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hannahhook7744 · 2 years ago

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Isle kid Moodboards revamped part 2;

Marya Grigorievna Rasputin, the 20 year old daughter of Grigori Efimovic Rasputin and Baba Yaga (bartok the magnificent).

One of the medics of Harriet Hook's crew.

Lover of skeletons, magic, taxidermy, bugs, roses, and whiskey cake.

Not too great st speaking English.

Bestfriend of Big Murphy and Claudine Frollo.

Currently single.

Reza Vizer, the 15 year old son of the former Royal Astronomer of Agrabah and a harem girl as well as the adoptive son of Mozenrath and Sadira. Older brother of Omar and Alya.

He is the forensics expert of the Badun Detective Agency and is rivals with Carlos De Vil as well as a student at Dragon Hall.

He's good with swords, daggers, guns, tea, and breaking and entering, and He always acts like he is the smartest in the room (which he is most of the time) and doesn't like it when that title is challenged because he has earned that title.

He also doesn't like it when people treat him like he's less than Carlos, which is why he didn't join the Anti-heroes club (because it was being run by Yen Sid who is not found of him at all).

He is dating Yzla Sorcerer of Enchancia.

Claudine Esther-May Frollo, the 19 year old daughter of Claude Frollo.

She is homeschooled and apart of Harriet's crew, the Bad Apples, and the Anti-heroes club. She is also the bell ringer at Dragon Hall.

She is left handed and a redhead who loves science, art, music, sweets, and things being fair. Which of course while paired with her beauty did not bode well for her due to how her father is.

She works at her father's crepes shop and is dreaming of the day she can escape with her friends.

She has a thing for Lefou Deux.

Richard 'Rick' Perseus Ratcliffe, the 21 year old son of Governor John Ratcliffe.

He is apart of Harriet's crew, The LeGume Hunting Club, and The Bad Apples.

He and his dad do not get along at all due to many factors—like his dad being racist and naming him after his dog. If anyone dare mention the origin of his middle name, they will get a black eye from him.

He had his own pug named Prometheus.

Once when he and Clay Clayton were young and rough housing, he accidentally knocked the other man out of a second story window at Hook's inlet. They're still friends though, surprisingly.

He also has a habit of saving people from water sources like John Smith, much to his father's annoyance.

He has two younger siblings (Rachel and Rory) and is very protective of them as well as the kids of his father's former crewmates who got stuck on the isle with him.

He is dating Mad Maddy.

Claymore 'Clay' Comrade Clayton, The 20 year old son of William Clayton.

He is a member of the Bad Apples, Harriet's crew, and The LeGume Hunting Club.

Though unlike his dad he doesn't enjoy poaching or being crueler than necessary when hunting because it makes him uncomfortable, so he avoids doing it.

He loves graffiti and sailing and the jungle as well as tree climbing, rope swinging—on vines—, and partying. He also likes carving his intails into things and rough housing.

Especially with Rick and Anthony.

He and Rick once overdid it and he ended up getting thrown through a window, which no one has let them live down since.

He and his dad have a volatile relationship, which is arguably better than what most kids on the isle have, though those in Auardon would argue that that's still bad. He gets along alot better with his aunt and brothers though and has no clue who his mother maybe.

He has no problem with speaking his mind, which gets him in trouble often. He has tons of weapons as well as a stuffed grollia and would get along swimmingly with Tarzan and Jane, and their family. Especially their son, Taylor, who is just as rambunctious as he is.

He doesn't have the best grades but he's a good person and arguably Ginny's conscious, and that's all that matters, right?

Also he's terrified of getting hung like his dad and the idea of drowning again.

He's protective of his younger brothers, Cassius and Wilson, and is dating Ginny Gothel.

Jadeana 'Jade' of Agrabah, the 19 year old daughter of Nasira and the niece of Jafar.

She is in Harriet's crew and is the messenger of the isle, so no one really messes with her.

She's a bit of a loner but when she cares about people, she cares about them deeply—i.e. Jay. She'd help him steal so he could stock Jafar's shop quicker and so he would get hit or have to sleep outside. She rarely ever goes near Jafar's shop—since her mom who isn't all bad strictly forbade it—but when she does, it's to see Jay.

She was heartbroken when Jay left without saying goodbye but slowly over time she's gotten angry and bitter and resentful because she thinks he forgot about her.

She likes crocodile wrestling since it's an easy way to get out her aggression and she has two pets—a snake named Hassan and a parrot named Tygo.

She has magic but goes to Dragon Hall because she thinks the witch school is pointless on the isle.

Oh and she's dating Jonas Olympian (a member of Uma's crew).

Hermione 'Hermie' Leona Bing, the 14 year old daughter of The Ringmaster and Miss Atlantis.

She is a member of the Badun Detective Agency and as well as the Anti-heroes club.

She was an orphan by 7 and left to run what was left of her father’s circus on the isle.

She lives by herself with her animals in her father’s old trailer by the woods where the circus tents and trailers are located.

She is known as an animal whisperer and a Jack of all trades on the isle because she can do nearly every circus act there is.

She obsessed with circus related things—ESPECIALLY clowns.

She is in denial about the true nature of her parents' deaths and is emotionally and mentally unstable due them.

She has quite a sweet tooth—especially when it's traditionally considered circus food.

She collects glass figures as well as odd/deformed furniture, toys, and photos (along with just vintage photos in general) and loves colorful things.

She also loves reading, filing, painting, dagger throwing, acrobatics, gymnastics, dancing, playing games, and taking care of animals.

Her and Eddie Balthazar are dating.

Edmund 'Eddie' Seraiah Balthazar, the 15 year old son of Sarah Dear /Aunt Sarah and Edgar Balthazar.

He is apart of the Anti-heroes club and the Badun Detective agency.

