'll be helpful. Beings in pharmacies are generally less malevolent as well-I'm not saying approach the Sphinx, but that if you have to this probably the safest time, while she's chilling and possibly down some hit points. 

The exemption is the ghosts of people who died from snafus the pharmacy you're in has made. You'll know it when you see it. Avoid them if at all possible and get the manager before leaving. 

If something from the bargain bin glows when you touch it, congrats on finding your quest item. My condolences on having a quest. If you hear glass shattering from the cosmetics section upon grabbing the item, put it back and abandon your quest.

[myherorp]

THE QUIRK DATABASE HAS BEEN UPDATED !

incoming information on hero in training, replica.

get to know them !

faceclaim: kim doyeon

name: jung sewan

hero name: replica

gender & pronouns: cisfemale, she/her

age: 19

year group: third

department: the department of general education.

reputation: not much is known about sewan, other than she’s wealthy and rarely ever talks about herself. she’s a mysterious and tricky figure, one that’s hard to decipher, but with a strange sadness in her eyes.

the quirk !

quirk name: replication

quirk description: it’s an ability that allows her to replicate herself and other objects around her, which of course then fall under her control. she’s able to give orders / make her clones obey her, or if she’s in control of replicated objects, she can manipulate / throw them around to a certain extent.

abilities:

she’s able to make multiple copies of herself which she can then control with her mind. the replicas all look like her and don’t have much free will, and instead she suggests actions and can recall them. their mental/physical properties are exactly the same as hers.

she can also replicated objects in her vicinity, make them levitate and even launch them at someone.

when it comes to replicating other people, it’s much harder than replicating herself, and requires a great amount of effort for just one doppelganger of another individual.

weaknesses:

she can only create up to seven replicas of herself. the replicas usually live for only an hour or two, as longer hours require greater amounts of focus and energy. if one replica gets hurt, sewan can sense it as it can make her a little weaker. the longer the replicas live, the more there’s a chance of replicas gaining independent personalities over time and thus she can lose mind control over them.

when it comes to the ability of levitation, she has yet to master it, and for now she can only use the power on objects. she cannot lift something heavier than 30 kilos. the objects also have to be in her vicinity, so anything that’s at least 2 kilometres away she can’t control.

the process of replicating other people is the hardest and she can currently make just one replica of another person. they usually live for about 30 minutes and are much harder to control mentally.

the history !

triggers: child neglect

born as a child of a single mother, at the very bottom of the social food chain, and greeted by hardships upon birth, it seemed as though sewan was destined to suffer from the very start. she and her mother never had much, other than a few measly things necessary for surviving, but it was guilt that always kept sewan’s stomach full, guilt that had been repeatedly shoved down her throat almost every day. my life would’ve been different if it weren’t for you. you ruined everything, sewan. without you, i would’ve been happy.

perhaps there was some truth in her mother’s words, perhaps she truly was her inevitable downfall since single mothers, especially those who didn’t come from wealthy backgrounds, were seen as social pariahs, outcasts, unwanted women and burdens upon society, but in spite of her best intentions, sewan could never fully forgive her mother for trying to shift all the blame upon her.

yet for as long as it was possible, she had tried to make things right. tried to turn her mother’s hatred into something less severe, less traumatizing and toxic. some would say that the poor child grew up too quickly, but next to a mother like that, sewan’s options were strictly limited, almost fully omitted.

at the painful age of only seven, her quirk started manifesting, leaving the young girl’s world and perspective in a complete ruin. but clever enough to know the dangers of being born with something like that, sewan had done her best to hide her quirk from her mother, fearing only the worst. nonetheless her mother managed to find out, faster than sewan had ever thought was possible, and so she faced her wrath, bitterness and the unavoidable cruelness. you’re a monstrosity, sewan. a fucking evil little thing. you’re no human. you and your-your little sisters or whatever those wraiths are.

banished, kicked out of her home and prohibited from every returning back, sewan was left on the streets with tears streaming down her face and hatred in her heart. she was admitted to an orphanage, mostly against her will, but life again didn’t leave her with many choices. too old to be of anyone’s interest but too young to live on her own, sewan almost became the orphanage’s urban legend, a real nightmare, known for her hellish treatment of others, especially when it came to her dealing with staff.

but the nightmare didn’t last for too long and one day an eccentric man waltzed into the orphanage, waving adoption papers right in front of sewan’s nose. with a heart full of doubts, worry and even fear, sewan reluctantly followed the man thinking it was a trick, an awful scam, but the truth was actually even stranger. powerful, wealthy, but at the same time a villain, her adoptive father wished to shape her into rogue, one that could strike fear into the hearts of many and help others abolish the system of heroes.

yet the biggest surprise came when he had advised her to enroll in yueng-ung academy and join their hero courses, which to her seemed beyond paradoxical. but if you wish to destroy your enemy, you must first know how they think and operate, and so sewan was given the task of infiltrating within their ranks, all so that one day, she could be the one to destroy them.

the personality !

vengeful and extremely bitter deep down, it is not often that sewan is given a chance to display her true face to the rest of the world. by all means, she’s one out of the many heroes in training, no different than any of her peers. but for a hero, she can be far too brutal and unforgiving at times, as though she forgets who she’s pretending to be. talkative but simultaneously distant, she consists of many polar opposites, ultimately giving her attention only to those who she deems worthy. the hatred which she harbors deep within her heart has been with her since her earliest childhood days, but sewan is surprisingly skilled at keeping her feelings at bay, lashing out only when she’s pushed to the very brink of her patience. charming and playful too, no one would ever think that she loathes and dreams of destruction almost every night

[alyssaadamsonauthor]

Claws

Streetlights passed overhead in metronomic rhythm—one, two, three, four—illuminating black upholstery—five, six, seven, eight—and white knuckles perched at the steering wheel’s upper crest—nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

Still, no matter what proof assured her she did move, Jamie felt no closer.

It had been so long since she’d last visited Alice at home that the memory of every right, left, right turn occurred to her with hardly the time to spin the wheel. A year ago this Christmas by her own measure, and only to pick up the USB drive she’d lent the younger girl for her Introductory Spanish final. Alice’s mom had been aghast that she wouldn’t stay for dinner, but she’d only come on her fifteen-minute break and wasn’t much a fan of spiral ham. Alice has told me so much about you, the elder had enthused with a toothy grin, but how could she, when her daughter knew so little already?

If she could’ve foretold Mrs. Marx’s struggles would claim her life by November, she liked to think she would’ve smiled a little brighter. Maybe spared a laugh. Come up with a better reply than, we don’t speak of you much.

She wouldn’t let that frigidity cloud any more cries for help. And after six weeks, three missed meetings, half a dozen calls sent to voicemail…Jamie knew it could be nothing but.