He has alot of old school hobbies like croquet and crochet, golf, birdwatching, and collecting things. Things like stamps, coins, and bugs. He likes reading and listening to music and writing and he loves picnics, sewing, and knitting.

He had a litter of kittens that he adores as well as a motorcycle.

He also likes red wine, coffee, tea, champagne, slushie, hard candy, chicken pot pie, cigar, and toast with beans. Not that his parents know that he likes alcohol.

He usually shows little more than indifference to those outside his inner circle and has been taking care of his elderly parents (and their pets) since he was 9.

He is dating Hermie Bing.

Gaston Junior and Gaston the 3rd LeGume, the 21 year old sons of Gaston LeGume and Laurette. Aka Junior and Bronze.

They are hard heads lacking in education because of their father and can hold one hell of a grudge (as well as an ox) but have hearts of gold. When it comes to the people they care about that is.

They are both members of Harriet's crew and have many shared (and differing) hobbies.

They are very protective of their little brother (and sister) and their little cousins, even if they love getting under their skin at times.

Junior is dating Daphne Tremaine and Bronze is dating Sammy Smee.

Also Junior has a bad leg from trying to ram through the barrier with his dad.

Gemma Enchtra LeGume, the 3 year old (by d3) daughter of Gaston and the Enchantress. She is the younger half sister of the Gaston twins and Gil as well as the younger cousin of LeFou Deux, Claire Bimbette, and La Foux Doux (by default).

She is every bit as good, innocent, and bubbly as Gil is. She loves Magic, fruit, candy, roses, lifting rocks, animals, the forest, mirrors, and adores her older siblings and cousins with all her heart. She also loves her parents too despite not knowing them all too well.

Oh and she likes weight-lifting, though her elder family members don't allow her to do it.

And she loves mirrors as well and carries around the doll that her brothers and LeFou Deux made her.

She is my oc based on the toddler from d1.

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daeranilen · 2 years ago

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Honestly, the more I think about Ogino “I kill for the concept” Ryo putting Jane Austen’s ostensible (seriously, is there a legitimate source for this?) last words on his gun, the more I think this man absolutely believes “I want nothing but death” is the hardest shit anyone could ever say before they went out, and not the words of an extremely ill woman either making a bleak joke or just fully giving up.

Ogino tells Rei that killing allows him to answer questions like, “What is this person’s reason for being? What will he see as his life passes before his eyes? What’s the thing he cares about more than anything?” These questions are fundamentally about living, but living is messy. Human. It lacks aesthetic sensibility. He’s curious about it, but he doesn’t much care for it. The answers he collects are mundane desires that he can’t relate to.

But “I want nothing but death”? I have zero doubt that he admires the conceptual purity of that answer. After all, what does Ogino want in life? Nothing but death - to kill, and to assert his mastery over life through that killing. This is why he claims to kill “for the concept,” why he tells Rei he’s checking the answers to his questions, why he collects last words. He ends a life and renders it inert and therefore knowable, something he can grasp in its entirety and then tuck away as a precise little note in his grim little notebook. Like our leads, he hasn’t really got normal living figured out, but he’s certainly decided his approach to mastering it.

Ogino Ryo has not read Jane Austen. He’s a pseudo-intellectual who sees a kindred spirit in a woman whose “last words” he probably stumbled on in a coffee table collection of famous quotes about death. If somehow these last few episodes reveal he’s actually got literary inclinations, I will eat my English literature textbook.

#buddy daddies #fandom meta #i'm popping off tonight i guess #you can't pin joy like a moth but ogino ryo will certainly give it his best

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autisticsupervillain · 1 year ago

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FTF: Isekai Invasion

The show where we take a character and drop them into a different franchise at a random location to see if they can conquer the world.

This Episode....

Mary Jane Watson invades Mount Massive Asylum!

Conditions:

Insomniac Games's Mary Jane

MJ as of Spider-Man 2 with all her associated equipment.

MJ will be replacing Miles Upshur in the plot of the original Outlast with all the same goals. If she can escape the Asylum alive with all the evidence needed to bring Murkoff to justice, that will count as a win.

MJ cannot call in the Spider-Men or anyone else for help.

Scenario:

The same set up as Outlast but with MJ replacing Miles Upshur. Mary Jane Watson, reporter for the Daily Bugle, gets an anonymous email from a burner account about the atrocities being committed by Murkoff at Mount Massive and goes in to investigate. MJ speculates that the building has a jammer when she mysteriously losses all signal after getting in range, but she pushes on regardless. It is only after MJ can no longer get out the way she came in that she realizes the building has been overrun, leaving her no choice but to push in deeper.

Invader: MJ

Mary Jane Watson. One of the most iconic damsels and love interests in comic book history. Though iconic for her role as damsel in distress in the Rami movies, Insomniac's Mary Jane is more in line with her comic counterpart. She's a freelance reporter capable of kicking as much ass as her superhuman boyfriend sometimes and she'll do anything to unbury the truth.

She's surprisingly an expert in stealth and infiltration. She's snuck into the compounds of crime lords like Tombstone and Hammerhead, snuck past the international mercenaries of Silver Sable and her men, and avoided capture by Kraven the Hunter's mercenaries. Using her boyfriend's Spider Lures as a distraction, she's even managed to break into the Oscorp undetected.

While writing a book on the country of Symkaria, MJ got some self defense training from Silver Sable herself, as well as a fancy new taser that can drop a goon in one shook. She later upgraded this taser gun with Peter's gadgets, allowing it to shoot webs and shoot sonic blasts loud enough to ward off a symbiote behemoth. With these tools, she's able to take down Kraven's hunters, who are strong enough to kick down steel doors with a single kick snd survive rpg rockets exploding in their face. These are the same rockets that usually explode with an energy equivalent to 650 kilojoules.

Source:

What's more, MJ is fast enough to dodge arrows from a hunter's crossbow, which csn travel up to 350 feet per second or 106.68 meters per second.