As the little houses and white picket fences of the suburbs turned to high apartment buildings and windows boarded up with wood planks, the streetlights thinned out, casting the sidewalks under darkness. Alice’s building looked much the same as all the others: about twenty stories high, red brick, and falling apart. Even from the ground, she could make out her window on the thirteenth floor by the duct tape holding the glass in frame. Dim light lived within.

Jamie frowned. “You can binge Netflix ‘til midnight but not pick up one phone call?” Surveying the teenagers—out too late for anything good—that watched her from the dark, she knew her new car wouldn’t be leaving this neighborhood unscathed. “You’d better be swinging up there, kid.”

Her stomach flipped. Maybe not swinging, but…bleeding…or crying. Something temporary.

She whispered a prayer for her Mustang as she threw herself from its front seat, locking the doors with a click of the remote in hand. Her coat caught on the heel of her boot—an unfortunate casualty of the office dress code. There hadn’t been time to change.

Unlike the buildings she’d acquainted herself with in Short Hills, there was no doorman or revolving door, or windows into a gleaming lobby—only a door, studded with chipping green paint beside a list of doorbells. Perhaps at one time they’d been used for unlocking the ancient door, but not anymore: a block of wood sat at its corner, propping it open.

Casting another look over her shoulder at the car, still well within view, Jamie appraised the worn slip of paper beside the number 1304: A. Marx. Her finger burned—six, seven, eight times—over the bell to the tune of a mechanical buzz.

“Come on, Alice,” she whined. This didn’t have to be a sleepover. If she could get a sniffled, Just a broken phone, Jamie. I’ll call you when I get a new one, she’d be home by one a.m. and back to work at seven.

A hope for naught. With every insistent buzz, she received no answer.

Jamie sighed. Whatever got stolen off her car, she would call it a win if she could still drive it after all this. The only thing worse than spending the night in this foul city would be staying for two.

The white light beyond the door blinded Jamie to a long hallway of nondescript doors. As her eyes adjusted, she picked out ripped wallpaper lining the walls, the stain of yellow along the ancient carpet, and garbage. Lots of garbage. From somewhere in the general vicinity of the elevator came moans that raised gooseflesh over her arms.

She darted for the stairs. Every cursed piece of gum and unidentified brown goo clung to her boot, but she shoved such trivialities away by the tenth floor in place of a baser need for oxygen. Her calves burned, arms aching to hold her up against the arm rail. By the time the thirteenth-floor landing approached, she’d already decided: if Alice was still alive, it was a temporary state. Jamie fully intended on pitching her out the window by night’s end.

Her fist against 1304’s door echoed down the hall. The upper floors, while at least devoid of the piss stains in the emerald carpets so prominent down below, didn’t get such an abundance of lightbulbs. These were the lower-watt kind, more of an amber than white and the one over Alice’s door had burned out. It had been burned out last year, too.

“Alice?” she hissed with another slam of her fist to the wood. She hissed when the door slipped a splinter into her pinky. “Ouch. Alice!” She kicked the door, to no answer. Forgetting all desire for quiet, she shouted, “Alice, open the door!”

She gripped the knob, waiting for the catch of the lock, but it turned easily, door swinging open without even the deadbolt’s interference.

Weird on a normal day, but, today, it raised every hair on her body. “A…Alice?”

The door groaned until it stopped short against the inner wall. Jamie stepped in, already entangled in a mess of Alice’s shoes strewn across the floor. Was that cause for concern? The last time she’d walked in, the place had been immaculate, but that had been Christmas…

On another step, she turned a corner into the living room to find a lamp, overturned. The hand-me-down sectional sat under a cover of its own snow-like innards and every pillow corpse lay empty across the floor. She crept in, picking at every little bit of fluff before she cast it to the floor. Alice didn’t lay within; rather; she’d stacked the cushions into a pile at the room’s center. The frame lay broken around it, sat up to wall the soft interior like a nest.

As Jamie stood, turning back toward the hall, she froze, meeting the wall that separated this room from the kitchen. It wasn’t the mess of canned spaghetti on the black and white tile that stopped her breath, or the sink, stacked high with pots, pans, plates, and half-eaten steak and other unidentified meats. Or even the fact that every cabinet’s white doors hung open.

It was the claw marks. Five, torn into the dry wall all the way to the pink insulation within.

“What?” she whispered, arm already half-outstretched to touch. At the first brush of jagged edges, she pulled it back to herself. Was this a joke? “Alice?”

No one answered, but, as she listened, she made out other sounds. Wet sounds, like the slurp of spaghetti.

That kid was fucking with her. What other reason could there be for this mess?

Nevertheless, she staggered ahead on feet that wanted nothing more than to turn back. This was an awful lot of work for a joke…

Water stained the hall carpet, product of a running toilet spilling across the floor. Beyond that, the bedroom door hung open, the only glow from the nearest building’s floodlight through the window.

The slurping grew as she edged closer, taking the doorway in both hands. Jamie leaned around the corner, fingers shaking, tongue dry around another call of Alice’s name.

Yellow eyes.

The gleam of teeth.

Blood. So much blood.

A man lay across the floor, body limp and head tilted back in deep unconsciousness. The porcelain shards of a lamp glimmered around him, a very few embedded in his temple.

The face that looked up from the end of the stranger’s arm was at once familiar and completely unrecognizable. Its mouth, stained red by the hand it had detached from the man’s wrist, housed four rows of teeth like serrated blades. Its yellow eyes glowed, wide and hungry, as it met her gaze. The creature had to be over six feet tall, skin nearly green and scaly in patches across its cheeks.

Still, it was very clearly Alice. At least, it was trying to be.

The Alice Jamie knew didn’t make five feet and had most certainly never had more than one row of perfect teeth, as she liked to display in the headshots she badgered her for an opinion on with every impending casting call. The shock of blonde hair had gone uncombed but they looked like they had, at one time, been the curls usually so pristinely arranged around her pixie face.

Jamie didn’t breathe. There wasn’t time.

With a deep growl, those alien eyes narrowed, Alice’s new, thick legs coiling beneath her. In a single kick, she threw herself across the room, arms outstretched to wrap around Jamie’s shoulders.

Jamie shrieked. Dropped to her knees. Felt the air as Alice soared overhead.

The other girl hit the wall with an unholy crash, but she didn’t even hesitate to turn on Jamie, teeth bared and red and dirtied with the remnants of human flesh from its last snack. From her first step, Jamie threw herself into motion, taking off toward the front door on ankles buckling inward with every step.

The thing followed so close, Jamie could feel its every unsuccessful attempt to grab her shorn hair. As she neared the door, arms out to wrench it open and hopefully—hopefully—slip out before she got eaten, something like a knife dragged down the back of her neck, tearing her flesh open and turning her coat into nothing more than twin rags, sliding down her arms.

“Agh!” The pain was distraction enough. She hesitated for a mere instant with hand in mid-turn on the knob and pulling. It was all the time the creature needed to pin her against her only exit and slam it shut.

“A…Alice!” she shrieked, head smashing against the wood. Her ears rang, time slowing around her. Her words emerged as thick as the canned spaghetti. “Get off.”

The doppelganger pressed itself completely to her back, holding her in place with heavily muscled arms and legs. Its scales grated against the skin bared by her torn coat. Its tongue probed at the center of her back, trailing up the cut it had torn from her skin.

Tasting her.

Jamie’s body shook, so small in the arms of a predator. Instinct bubbled up inside her like impending vomit, urging that she scratch, bite, run, something before death tore her throat open with the same talons it had ripped through the drywall. It gripped her around the arms, cold to the touch and tearing her flesh with every light touch.

As its head dipped, it breathed over her neck, tossing her hair into her face. She swallowed hard, unable to move, unable to inhale, unable to speak. It reared back, jaw coming down around her shoulder with a snarl that reverberated all the way into her chest.

Pain exploded from every conceivable corner. Like needles and rocks and ice and fire and something Jamie knew no one could have felt before. There would’ve been a word for it if such a pain had existed before this moment. There would be books about it. Classes. Dissertations and lectures and statues.

Her body went limp, falling against the creature as it tore the sleeve of her shirt and four rows of teeth’s worth of flesh away from her whole. She slipped away, landing face-first on the carpet, but the creature didn’t seem to care.

Jamie glanced at the door through the haze of tears building within her eyes. Escape was so close, within reach, but her shoulder screamed so loudly she felt it in her legs, her arms, her face. She couldn’t find her limbs in her muddled brain to move them.

It chewed her. Loudly. And when it swallowed, it reached for her again, flipping her onto her back so the world around her was only glowing yellow.

Jamie’s lip quivered. This was it. Death. “Alice…P…please?”

The beast stilled in its descent toward her throat. Eyes like liquid gold flickered, yellow, then gray, then yellow, and gray again. Alice’s face, green and scaly, cooled. Her jaw snapped shut, lip turning down into a frown.

Her new, monstrous mouth opened to reveal a single row of inhumanly sharp teeth. Rather than its deep bellow, Alice’s voice emerged, “Jamie?”

The world around her swirled, but Jamie managed the smallest smile. “Y…yes. Yes. It’s Jamie.”

Alice withdrew, standing stiff to look back over her shoulder at her bedroom door. A whimper like a wounded dog passed her thin lip. Her body clenched, clawed hands gripping at the sides of her head. “Go away,” she cried. “Please, go away.”

Jamie reached for her. Perhaps it was the blood freely pouring from her shoulder. Perhaps it was the last of her fear festering where sympathies she’d never had before lied. She no longer saw the creature of scales and claws and teeth, even if that was exactly what stood over her. She saw herself, standing with arms over her head, pleading that the voices go away.

Her fingers breezed over Alice’s knees.

In one moment, the Alice-beast stood over her with mouth drooling Jamie’s blood.

In the next, she was gone.

[duchessnibenhu-ofpyromania]

Back when Thunderbirds are Go first started, I, like many others, came up with an OC. I am re-introducing that OC here, or trying to, I’m not really good at this kind of thing. 

I used to RP with her back in the day, and would like to again, so if anyone is interested, you can find her at @nibenhutracycas which is also her name. Nibenhu Cas, Nibs to her friends, enemies and general people because it’s easier to say (even I’m not entirely too sure how you pronounce it xD)

At the moment she is split between two very different universes. Thunderbirds Are Go and Fallout. I’m gonna try and get an about page done for her at some point. (I know, I should have done that ages ago.)

Here’s a taster.

Thunderbirds Are Go Universe

Nibs is a Captain working for the GDF under Colonel Casey. She has her own little team, and is also in liaison with International Rescue.

In one Universe she marries Marcus Tracy, a clone of Gordon Tracy/Android and considered a Tracy brother. They manage to have a son together, called Aslan and adopt a little girl, Eva. Lots of time travel is involved. She is best friends with John Tracy.

In other universes where Marcus doesn’t exist, she usually marries/becomes involved with John Tracy.

In all universes she tends to attracts trouble and loves explosions. If there’s an explosion and Nibs was in the vicinity, she probably caused it. She is also a nudist.

Fallout 4 universe.

Before the war she used to live in Sanctuary Hills, where she found out that her doppelganger Nora lived. 

She managed to get a place in the vault where her and Nora were mistaken for each other, this resulted in Nora’s death and Nibs being the one to try and find out what happened to Shaun.

Before the war she also was in the army. Now she just wants to help people and find Shaun, and justice for Nate. 

She goes with the brotherhood of steel because it feels a little similar to the army.  Though she soon finds this was probably a mistake.

[moondust-bard]

us, the vvitch, hereditary, & get out for the spooky asks!

Answering these for the three PoV characters of my NaNo 2019 project, The Bloody Divine, a young adult dark fantasy book.

Us

how would your OC outsmart their own doppelganger?

Well Vivaine would probably befriend hers, they’d both trip over something, and fall off a mountainside or something. Mordelia would sneak up on hers, strangle her into unconsciousness, then bury her alive on a moonless night. Evanor would opt for good, old fashioned poison in the wine, one to which she’s cultivated tolerance—basically that one scene from Princess Bride. My girls are wonderful humans, as you can see.

The Vvitch

is your OC superstitious? If so, about what?

As a priestess, Vivaine has superstitions based in religion. Too bad they’re all spoilers! Let’s just say new moons make her uneasy, and leave it there.

Mordelia is a woman of science. Superstitions? No, thanks, she says.

Evanor has a few she believes in because she was raised with them. For instance, she can’t stand dead, wilted roses in her vicinity.

Hereditary

is there anything significant that’s been passed down to your OC (heirlooms, genetics, curses etc.)?

Vivaine has an amulet. Mordelia has a certain generic...tendancy. 😈

Evanor looks just like her mother, and also has many of her possessions as keepsakes.

Get Out

what is your OC willing to do to protect themselves and the ones they love?

Evanor is willing to give her own life for her brother’s—or so she says.

Mordelia loves very few, but she’d do anything for the truth—maybe even commit heresy.

Vivaine has a big heart. She would sacrifice much for a stranger in need and offer her own life for those she loves. Self-sacrifice is kind of a problem with her.