Source:

Honestly, Mary Jane Watson is kind of a badass. She's escaped from being captured by Kraven's hunters, fought her way through a symbiote hive, outrun a Symbiote controlled Spider-Man trying to kill her, and managed to fight off the control of the Scream Symbiote, with some help from Peter.

This MJ is a far cry from the damsel in distress she's stereotyped as and she's just as vital a member of Spider-Man's team as the Spider-Men themselves.

Invaded: Mount Massive

The Murkoff Corporation could never be said to have had a sterling reputation. The company had an unofficial history of human experimentation and exploitation. Never on American soil, of course. Never anywhere that the American public would actually care about. Not until they bought out Mount Massive Asylum.

Because if there's one group that Americans care about less than foreigners, it's the mentally ill.

Murkoff wanted to exploit the theories of the retired Nazi Dr. Wernicke by diving into dream theory. The enlisted him in their Morphogenic Engine program, hoping to summon, empower, and control the nanotechnological ghost known only as the Walrider. To this end, the experimented on the mentally ill, physically and psychologically torturing them. Turning the compatible into human engines so their nightmares could fuel the god they wished to enslave while leaving the incompatible to rot and die. Even loyal members of the company, like executive Richard Trager and Father Martin Archimbaud, were used as test subjects at the earliest convenience. The variants, as they were called, begain to mutate and deform. Tumors formed over their bodies, clogging their mouths and block their eyes. Their hair begain to fall out and they emancipated into borderline skeletons.

The variants pre-existing conditions worsened. At best, they became catatonic and unresponsive to the outside world. At worst, they became violent and murderous.

And then they found a subject fully compatible with the Walrider. Able to sustain it, control it, and survive as its host. Billy Hope. As soon as he was in control, all hell broke loose. The Variants broke out and happily took their revenge on their tormentors. Scientists and security alike were butched like pigs, heavily armed soldiers were impaled on pikes. And the Walrider was set free.

Notable Variants include the likes of Eddie Glusken, a misogynistic serial killer who was only made worse by the Morphogenic Engine. Granted superhuman strength by the treatments, he was now strong enough to lift a full grown man off the ground with one arm. "Doctor" Richard Trager was now strong enough to cut off limbs, decapitate his victims, and cut open the gates to the elevator with his giant scissors. And every varienty in the build was now strong enough to bash down doors and kill reporter Miles Upshur, who survived a massive explosion that blew him out a window. An explosion thst generated an energy equivalent to 11,840 kilojoules.

Source:

But the most dangerous Variant in the entire building was Chris Walker. Once a simple war veteran suffering from severe PTSD, Chis became a killing machine with an enhanced sense of smell, hearing, and sight that could let him track down his victims even in the dark. Obsessed with containing the threat of the Walrider, Chris's judo skills and military training make him a veritable beast, capable of easily ripping Miles's head clean off with one hand and bashing down reinforced steel doors.

But even he is still just a man next to the Walrider. A futuristic marvel of nanotechnology that feeds off the dreams of its host to survive, the Walrider can fly, go through walls, go through your pores and rip you apart from the inside, and is nigh-invisible to the naked eye, only complely visible on night vision cameras or during the day.

The only issue, however, is that the Walrider is completely submissive to the will of its perfect host, reliant on them to survive. And if its host is not perfect, as Miles Upshur turned out to be, they will be reduced to a walking corpse overtime by the possession.

Mount Massive Asylum represents one of the biggest atrocities committed in the name of corporate greed. A warcrime that even drew the digust of the Nazi forced to work on it. No one cares about "a building full of forgotten lunatics". Let it burn, I say.

Throwdown Breakdown:

The stats on this one are rather interesting. Miles Upshur is 11x more durable than the goons MJ can one-shot, meaning every single thug in the building is going to be strong enough to rip MJ apart if they get their hands on her, seeing how Miles is almost completely helpless against them.

But, none of the Variants have ever demonstrated superhuman speed, meaning they're absolutely never catching MJ, who can move fast enough to dodge subsonic projectiles. Sure, Chris Walker is fast, but MJ is faster than a speeding car. If he doesn't get the drop on her or corner her, he's not getting his hands on her.

Then there's MJ's other gadgets. Her sonic blasts will likely have no effect, as they're specifically designed to fight Symbiotes and ordinary humans are unaffected. At most, I could see them potentially stunning Chris Walker due to his advanced hearing. MJ's noise devices could be a good distraction, but her taser could likely be tanked due to how much stronger the Variants are. On the flipside, I don't see any of the varients breaking free of her webbing. This is the exact same webbing Peter regular uses to lift cars and restrain his supervillains. That's a bit out of the league of most Variants. Meaning she could probably skip Trager's whole segment by webbing him to the wall, which is admittedly funny.

This is compounded by MJ's far superior stealth. Walker might be a military veteran, but MJ's snuck past some of the best international mercenaries on the planet. It's no contest on that front, even with Chris's enhanced senses.

It's with the Walrider that this becomes tricky.

The Walrider isn't invisible or intangible in the same way, say, a ghost is. It's basically a cloud of microscopic nanites. It's difficult to spot and touch because it's a very thin cloud. For most people in most circumstances, it's difficult to spot until it's basically right in front of you, at which point it's too late to escape. This means that I'm pretty confident in it getting through MJ's webs, even if some of its components get stuck.

The issue is how damn fast MJ is. The second it appears in her face, she's gone halfway down the hall. It doesn't help that it prefers to throw its victims around before killing them, which would only give MJ the opportunity to escape.

I think the Walrider could easily end MJ's run if it got the drop on her. Which it very well could. It got the drop on Miles several times and he actually has the means to see it coming in less than optimal conditions, something MJ wouldn't without a night vision camera.