[aloysiusshea]

Did you know that BRENDON URIE has a doppelganger? I swear ALOYSIUS SHEA looks just like them! HE is a 32-year-old that identifies as CISMALE and is a MUSICIAN/RECORD LABEL EXEC for a living. They were born in LOS ANGELES, CA and can be GIVING, but also STUBBORN at times. They hang out around SUNSET BOULEVARD a lot, so make sure to say hey if you see them there!

i am SO EXCITED to be able to play my baby boy again! so i’m kirby and this is my angel, al! his intro is unnecessarily long, i warn you, but all in all, he’s a good, chaotic boy that needs pals. you’ll love him i promise!

it’s pronounced alo-wish-us, and his mother, carmen hale, is to blame for it. she and her boyfriend at the time, luke shea, got pregnant when they were both in their early twenties. they remained together for the first few years of al’s life, but ultimately split up when he was three. they kept in close contact for al’s sake.

al definitely grew up more like his mother. his dad moved to san francisco and coached baseball at a high school there, and fulfilled every stereotype that came with the gig. his mother, though, was a pianist, and taught al how to play at a very young age. he was playing piano before he was even out of kindergarten and oh boy, did he love to brag about it. any time there was a piano anywhere near him, he hopped on to play a tune so everyone in the vicinity knew what a child prodigy he was.

that fascination with the piano led an interest in other music. he learned to play guitar and drums throughout his time in school and was in choir every year, from kindergarten to graduation. he was deeply in love with music his entire life and even went into a music education program in college.

college was fun, though al wasn’t terribly fond of no longer feeling like the most talented one in the room. he and his roommate, jax moretti, clicked wonderfully, primarily over their shared taste and love of music. they often both pulled out their guitars and played together when they had some free time, dorm room door open to invite in anyone that wanted to come appreciate their music. eventually they attracted two other musicians - a drummer and a bassist, and they had the idea to play all together.

all your wishes was born and lived in small, open mic night venues for their first year together. it was all fun, and none of the four thought they’d ever make a serious career out of it. they were discovered by a talent scout though and signed to a five album contract strange music inc by the end of 2007.

their first album took off on a bigger scale than any of the four could have imagined, but they were all deliriously happy. it was a life none of them ever dared to want for themselves. they were on the road before any of them knew it, engrossed and loving tour life. their following albums were just as successful, and their label was lenient enough with them to give them the freedom to explore different sounds and genres. all your wishes prided themselves on not fitting into any one specific genre too well so they had something for just about everyone to enjoy.

even while al was living his dream, it was hard on him. he was very young when all the attention was thrust upon them and he had a hard time handling it. the pressure to remain relevant and interesting weighed him down hard. so al turned to alcohol to keep himself distracted. it never got to the stage where it was a full blown addiction; he always made a conscious decision to do it. he rarely did anything in the public eye without getting a bit buzzed first. it became ninety percent of his personality because he’d convinced himself he wasn’t worth the attention he got without it. he was able to clean himself up before it got to be too much of an issue, but he’s very ashamed of it and very private about it. only a handful of people know about how bad he got.

the contract came to an end at the end of 2015, and though the band had been their entire lives for eight years, the members were all somewhat happy it was over. they all loved one another and their music all the same, but their time as a band had run it’s course.

al considered making music under his own name following the split, and he still writes and features on other artist’s work, but he ultimately decided he was done with that part of his life - at least for the time being. instead, he put all his focus on starting his own record label, genie records, which has been running successfully since september of 2016.

TL;DR: al is a bit of a brat that was the frontman of a very successful punk pop band from 2007 to 2015, and now runs a record label to give other up-and-coming artists the same opportunity he got!

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Preview for Intertwined, chapter 14

Laudna holds the freshly de-scaled fish under the surface of the running river, its underside slit open from gill to tail, dyeing the water around it in crimson tendrils that are shaped by its current, decorated by errant shining scales, motion fast and twisting so it creates shapes more akin to bolts than clouds, magic-

Blood strikes away from her pallid skin; carries down the river back towards their camp nestled in the alcove of giant tree roots.

Laudna had insisted that Imogen stay on her bedroll that morning, to try and get the rest adequate to fully heal-over the puncture under her ribs. She woke with no nightmares to report, but all of the tossing and turning Laudna watched her conduct in her sleep had her grimacing when her own slumber had abandoned her, fumbling for what to do and ending up paralysed within arm’s length of Imogen in her own bedroll.

Last night was-

well.

Laudna had made a choice. Exposed herself, past how much she already did so by travelling with a telepath

That still felt remarkable in and of itself (Imogen is remarkable).

The freshly removed fish guts on the bank of the river

Laudna drops half of them into the stream organ by organ, leaves the other a platter on the floor for whom or whatever finds them.

Out of innards

Torn and bare, bared, raw. Imogen had seen the molars through the ripped flesh in Laudna’s mother’s cheeks, had last night seen her attempt to just peel her whole face off, remove the ability to be a doppelganger for an elf with tan and pink skin.  

Mourning. Veiling. What she had or what she had lost. She was never sure if that was for one or the other or both.

Either way, it was inspiring. She kind of enjoys it, actually, now (especially now. Excited, even, at how she perhaps has an audience to appreciate her fine outfitting)

Laudna will make them both breakfast. Fish fried in butter with chickweed - she had seen a fair amount tangled in the vines.

Moss, she should collect and dry out more moss. A lot more.

Silt is disturbed on the calmer slight-bend at the bank of the river.

A larger fish with rough and warted skin like a toad crawls out on hind legs from under flat rocks that are surely slick with algae and moss.

Rivers of red

It has whiskers like a cat fish, though much longer, must have noticed the disturbance in the water with such, using them as rods to lasso swimming organs into its gullet.  

Laudna had scooped the offal out of the clean line of dissection she had made, scraped against fleshy ribs with the tips of her talons.

She could have plunged a finger into the tear in Imogen’s side, the gap was accommodating enough. Could have pulled out her intestines in one long string and gathered them like rope under her arm-

Not that she would

Someone else, maybe

Maybe under their rule

(she can’t have her. she can’t give her the chance.)

It feels like heartburn

It’s not warming

Imogen's breath came out as mist when she stood in Laudna’s vicinity. Veil covering, buffeting the touch between Imogen's hand and her shrapneled jaw. Warm flesh on bone. Delightful. Laudna does not think on how bone should be able to receive the feel of the touch without the nerve endings.  

Perhaps she muses on it for a moment. Magic.

(you can read the previous chapters here)

[fly-pow-bye]

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Lights Out!”

Written by: Haley Mancini, Jake Goldman

Written & Storyboarded by: John West, Angela Zhang

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

It’s an uphill battle, in more ways than one might expect.

We're at the beginning of the episode, and we already get our peek at this episode's special guest. That's right, it's that guy that looks like Guy Fieri wearing a toupee, checking out that jetpack to Flavortown. No, just kidding, it's actually the giant wacky inflatable tube man, making his return appearance from Man Up! That was the very first episode I ever reviewed, and it gives me good memories. I remember when I actually thought this show was going to be okay, and then I watched it!

So what are all these people gathered around for? It's the Townsville Town-Topia Fair, "the town of the future", where people of all countries get to show off their inventions!

One of the exhibits is a Japanese cat robot which gets the mechanical heart of Schedulebot. He appears exactly one other time, and they completely forgot about him and his love. I am sure we are all crestfallen at how we avoided seeing yet another character in this reboot get a love interest for a sake of a love interest.

Not forgotten is a running gag where Sitcom Dad decided to go on the roller coaster that consists only of an infinitely tall lift hill. It kind of explains by itself why it is useless, both as an invention and as a joke. It just builds up and builds up, and it has no real payoff. I might as well call all of the terrible running gags uphill roller coasters.

But enough joking around, this episode main attraction is everyone's favorite DeviantART OC, Blisstina Insert-Fifty-Other-Names Utonium, or Bliss for short! She's here to show off an invention from the Universal Protection Bureau: the Buggly! Just put it on your ear, or the place where an ear is supposed to be, ask it for anything, and it will magically generate it for you.

At first, I was thinking it was called the Buttly, as it's basically a butler one wears on their ear, but I appreciate that calling it Buggly prevents any unnecessary butt jokes. Isn't that right, Buttercup?

Buttercup Wheelz: No, WHEELZ! Wheelz with a z! I'm reinventing myself for the international stage!

Speaking of unnecessary jokes involving something that has the word "butt" in it, Buttercup wants to be called Wheelz. Why? I dunno. I wish I could say it disappears after one time like Schedulebot, but sorry, it lasts for most of the episode. Needless to say, this is uphill roller coaster #2.

Blossom especially loves this device, because the thought of generating pizza from thin air can give her more time to over-analyze everything she says! That's what she says, just roll with it.

In comes Jared Shapiro, whose "hi" causes her to over-analyze about how she should have went further than just saying "hi" back! This comes up a few times after this, so this is uphill roller coaster #3. Thankfully, I'm not talking about Jared, as he disappears after this scene.

His only role in the episode, and vast majority of his appearances, is to show off how much Blossom loves him. I'm sad they didn't decide to change his character to the dork he was in Phantasm Chasm. It would have been a slight improvement.

As the Buggly is able to generate more Bugglys for everyone to share, the Puffs have more fun with it. Bubbles is busy tinkering with it, because, surprise, this is a coder Bubbles episode, too! As for Blossom, she makes a kale smoothie from Penguin Pete's just by asking the Buggly to make one for her.

Bubbles: Why didn't we just go to Penguin Pete's? It's right here!

For starters, Penguin Pete's costs money, and this thing can make kale smoothies for free! I was expecting a twist where the Buggly was actually stealing stuff from the nearest vicinity. However, that crime would be far more fitting for Discount Jojo than the villain of this episode.

In fact, Discount is too busy getting pied in the face for daring to think Wheelz is a terrible name. Also, the Buggly can also be used to give Buttercup Wheelz another accessory for a toy line that will definitely never exist at this point.

The real villain will be revealed right now, as a sudden shockwave knocks down the Reboot Puffs. Even Bliss gets knocked out by this. Clearly, something must be going on. I mean, Bliss getting knocked out?

Also, the power went out, and worst of all, the Bugglys stop giving everyone free stuff. That's the real problem here! The Powerpuff Girls turn to Bliss to ask her what happened, and she reveals that it's all her fault.

She teleports away and appears on every TV in the TV repair shop, laughing maniacally. It was her, Blossom, it was her all along!

And Silico decides to abort the ruse immediately and show himself. I guess even he thought the "evil doppelganger" plot was too cliche. And yes, Silico just happened to know everything about Bliss, including the name of her intergalactic protection agency. At least I could say being able to take the form of anyone isn't unheard of for Silico; the cliffhanger of the last episode featuring him had him turn into Sitcom Dad. Having him become Bliss is an upgrade, I would say.

He also reveals that the Bugglys were not from space, but they were invented by him. Along with being able to create anything out of nothing, he programmed in another feature on the Bugglys.

Specifically, the ability to reprogram everyone's brains to hate the Powerpuff Girls! But wait, one might ask if they really cared that much, weren't the Powerpuff Girls wearing these Bugglys too? Is this another situation where the Powerpuff Girls are immune to mind control because the plot wouldn't work otherwise? No, because Silico says that he disabled their Bugglys, but all the other ones are under his control. He probably could have reprogrammed them to play dead, but plot.

They even get attacked by their various weapons, like a giant crayon bazooka from Ms. Keane, and a croissant grenade from a random French guy, all coming from their Bugglys. Now I realize another reason why they decided not to call it the Buttly. Bubbles tells her sisters that she wishes the Professor were here.

Yeah, that uphill roller coaster sure wasn't shoved in here, I completely lie. What could the Professor do even if he wasn't on this roller coaster? After flying away from the people of Townsville, they run into a familiar face.

The real Bliss shows up. There is one line that explains that she came to Earth for Town-Topia, and presumably saw all the carnage, so it's not entirely unexplained. The Puffs immediately assume it's just Silico doing another trap, but Bliss proves that it's her by stopping them with her telekinesis. Yes, her defining trait, being able to stop the other Powerpuff Girls. A trait that seems to shared by Silico, but that doesn't seem to cross their mind.

Bliss figures that Silico wouldn't be anywhere without power. Yes, Bliss happens to know that Silico exists. Maybe they talked about him during another webcam chat where Bliss talked about how she moved a planet just by not thinking too hard about it. Sadly, that's not much of an exaggeration.

But, oh no, these reprogrammed townspeople are in the way, ready to sock them with...well, anything. I'm sure you can probably throw a sponge at them, and they would drop dead.

They could fight all of the people they loved, something they did in the original, but there's also the possibility that Bliss can just use her ability to teleport right into this building. Which they actually do. Only a second later, they get hit by a laser beam.

Turns out, this was indeed where Silico was hanging out, but, being the excellent planner who is always two steps ahead, he planned for Bliss to teleport inside! This leads to the one fight scene worth talking about.

See, this fight is actually very interesting, as it pits the girls' powers against Silico's ability to generate anything he could think of. He uses a cannon, and Blossom makes a net aura to catch the cannonballs. Bliss then lifts the cannonballs up and throws them using telekinesis. He then makes a giant, and says "you're out". Silico is rather jokey here; reminds me of one of the better parts of The Trouble With Bubbles.

Wheelz, actually, they kind of forgot about that uphill roller coaster by then, tries to fly right to him and bust his lights out, but he generates a giant brick wall. Silly Silico, he should have learned from the theme song why that shouldn't work. It goes like this:

Breaking all their bones

When they hit a wall

They gon' quit

(Who's got the power? They certainly don't!)

That might be a misquote, but that might as well be how it goes. However, this does distract Silico, as Blossom and Bliss do a team up plan to strike Silico when he's not thinking about defending himself. With the combined minds of the Game Breaker and the smartest Powerpuff Girl unless she has to do math or coding...

...they just punch him in the face. Honestly, I don't mind this at all. At least I can say they're using the abilities they had before this reboot, too.

I got to say, it's also good to see that this is a fight scene where Bliss just fights alongside the existing Puffs. No special Powerpuff Sisterhood, no Bliss just taking care of everything by herself, just good old fashioned teamwork. This is one of the better fight scenes in the reboot overall. This is not saying much, but it's something.