But, this is where MJ's superior stealth comes into play. With a sneaking ability far superior to Miles and a speed that the Walrider can't keep up with, MJ could avoid getting ambushed by the Walrider by never getting found by it in the first place.

There are plenty of scenarios where MJ gets ripped apart or, worse, possessed by the Walrider. But there are more where MJ uses her superior stealth and speed to avoid it long enough to complete her mission. And once she kills Billy Hope, whose sitting helpless in a tube at this point, the Walrider wouldn't be able to make her a new host to survive due to her just being too fast for it to catch.

Overall, I think Ms. Watson has all the skills she needs to get the scope she's after.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Mary Jane Watson!

#fictional throwdown fridays #isekai invasion #mary jane watson #Insomniac's spider-man #outlast #mount massive asylum #chris walker #walrider #richard trager

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theeverlastingshade · 1 year ago

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100 Favorite Songs of 2023

100. Dust Bunny- Crumb

99. Fever- Yaeji

98. I Saw- Young Fathers

97. Steppa Pig- JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown

96. Retriever- Braids

95. Meant To Be- Wilco

94. Obscure- Jlin

93. Sparks- Cornelius

92. Prizefighter- Youth Lagoon

91. TV in the Gas Pump- Wednesday

90. Moonlight- Kali Uchis

89. Time Bandits- Angel Olsen

88. FLA- Empty Country

87. Satanist- boygenius

86. Tiny Garden- Jamila Woods ft. duentita

85. dazies- yeule

84. Club People- Alan Palomo

83. Out of Town- Hotline TNT

82. Don’t Let the Devil- Killer Mike ft. El-P & thankyougoodsir

81. Ms. America- Bully

80. Everybody (Source Codes)- Mach Hommy & Tha God Fahim

79. I Believe- Caroline Polachek

78. Swing (In a Dream)- Squid

77. Champagne Shit- Janelle Monáe

76. HEAVEN TO ME- Tyler, the Creator

75. Rosa Rugosa- Olof Dreijer

74. It Must Change- Anohni and the Johnsons

73. Dangle from the smoke ring- draag me

72. moonworld- Full Body 2

71. Town Crank- Clark

70. Imagination- Parannoul

69. Freak- feeble little horse

68. Mount Meigs- Lonnie Holley

67. This Stupid World- Yo La Tengo

66. Bloom- Blue Lake

65. Rats Come To Play- Bruiser and Bicycle

64. Flimsier- King Krule

63. skin meadow- Home Is Where

62. Sun Girl- Julia Holter

61. Aurora- Infant Island

60. THE GOV’T GAVE US GUNS- ICECOLDBISHOP

59. Everlasting Days- John Cale ft. Animal Collective

58. King- Chat Pile

57. Another One Another- Drop Nineteens

56. Rabbit- Youth Lagoon

55. Goodbye Evergreens- Sufjan Stevens

54. the CIA- glass beach

53. True Life- Water From Your Eyes

52. I Thought You’d Change- Hotline TNT

51. Say It Like You Mean It- Sleater-Kinney

50. Divers- Model/Actriz

49. Peach Fuzz- Mandy, Indiana

48. Wall of Eyes- The Smile

47. Laura- M83

46. Uncertainty Principle- L’Rain

45. Rudolph- MJ Lenderman

44. Fling- Jane Remover

43. D.A.R.E.- ICECOLDBISHOP

42. Paces- feeble little horse

41. Babylon By Bus- billy woods & Kenny Segal ft. ShrapKnel

40. Defeat- Animal Collective

39. Arrival- Parannoul

38. Changing Channels- Pangae

37. Turkey Vultures- Wednesday

36. Freak Me Now- Jessie Ware

35. The Blades- Squid

34. Suspended- Sampha

33. blue trio- Full Body 2

32. Dustine- Empty Country

31. Wespennest- DJ Koze

30. I Got Heaven- Mannequin Pussy

29. Making the Band (Danity Kane)- Earl Sweatshirt

28. Younger & Dumber- Indigo de Souza

27. Contact- Kelela

26. everyday feels like 9/11- Home Is Where

25. New Utensils- Fever Ray

24. borealis dancing- Jaimie Branch

23. I Can't Hush- Lonnie Holley ft. Jeff Parker

22. Three Drums- Four Tet

21. STUNTMAN- Tyler, the Creator ft. Vince Staples

20. We Thought the Sky- Bruiser and Bicycle

19. Pinking Shears- Mandy, Indiana

18. Year Zero- billy woods & Kenny Segal ft. Danny Brown

17. Unbreak My Love- Nourished By Time

16. Vampire Empire- Big Thief

15. Sleepless- Model/Actriz

14. Bath County- Wednesday

13. Blossom- Parannoul

12. Shit Talk- Sufjan Stevens

11. Bending Hectic- The Smile

10. N/Y- The Haxan Cloak

9. Raven- Kelela

8. Sinatra Drive Breakdown- Yo La Tengo

7. Barley- Water From Your Eyes

6. We Shine at Night- Parannoul

5. Kandy- Fever Ray

4. Lips- Jane Remover

3. floral organs- Home Is Where

2. Quarry- Wednesday

1. Pocket- feeble little horse

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shhisp · 1 year ago

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1.I read your hc about Alpha Kids education and I wonder how much of Grandma English not telling Jake about HIC was because she thought she still had more time. Like he was still very little when she died. But at the same time for me it makes Jake look very sharp that he managed to survive on that island. Buuut yeah, he wouldn't survive normal school (mood).

2. Im really curious if you have hc about Jake relationship with Jade? I'm still sad that them being penpals and clearly friends for years was ignored in Homestuck. They build murderbunny together! Best bonding time ever. Plus I bet that Dirk was veeeeeery jealous that Jake build a ROBOT with SOMEONE ELSE for SOMEONE ELSE.