Bubbles sneaks up on Silico and puts her reprogrammed Buggly on him, and you can watch the episode to find out what happens next. Honestly, I already spoiled enough when I mentioned Silico is in this. I will say it's an ending similar to that one episode of Codename: Kids Next Door, and it doesn't fit the "gives you anything you want" device. However, neither does reprogramming people's brains.

Maybe they might have been aware that this could be his final appearance, as, unlike all but one of his episodes, this episode doesn't end with a cliffhanger. It's a fitting end for someone who was angry at little girls for breaking his toys. What does it end with?

Rest in peace, Sitcom Dad. You were such a Sitcom Dad. No, it's just uphill roller coaster #1, which happened to be the uphill roller coaster.

Does the title fit?

The lights going out seem to be more of a side thing than anything else.

How does it stack up?

There are some pretty bad running gags that take up far too much time. If they took out those, this could easily be a top ten episode for me. As it stands, it's merely only good by reboot standards. The fight scene is interesting, Silico actually manages to get some good lines in here and is not a total dingus, and it manages to have Bliss be useful without making her overpowered. A decent episode all around.

Next, finally, Barry gets his own episode! It could be just what I always wanted, as the monkey's paw bends one of its fingers.

← Brain Freeze ☆ Bucketboy! →

[eweniversal]

Secrets of A Councilwoman

(note: this takes place well after the first tidbit I’ve posted) -PART 1-

Kotaphira’s scowl on the chained being she once called a brother changed to that of thought as she observed from her hiding place. At the entrance of the castle’s catacombs, hidden well underneath the surface in a darkened cave was a large pool of water with an outlet that led to the river that divided the city of Maerise in half. The captain’s right. Leaving him here is dangerous at best, even within the confines of the catacombs. But he’s here for a reason. Driving the point home is what’s going to encourage the others to follow through with this plan. It must… else-

Else, you’ll die alone and broken. Two hundred and fifty years, it’s about time for you to croak… Self-preservation is the ONLY way to continue this legacy of yours..

There, just a few meters away and standing hunched in the mud was a mangled leftover of a once proud man. A man who once loved her, revered her, went to the ends of the world for her- at her own bequest. Blue eyes glowed from behind the muzzle that covered his entire face, the enchantment on the twisted, ugly thing glowing and singeing at the decaying, dark skin of the once proud native Derhanian. “Where… where is she… I can smell you!” What used to be of her brother’s voice was mixed with age, destruction, evil- a raspiness and widening as his jaw struggled to move properly in the mask he wore.

Rotten.

The corners of her mouth turned down as she watched his ‘handlers’ keep him at bay with sticks that held chains at the end, keeping his arms tight at his back. They were soldiers, her soldiers, of the Royal Maerisian Knights. A higher honor than Dragon Rider, or even the King’s Guard. These were the strongest of the bunch, and hand picked by her for this task. Among them were two large bipedal fur-men, a bear and a wolf, along with two native Derhanian dark skinned men who had more bulk than brain. The last was a troc mutt whose skin was an indecisive color mix between green and brown and long matted hair that was kept in high dreads. They were an intimidating bunch, in their blue and silver armor, the official colors of the Maerisian city’s soldiers. Around this circle were four mages, led by the youngest of them, a girl by the name Kemryn. She was half Derhanish with vibrant naturally pink curly hair that, along with her pointed ears, proved her magical half-Elfirrin blood. Glowing magical symbols sat around her wrists like bracelets, pushing against her skin and twisting at intervals. All of the mages kept just close enough, ensuring a binding spell was kept in place on the prisoner.

"Hrmh," Ah, dear Steirtorim. A towering troc mutt from the north; perhaps, if she were two hundred years younger and had a taste for murky green colored men... "Is a silencing magic available now?" His head turned to his commanding officer, an elder darker skinned Derhanian gentleman who always threatened retirement the moment he ever saw someone’s skin outside of armor. “The crowd outside all have their attention turned elsewhere. There are many guards available to be here, but-” But it may not be enough to hold the monster at bay. He looked back to the prisoner who shook in his shackles, causing Steirtorim to grab for his weapon, partly unsheathing it. “Should we need more protection!” More people to swear to secrecy. She should have brought her younger purple-haired doppelganger to this reunion. Perhaps bring her sons Samund and Taskell, too.

Focus.

"Lady Kotaphira is here, he has been asking for her- perhaps she can calm him."

He knew she was there from the start, only mentioning her when convenient. Clever troc. “Calm him?” Kotaphira’s voiced called out crisp, piercing the eardrums of those in the vicinity and echoing in the cavern. “My strongest men, and you can’t settle this monstrosity on your own?” She emerged from her hiding place by the hidden entry of the castle’s catacombs. “Needing an old woman to do your job for you.” Her chin was held high, despite being dwarfed by the guards surrounding her. Her gaze and attention was held on the decades old beast before her, weathered emblem of an ancient sigil of their past set on his shoulder like a proud pauldron.

Not pride. Curse.

Kotaphira swallowed as she kept close enough to Captain Steirtorim. The thing before her was no longer her brother, but the remains of a ghost.

“Your challenging of Derdia’s Call wearies by the day. You should be put out of your misery, for everyone’s safety.” A smile crept up on her lips, age making the lines by her eyes crinkle. “It would be my honor to do so. Brother. But not yet. I need you for something first.” Her grin faded and the look on her face turned into that of a disapproving scowl. “Heel.” Her demand was gentle, magic imbued with her tone like a master weaver carefully pulling golden strands within their craft. Her gaze was solely on the chained monster, intent only to him. “Kneel, demon.” Almost a whisper, but only meant for him.

Rinlear was always defiant to what he didn’t want to do. Now was not the time for that trait to appear.

Turning to writhe, he pulled himself against his restraints, her magic seeming to cause him insurmountable amounts of pain. Growling out, he shook his chains and sobbed loudly before it turned in to a malicious laughter. Whispers and groans floated to her sensitive Elfirrin ears as he spoke, and her back stiffened at his words.

“Be quiet, fossil.” Rinlear hissed quietly. Head leaning forward to hang, his shoulders swayed back and forth as though he were testing the restraint at his wrists. At his comment, however, one of the fur-men gave a shout and they struggled to pushed the old thing down, but he resisted and turned sharply, aiming for the troc mutt who held him. The soldier flinched to the side, exposing one of the mages. The mage’s eyes went wide as he held up his hands in defense, breaking concentration on the spell. Kemryn gave a shout over the yelling of the other soldiers, but Rinlear rushed forward and with a loud growl, head butted the defenseless mage to the ground. The troc soldier twisted his arm to righten the monster and the rest of the guard put the wretched thing back in place in front of Kota, pushing him to his knees at her feet. She didn’t notice the loosening of one of the buckles of his mask at the side where he’d impacted the mage’s head.

The mages worked hard without their fourth to continue their magic, but without the silencer, Rinlear was able to form more coherent sentences, struggling against the widening of his loosened jaw, forcing it to move in a strange way against the mask.

“Kneel? To a pompous, voracious sow? Heheheheheh.” His chuckle turned to a chortle, distorted by the metallic jaw-covering and reverberating around the cavern. “Why would I kneel to a craven little weakling?” He looked around to the guards holding his chains, to the old armored commander, the towering troc-man, and back to Kotaphira. “You still can’t do anything yourself. You need your platoon of big, strong men to do everything for you…” Another chuckle echoed out. “Even keep your bed warm, last I heard.”

Her brows raised. A feeble attempt at trying to defy the situation. How… predictable. He paused again, head and shoulder flinching as he whispered once more, long strings of unintelligible words, the two glowing blue dots disappearing within his muzzle as he shut his eyes.

“You’ll not disrespect Lady Kotaphira, you abominable wretch! Show respect.” Steirtorim growled through his short, exposed tusks, threatening his sword at the prisoner.

Kota’s hand raised to silence Steirtorim. “He has no notion of respect anymore.” Kota frowned, disgust bubbling in her chest.

“But to go after anything that's... humanoid!” He gave a quick nod to Steirtorim. “You tell me if that’s ‘respectable’! Have some shame, ‘dear sister.’” His disposition changed to a more stern, serious one. “What am I saying, you’re no sister of mine. Not someone who’d ‘spare’ their brother out of convenience or abandon their lover.” His glowing eyes opened to concentrate up on Kotaphira’s face, blue glow reflecting from the enchanted metal and back to what little skin was left on his face. She could just make out the tendons, blackened and burnt, moving as he spoke, the longer she looked. He no longer had a nose. “I’d wager you would even sacrifice the spawn of your womb if it granted you more power.” Disgust dripped from his words. It seemed whatever feeling of empathy he’d ever had for her was gone. “Pheh, and I’m the demon. Whatever you need, send your harem. I want no part in it.”

The mask slowly moved against his jaw, loosening with every sentence.

“You do not have a choice. Trust me, I would not have bothered to send for you if it meant I could do this any other way. Your inconvenience is just as much as mine is. Asking you to come here would have brought more harm than good.” She actually dared to step forward and kneel in front of him, still an arm’s length away, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Devourer of Man. If you do as I say, you’ll get all the flesh you could ever want to consume. Defy me, and you will never taste another soul again. Do we have a deal?” She didn’t wait for an answer before standing up. This was not a bargain he had a decision in. “Get him detained in the catacombs with a proper muffler.” His voice echoing to entice others was a threat she couldn’t afford right now. “Don’t let anyone near enough to him. He’ll starve before I let anyone risk their lives out of curiosity.”

His presence was foul, the old sigil on his shoulder eerie and emanating evil. So why… why was there a feeling of excitement? She was closer to her goal, but something else was pulling.

Brother…

Her head shook slightly. Family or not, there was nothing left of the Rinlear she knew.

But isn’t there?

Kotaphira looked up to Steirtorim. “I have something to attend to. Is this under control?” Her brows raised, nodding in the direction of the downed spell caster. They couldn’t afford any more injuries or deaths with this operation. People did not need to be asking questions; the cover with the disappearance of Princess Mylla was one thing, but people get bored easily.

“Yes, I believe so. So long as we don’t lose anyone else due to carelessness.” He shot a glare to the other troc. “Holding him within city walls, though?”

“It needs to be here.” She responded curtly.

“Hahahaha,” Rinlear made his amusement in her decisions clear, “Yes, slime-spawn. Is this under control? Your fallen woman of a queen needs a clear mind to herd more human cattle to their slaughter.” He looked at the guards holding his chains, as his words weren’t just for her anymore. “I accept your offer, and see your reasoning, Madame Councilor. Maerise doesn’t need any more of her people risking their lives to a monster such as I.” Rinlear stared straight at her, through her, “Not when a monster such as you can sell them to me for my services.” He sounded as though he were challenging her actions, and she wondered, for just a moment, if he would stand to resist her intentions. “But I’m not as stingy as you might think. Rather than ‘all the flesh I could ever hope to consume.’ I want...” He looked around again, glowing blue eyes shifting around. “You to decide upon one soul to sacrifice to me, one for every head we have in audience here. You’ll announce them by name at the city square.” He looked once more at Steirtorim, as though he could see his very soul. “And one of my choosing.” There was a slick sound, as though he were licking at lips that no longer existed. “These twisted lengths you're willing to go through will not be kept hidden."

She let him have his words while her hands gripped tightly at her sides. The filthy relic that bowed before her in defiance was no brother of hers. Muscles twitching in her face, she finally found the courage to speak within her rage. No one would be losing their lives if she could help it, and certainly not to this disgusting cannibal! “You’re in no position to make demands, wretched beast.” How could he possibly think that I would do such a thing!? He’s lost whatever logic he once held, for certain. “Open your filthy mouth again to speak, and I’ll use my magics to shut you up for good. We just watched you squeal like a hung pig meant for the butcher the moment I spoke before, and that was barely a whisper. I’ve had time to hone my craft, and you’re weak. If we have to force you down and sew your mouth opening shut, so be it!”

“Eheheheh..” With that, the enchanted muzzle slipped and hung halfway from his face, exposing the decayed and rotten flesh that once covered his handsome face. Blackened nubs replaced the teeth he once had, the right side of his jaw hanging looser than the left, unhinged from the skull. The muscles still pulled into a sort of wicked grin, drool the color of oil dripping from the opening.

Kota’s eyes widened and she looked quickly to Kemryn, who was still concentrating hard on her task. “Child! The restraint!”

But it was too late. Rinlear’s head was leaned back, and through the exposed side of his face he opened his jaw wide and let out a low, rumbling groan that echoed throughout the cavern. The air around them turned to static as the mage’s magics, and Kota’s too, were pulled from their hands, raising their arms against their will. Kota was incapacitated, defenseless, against this unnatural attack. Like all of the air was pulled from her lungs, and the water from her body. Electricity buzzed all her nerves at once and pulled whatever was left up and out through her fingertips. Glowing energies from each of them raised in the air and swirled over Rinlear’s head, and for a split second began to converge and flow in to his open mouth.

“She said- HEEL!” Steirtorim’s sword hilt made contact with Rinlear’s exposed face- what was left of it- and with a loud crunch the prisoner crumpled to the ground. The magical energies slowly separated and dispersed back to their respective owners. Collapsing to the mud, the magic wielders gasped for air and struggled to regain their posture as black dots appeared in their vision.

“Lady Kotaphira!” Steirtorim knelt at her side, hand hovering over her shoulder. He knew she didn’t like to be touched.