1. I do think she told him ENOUGH about HIC that, like, he got a helping of generational trauma from both Condy and LE which I love because angst. I do think she would've told him more, though, when he was... you know, older. But I can just as easily see her not going into true graphic detail about the stuff she used to experience. You have Jake remembering vividly about her mother killing her dog, but she told of a more "fantastical" tale despite that detail, curiously enough. Jade has so much she just builds up inside of her that I don't think she'd ever say enough to make Jake feel as truly devastated as she knew he probably would. I imagine she told him about Bec first and foremost, which had Jake spiraling, the poor boy. She tried to tell him what she could without breaking his heart ):

2. I could probably talk about Jade and Jake and their relationship together for fucking ages and all the different dynamics, because imo there's an infinite amount of ways I handle them in my head! In which case I'll probably go into my favorite platonic dynamic for them post-game, which I've done a LOT of thinking over since 2017.

Platonic route aside I love Dirk being jealous of Jade anyway. Jake clearly went to his grandma first and foremost as his main source of comfort after such a traumatizing game and a messy breakup with a hint of sexual assault to boot, and this is more or less Hussie-confirmed! In the epilogues, out of all the direct pairs (John and Jane, Dave and Dirk, Rose and Roxy), Jade and Jake seem to be the absolute closest with each other! And the umm. Well the whole Harlenglish annual orgy thing which is....... MOVING ON!

I think she always ends up seeing him as more of her grandson than she does her grandpa, especially since they know each other as kids and all! Jake, though, just naturally seems to fit into the role of soft submissive boy raised by an awesome woman trope. He greatly idolizes her, just like he canonically does John, who I imagine he saw as more of a "Poppop" than Jane did, seeing as everything Jade told him about dear old John! It's honestly so adorable I could cry! Jake loves his family to bits and pieces and it's so... SO very wholesome.

I have my own ideas about how John would see Dirkjake working out ("EB: how can a black eye be consensual??") but Jade I think definitely Gets It more than anyone. That being said she is so horribly hard on Dirk anyway. That's her baby boy her grandpa her grandson her BROTHER!!! and she will aim a gun at him if he does something fucking stupid (and he does that a lot, I think.) Dirk however respects her to hell and back and he's like. Alright. If my boyfriend's grandma tells me to kill myself I'm gonna respect her wishes, because she's right. A lot of mutual respect remains between them all the same, imo, especially when their main goal is to just see Jake happy. I love them getting closer and starting to talk about their shared interests more than life itself as the years go by.

The conversation when he calls Jade about wanting to get out of his relationship in the candy route is one of my favorite parts between them and says sooooooo much, even if we didn't get it in canon Homestuck proper. He trusts her more than even Roxy, at that point, and that personally says so much to me. Ugh I love them. Even when they're only cousins in some AUs I make, they're always two peas in a pod that almost always share the same bed when they can.

I have some other ideas of course that would be better suited for another post, and some particular details for Grandpa and Jade and Grandma and Jake (likewise, very specific circumstances) but this is how I like to write their relationship in almost every regard. Jane doesn't strike me as very protective at all, much as I love her, but Jade and Jake will defend each other to the ends of the Earth. Jake basically threatened Dave in candy for not giving her a child, imagine if he BROKE HER HEART!!!

Harlenglishes 4ever. I would do anything for more content of them together. 😭

#mail #meristuck

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owltypical · 1 year ago

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i've been grumbling about the branagh poirot movies a fair amount lately, and honestly i keep thinking about it in connection to that recent post about how differently and cynically movies are made these days, and how it all comes down to my big gripe that i've actually had for a long time now, about how modern media just doesn't trust the audience with adaptations of old books

it can't just be conversations and quiet thoughtful moments and characters acting like normal-ass people, there has to be ramped-up violence, gun fights, dramatic action, explosions, you gotta spice it up, and be sure to dumb down/minimize the dialogue

you can't have a full cast of characters of all kinds and let them be established and breathe, you have to get rid of a bunch or just combine them into fewer characters, and be sure to make them secret super criminals or turn them into something that has nothing to do with the source material at all, and make sure they've all been cast with generically attractive actors within a certain age range

like i remember a few years back trying to watch an adaptation of the bronte novel the tenant of wildfell hall because i'd liked the book a lot, and when it got to a part that had been relatively mild when written, suddenly it was a big violent fight sequence with intense dramatic music and was so wildly out-of-character and offbase that i immediately stopped watching

i have a strong fondness for the 2006 jane eyre miniseries, because the lead characters are so well-cast with good chemistry, but whenever i've gone back to watch it i actually just skip most of it to just get to certain scenes because there's so much that's just absurd and over-the-top and out of place

sometimes adaptations improve on books, sometimes greatly, but it's so tiresome to read something and then watch or look up info on the adaptation, and see how it's almost nothing like the source, it got changed around to something almost completely different because poirot needs a tragic origin story and a love interest and to stand in front of explosions, elizabeth and mr. darcy have to have an extended hot sexy half-naked makeout at the end of the movie so you can know they're truly in love, mr. markham has to scream and beat the shit out of a dude for the drama, even a bunch of poirot and marple tv episode adaptions i've looked up change things to an absurd degree and make it flashier and more intense

i think that's why knives out was so refreshing when it came out, it's just a fucked up family in a house and an eccentric detective, it has tense moments and confrontations but nothing super outrageous, it's going for an old school character-based whodunnit vibe and it nails it far, far more successfully than anything branagh's ever done with his own ostensible period pieces

glass onion is definitely a lot more absurd and even has a big explosion, but at least that absurdity is established as a very particular brand of modern absurdity with particular modern subject matter, and large chunks of the movie are still thoughtful and well-plotted and just feature a bunch of people in a house, or sitting and talking and having very interesting conversations

all this rambling to say: please trust the audience more, it's okay for something to be relatively quiet and character-focused, let things breathe, let things be expansive, give the audience room to think and take things in, inspire the audience to consume media more thoughtfully and with more literacy, you don't have to distract them every five minutes with an explosion or a tiddy

#poirot posting #movie stuff #rant stuff #long post

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st-theskaterdude-blog · 4 months ago

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Thanks for the answer.