“Kemryn..” Kota barely let out, “All of you. No more leather on prisoners. Metal only. No clasps. LOCKS, and securer enchantments.” She looked up, glaring at them all, “And for the love of Derdia, NO ONE hesitate!”

Steirtorim nodded, helping her to her feet only when she reached for him. “So long as he.. It.. stays alive.”

“That goes without saying.” She hissed. Another glance at Rinlear, and Kotaphira turned to go inside the castle.

“My lady, what about what just happened! You can’t ignore that!” Steirtorim moved to help the mages up while the soldiers re-latched the mask and secured Rinlear’s bindings.

“There’s no time! The sooner this is dealt with, the sooner this thing can be disposed of!” The old oak doors strained as they shut behind her. It really was problematic, and under any other circumstances she would have been eager to attempt to dissect the situation and investigate. But time was running out. Rinlear wasn’t the sacrifice, but the bait.

[processproductionsophielindsay]

ANNETTE MESSAGER

Sleeping Heart (2017)

https://www.mariangoodman.com/exhibitions/208-annette-messager-sleeping-songs/works/artworks46709/

In the main gallery, the show opens with Sleeping Songs, thirteen works constructed of sleeping bags, duvets and winter coats. Throughout her career, Messager has transformed the materials of her everyday environment, and here she adapts into human forms household elements that evoke both shelter and displacement. From Birth, in which one down jacket emerges from another, to Seule (Lonely), an empty coat with hands clasped, a selection of works can be seen to chronicle the life cycle from youth to old age.

The latter, however, at the intersection of wall and floor, could also speak to borders and isolation, and sleeping bags, of course, can’t help but wrenchingly call to mind the refugee and migrant crisis. Messager previously addressed the issue in Dessus Dessous (Below), her 2015-2016 exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts in Calais, France. Over roughly that same period, the vicinity of Calais was home to the Jungle, a refugee and migrant camp whose deplorable living conditions drew international attention. “I saw many people in the station, in the street, waiting, in the night, as they tried to go through,” she says. On view is a work from that show, 3 Pantins PQ (3 Puppets PQ) (2015), three fabric figures with toilet paper extending from their bodies, beings reduced to bare necessities.

Innocents-Help (2017)

https://www.mariangoodman.com/exhibitions/208-annette-messager-sleeping-songs/works/artworks37141/

Speaking again to children lost, Innocents, help (2017) is an homage to Massacre of the Innocents, Poussin’s depiction of the New Testament story of Herod. Crafted of black and red netting, fabric, wire and resin—materials of viscidity and capture—faces, hands, and hearts are hung up within it. Nets are an ongoing medium for Messager; in the past she has woven words into these webs—seductive words, like Desir, Chance, and Secret—but this new declaration is a distress call.

Jumping (2018)

https://www.mariangoodman.com/exhibitions/208-annette-messager-sleeping-songs/works/artworks46704/

In the lower gallery, the 17th-century vaulted stone space houses another troubled civilization, Petite Babylone (2019), a new installation and literal underworld in which hundreds of black-wrapped body parts, abstract shapes and stuffed animals are gathered. The work continues the exploration Messager began with Continents Noirs / Black Continents (2010-2012), in which she suspended carbonized cityscapes from the ceiling, and La chambre des légends (2019), an installation of blackened geometric objects shown in Messager’s exhibition at the Institut Giacometti earlier this year. Petite Babylone, the phrase poignantly holding a small being within its words, references the 2011 tsunami in Fukushima, Japan, when, as Messager notes, dogs and other animals could not escape the subsequent nuclear catastrophe, and remained wandering the island. In the dusky room, a single light at the center of this host of animals casts shadows that move along the walls, ghosts that are both menacing and darkly comical, a recurring duality in Messager’s work.

Perdu Dans Les Limbes (2019)

https://dailyartfair.com/exhibition/9788/annette-messager-marian-goodman-gallery

Babylon is, of course, a mythic city of language and scattering, but one etymology of its name is a Sumerian term meaning “Gate of God,” connoting a womb and a physical place. In another subterranean space, Messager’s first-ever video work, a two-channel installation, creates this sense of a chamber: The room has been painted pitch-black, and in the void materializes the silent image of a woman, pregnant. Her body is bifurcated—one wall depicts her belly and breasts; another, her hands and mane of hair. Messager was originally moved to create the footage after viewing an exhibition of Japanese art, including images of women who had returned as ghosts to haunt their husbands; titled Perdu dans les limbes (Lost in limbos), this divided projection of a woman is, too, an apparition, passe-muraille.

Sleeping Deep Red (Detail) (2017)

https://www.mariangoodman.com/exhibitions/208-annette-messager-sleeping-songs/works/artworks43927/

The phantoms of this exhibition are not just figments of the artist’s imagination. “I think the older I am, I have a lot of phantoms around me,” says Messager, “because I am older and I have lost many people — friends, family. They are with me.” A powerful exploration of life on both sides of the veil, Messager’s exhibition might also be seen, as the tragedy of the refugee and migrant crisis continues to unfold, as a reminder to allow people to pass through the walls.

Biography

Annette Messager was born in Berk-sur-Mer in 1943. She lives and works in Malakoff, just south of Paris. From the 1970s onward, Annette Messager’s work has been known for a heterogeneity of form and subject, ranging from the personal to the fictional, the social to the universal. Through an embrace of everyday materials, and principles of assemblage, collection and theatrical display, her diverse media has included construction, documents, language, objects, taxidermy, drawings, photographs, fabric, embroidery, image collections, albums, sculpture and installation. Messager has explored fairy tales, mythology, and doppelgangers throughout her œuvre. Often using reminiscence and memory as a vehicle for inspiration, Messager's wide range of hybrid forms has had an affinity with traditions as varied as the romantic, the grotesque, the absurd, the phantasmagoric.

Annette Messager was awarded the Praemium Imperiale for sculpture in 2016. She won the Golden Lion for best national pavilion at the 51st Venice Biennale in 2005. The Tel Aviv Museum of Art will present a major exhibition of her work in 2020. Recently she has exhibited at the Institut Giacometti in Paris (2018), the Institut Valencià Art Modern (IVAM) in Spain (2018), and the Villa Medici in Rome (2017). In France, an important exhibition was put in at the Musée des Beaux-Arts and at the Cité de la Dentelle et de la Mode in Calais, in 2015–16. In 2014 Messager had major exhibitions at the Museum of Contemporary Art MCA, Sydney, and at K21 in Düsseldorf. Earlier solo shows have been exhibited at the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo in Monterrey (MARCO), Mexico (2011); the Hayward Gallery in London (2009); the Espoo Museum of Modern Art (EMMA), Finland (2008); the National Museum of Contemporary Art, Seoul, South Korea (2008); and the Mori Art Museum in Tokyo (2008). A major retrospective of her work was organised by the Centre Pompidou, Paris, in 2007.