Trista is great. I'm always super excited to see more Black mutants get page time that isn't just Storm or Bishop when people aren't using him as a Cable stand-in.

Ewing is an Associate Professor in the Department of Race, Diaspora, and Indigeneity, so I don't have the usual worries about characters not feeling Black, for lack of a better term. I think my best example is how Bendis likes creating Black characters, but then it takes several more writers to make them feel like Black teens in America (maybe my problem is just with Bendis).

I liked Trista’s back-and-forth with Kitty—it was great. She really feels Gen Z in a way that other young X-characters should, technically, due to the sliding time scale, but don't. Ewing wrote for Champions, so I'm not too worried about the young cast in this, and I'm excited to meet Melee in issue #2.

I will say that her grandma's voice feels exactly like an older woman in my family because I've had that conversation, and it's great that she's supportive of her. In NYX Ms. Marvel, Kamala gets verbally accosted by a guy for being a mutant, and there's a woman in a hijab on his side. In a Cerebrocast episode, one of the writers commented that this was intentional, showing how that intersectionality can really alienate minorities from their own communities.

For Uncanny, my favorite is probably Calico. Some of my favorite characters in media are the "pretty rich girl with problems," and that's what I got here. Leaning into the mutant metaphor a bit, it reads very much like internalized homophobia. Her power is like Psylocke mixed with Ghost Rider and a dash of Jane Foster Valkyrie. She hangs out with mutants, and at the very least, Ransom cares about her safety, but she will look you dead in the eye and say she isn't a mutant.

Visually, she is probably the first or second most distinct of the group, being one of the few X-characters with an animal companion. I've found all the jokes about the horse actually being a mutant kind of funny.

I know the "dirty goblin" line seems weird, but I think that's just how she relates to all of this. Her powers turn her into a literal flaming paladin, so her parents had her process everything through fantasy terms. Like, if you insert "devils" instead of "goblins," she just sounds like a religious bigot.

I would be more into Deathdream if his name wasn't Deathdream, but I don’t think there’s a mutant character with manipulation of the dead, so I could see him being used in the future beyond this book—or killed off, with no in-between. Some have said he’ll stick around in some way because his powers make him undead, but a writer can always find a way. First Class Darwin taught me that.

I'm not too interested in Jitter, but Ransom having a black hole in his heart has me curious, and I want to know the application of that. It’s similar to Chamber and Xorn, but they have ways of expressing their mutations outside the body. He was just fighting hand-to-hand, so I think it’s just a power source in a Kirby and Maggot-like way. I do wonder if Simone is going to blow his chest open later in this run. To me, it seems like a Chekhov's gun—it has me asking the most questions and tickling the sci-fi part of my brain. He seems to fit the "cool guy" archetype, so I hope we get some more depth.

I'll definitely agree that their introduction isn't as strong as Trista, with them asking for help and Wolverine being an asshole. I chose to let the Eye of Agamotto thing go, hoping it comes back around, but Logan seems to be the least favorite part of this book so far. I haven't read his solo yet, so maybe that's better.

I wish the output of Exceptional matched Mckay's and Simone's stuff.

And I really love your page.

Do you have any thoughts about the new mutant kids from both exceptional and Uncanny?

Hey!

I loved Trista from Exceptional. They're likeable, vulnerable, really personable, kind but willing to push back against some pretty fucked up oppression. You only get one shot at a first impression and the moment a young mutant 'manifests' is a classic for a reason. It's tough to get all that across when a character is going through something terrifying and traumatic, but I think Ewing pulled it off well.

We get to meet their grandmother briefly who's super cool, and I found it endearing that they reached for friendship with Kitty. I'm not the right person to break down the race/mutant dichotomy there, but it shouldn't surprise that they look for allies and strengths in response to such an incident. I have a feeling we're going to see more of them and I'm eager. We've seen so many new mutants come and go without sticking around and it's one of the few sources of lasting change Marvel has.

Definitely a sweet and character establishing sequence.

As for the kids in Uncanny, we don't really get to know them very well. There's four of them (except one is not a mutant and says multiple racist/weird things) and the fight is super contrived IMO. It's like woo here's these kids, and we're fighting them for some reason, and they're winning for some reason, then they're not. It showed us they can throw hands which is cool, but I couldn't tell you their names or powers without looking them up and I've read that book double digit times to review it.

Dirty goblins, WTF? The goth kid is great though. I'm a sucker for weird goths that say odd shit and have gnarly powers. Not sure what those powers are, but the army of dead folks behind them are a hint as to what a 'Cyanide Dream' is. Could they be this Endling (last of their kind) people keep talking about? Maybe.

Super weird that two separate children have yelled that Rogue is hot in both issue 1 and 2 of Uncanny. I don't really get it tbh. For that matter, Rogue keeps talking about sex at odd moments.

Here's where we meet them properly. Deathdream sticks out again for me, simply because they're not talking like you'd expect them to. They could be just a goth kid who says fucked up stuff, or they could have wild death powers. Likely both. Them stinking of death is interesting, and I flipping the question back on 'Logan of the Trees' in Japanese (that they know he understands)was slick. Not sure I trust them but I want to know more.

Jitter didn't make much of an impression yet, and Ransom would be the same except for the 'Brotherhood' comment. (I swear that better not be about the Alaskan X-Men.) Calico... I'm not sure. I need to see more tbh. As a group I'm curious and see potential, and I'd like to see where this goes both narratively and characterisation-wise. 50/50 they're not what they seem, and I wonder what 'voice' directed them here. Xavier?

Thanks for the ask! What did you think of them?

#Calico #Uncanny x men #Wolverine #x men #marvel #comics #x comics #Exceptional X-Men #Bronze #Trista Marshall #Deathdream #Jitter #Ransom

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incorrect-hs-quotes · 4 years ago

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jake, frantically pointing a gun: Please dont lie to me jane.

jake: I know about your cooking.

jake: TAKE OFF THE HAT.

jane, calmly slicing a carrot: Jake, you are hallucinating.

jake: THERES A RAT

jane, who definitely has a rat on her head: And if you are wrong?

#edit: guys this is a ratatouille joke . i got the joke from a hannibal comic making a ratatouille joke #i guess you could say jake is....................sweating bullets #YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH #anyway source is a hannibal comic by @woodsjpeg #i know nothing about hannibal but its still so fuckin funny #homestuck #incorrect homestuck quotes #mod dave #jake english #jane crocker #ratatouille #gun ment #guns ment

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genieofthebooks · 2 years ago

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Incorrect quotes Ft. Mercy and Talia

Jane/Penny will just be called Jane as it is slightly easier for this.

(Gus as Mischa, I just couldn't find a group photo with everyone together)

Ricky: The floor is lava

Ocean: *Helps Constance on the table*

Mercy: *Kicks Mischa off the sofa

Jane: *Lies on the floor*

Ricky: Are you okay?

Jane: No

Ocean: Look from the outside it seems like I am holding it all together.

Noel: No it doesn't

Mercy: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it.

Talia: Mercy no.

Mischa: Mistlefoe.

Talia: Please stop encouraging her.

Mercy: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death?

Talia: How am I supposed to know?

Mischa: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult.

Talia: *sighs*

Talia: You wouldn't be trapped.

Ocean: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Mischa: I'm a knife.

Talia, from across the room: They're the little spoon.

Jane: Mercy and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us

Ricky: *Sighing* What did Mercy do?

Jane: She chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and...

Mercy: Who wants a steering wheel?

Mercy: On a scale from “damn Daniel” to “fre sha vaca do”, how are you feeling?

Jane : In between “it’s an avocado, thanks” and “how did you defeat Captain America”, but as a solid answer I would say “I don’t need a degree to be a clothing hanger”. How about you, Ricky?

Ricky: Probably “road work ahead”.

Talia: I speak many languages, and this is none of them.

Mercy: Rules are made to be broken.

Ocean : They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.

Ricky: Uh, piñatas.

Constance: Glow sticks.

Mischa: Karate boards.

Noel: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.

Mercy: Rules.

Ocean:

Mercy, walking into her, Jane and Ricky's house house: Hello, people who do not live here.

Ocean : Hey.

Noel: Hi.

Constance: Hello.

Mischa: Hey!

Mercy: I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only!

Noel: We were out of Doritos.

Mercy, threatening the others with a paintball gun: Listen... Life comes at us fast. We don't know what life is gonna give us... And today, it's gonna give you... a paintball!

Store Worker: Would a Ms Mercy Bachinski please come to the front desk?

Mercy, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker: points to Mischa and Noel

Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?

Mischa and Noel, simultaneously: We got lost :(

Mercy: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

#noel gruber #ricky potts #ride the cyclone #constance blackwood #mischa bachinski #ocean rtc #jane doe #jane doe rtc #mischa rtc #mischa x talia #rtc ocs #spacedolls #ocean o'connell rosenberg #incorrect quotes

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

Text

can i be gentle?

Words: 7.1k

Relationships: Jon & Tim, Tim & Martin

Tags: Canon Divergence, Tim Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Post-Unknowing, Injury Recovery

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/ideations, blood, injury, hospitals and hospitalization, survivor's guilt, body horror, minor gore, gun and knife violence, mentions of death, mentions of canon-typical worms, implied child abuse, meat, alcohol, swearing, crying, smoking

Ao3 link in source

Tim aches. It’s full-body, radiating through his arms and back and legs, and he wishes more than anything that he could go to sleep, to chase away the pain for at least a little while. It feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

Or been on the receiving end of several kilos of C4 igniting all at once. But that metaphor’s a bit too on-the-nose, in his opinion.

He should be dead. He should be dead.

(Does he wish he were dead? He hadn’t cared, in those few moments of clarity before he pushed the button on the detonator and the colors solidified into black nothingness, whether or not he would wake up when the smoke cleared. It’s hard to tell. He’d attached so much of himself to revenge, before, when it was easier than feeling everything else bubbling up underneath, and now that it’s been ripped away from him, he doesn’t know what emotion should be filling the gap. Probably relief.

He doesn’t feel relieved.)

The nurse is speaking to him. Her lips are moving, but he can’t hear her. His ears ring and ring and ring, and it sounds like spirling, mocking laughter.

They do some tests. Blast-induced hearing loss, the pamphlet they give him proclaims. Prognosis is good. Most patients recover in 6 weeks. Hearing aids can help with high frequencies.

His ears ring and ring and ring, and he’s alive.

He’s alive.

Jon is not.

“It’s because of him, you know.”

Martin startles badly at Tim’s voice. Tim wonders if it had been too loud; the ringing in his ears is incessant, and every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a very, very far distance. He moves a bit further into the room that they’ve placed Jon in, his hands shaking where they grip the wheels of the wheelchair they’d given him. Hard to walk when your leg is shattered. And some ribs as well.

Martin says something, Tim thinks, as he’s turning. His eyes are wide and rimmed with red, and he’s looking at Tim expectantly. Tim sighs, then winces as the motion sends tendrils of pain through his ribcage. “I can’t hear you, Martin. Either speak up—way, way up—or just… move your lips more or something. I don’t care.”

“What?” Martin enunciates, and it’s so ridiculous, Tim wants to cry.

He answers anyway.

“Me. Being here. I’m alive because… because of him.”

It was stupid, thinking he could protect Tim from an entire building collapsing on top of them. But his hand had gripped Tim’s wrist and he’d pulled him to the floor and he’d covered Tim’s body with his own, so when the shock wave had hit, Jon had gotten the worst of it.

Tim refuses to feel guilty about it. He does anyway. Because they’d argued, and Jon had stalked him, and Tim had cultivated his anger and fear into a simmering ember deep in his chest, but at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t supposed to survive.

Jon was.

Tim swallows, hating the bitter taste in his mouth, and says, “Do you… do you think he’s going to wake up?”

Martin says something, too softly for Tim to hear. His mouth twists into something small and pained, and he looks at the floor.

It’s answer enough.

Tim doesn’t ask again.

They arrest Elias a few hours later, after Martin’s collected himself enough to bring his plan to completion. Tim’s only regret is that he isn’t able to see the look on Elias’s face as he’s dragged away.

Knowing Tim’s luck, he’d probably have just looked smug.

The name Peter Lukas crosses Martin’s lips, spelled out in exaggerated motions when he visits Tim again. Tim thinks, absurdly, of the hydra. Cut off one head, two grow back.

Lukas probably won’t be better. Knowing their luck, he’ll be much worse. But Tim thinks of the way Melanie had shaken after she’d come out of Elias’s office, of the haunted look in Martin’s eyes when Tim had asked how his plan went, and can’t find it within himself to care.

They release him from the hospital with a hefty prescription of pain meds, small plastic hearing aids tucked in each ear, and a thick folder of discharge papers. Martin’s there when they do; the bags under his eyes are dark and smudged, and he nods mechanically as the nurses talk to him, outlining Tim’s care regime for the next few weeks. His eyes keep flicking to the side, to the corridor that leads to the long-term care section of the hospital. Wordlessly, Tim reaches over and takes Martin’s hand in his, giving it a single squeeze before holding it tightly.

Martin lets out a breath through his nose and squeezes back.

“Do you want me to, er. To take you back to yours?” Martin asks once they’re out, his voice on the softer side of muffled and overlaid with that constant ringing but audible enough now that he doesn’t have to shout.

Tim feels something almost like embarrassment curling in his stomach. “I, uh. I don’t have a place anymore.” Tim drums his fingers on his thighs, looks at the ground, and says, “I canceled my lease. About a week before we left for Great Yarmouth.”

There’s silence between them—or at least, as close to silence as Tim can get right now. Tim thinks Martin says something, a word or two brushing up against the edges of what the hearing aids allow him to hear, but he can’t grasp any of it. So, Tim looks up at Martin, at the pinched, pained expression on his face, and says, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Martin says bitterly. “That you never expected to come back? Yeah, I got that part. I even got why, you know? Doesn’t make it better, though. I didn’t want to lose you, Tim.” Martin pauses, then says, so quietly Tim can barely hear it, “I didn’t want to lose anybody.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. But that’s not how this works. We were never going to all survive. Everything is fucked, and it still is, and it always will be.

“I’m sorry,” he says and finds he means it. Then, to clarify: “For hurting you. And… and for Jon.” He doesn’t elaborate on that point. He doesn’t know what he would say even if he tried. “But I’m not sorry for going, and I’m not sorry for pressing that button. If I would have died, I wouldn’t have been sorry for that either.”

“Right,” Martin says slowly. “But you didn’t. And the Circus is gone now, so do you…?”

“Do I still want to kill myself?”

Martin winces.

“Hey, your question, not mine,” Tim says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. After a moment, his hands drop back to his lap, and he gives a small shrug. “Don’t know. I knew I would do what I needed to in order to destroy the Circus, and I did. Thought I would die in the process, but I didn’t. I’m still trapped in the world’s shittiest job, and I don’t really…”

Tim shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then, because it feels true: “It was never… it was never the dying bit I was chasing, you know. I didn’t do this because I thought it would be a good way to get killed. I did it for Danny, and that’s it. Plain and simple. So if you’re asking if I want to die, the answer is no. But I can’t guarantee that I won’t make the same decision again if I have to.”

Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, calmer than Tim expects, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tim echoes. Then, with a levity that only feels slightly forced: “I suppose it’s back to your place, then. Just be sure to buy me dinner first.”

Martin doesn’t smile at that like he used to, but his face does soften a bit. His voice is lighter when he says, “Oh, I will. Within your dietary restrictions, that is. Which means no alcohol.”

Tim groans. “You’re no fun.”

“Uh huh.”

They begin the commute back to Martin’s flat, and the atmosphere between them grows more lighthearted than it’s been in months. Tim feels something warm and familiar curl in his chest, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this. It’s not quite easy conversation, not like it used to be, but it’s nice all the same.

Tim’s ears ring, and his entire body aches, and he still feels a numbness in his core in the shape of suspicious glances and calliope music and a face he can’t remember, but for the first time in a long, long time, he allows himself to smile.

Tim doesn’t visit Jon often. At first, it’s the guilt, acute and cloying and weighing him down. Then, it’s old hurt and stale anger, resurfacing and driving away any passing thought of Jon that isn’t tinged with bad memories and broken trust. After that, it’s just habit.

It also hurts, if he lets himself admit it. To see Jon lying there, motionless and clad entirely in white, the heart monitor attached to him reading out a constant horizontal line even as his eyes move in small, jerky motions behind his eyelids.

See? a part of him whispers. He’s not human. Maybe he never was. Maybe he was always a monster, and you just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A newer part of him, one that gets more prominent by the day, recognizes that even if Jon isn’t human anymore, he never would have chosen this. This stasis, this half-death. Not what came before, either. That part of him remembers the way Jon’s hand had gripped his tightly as they’d opened that trapdoor, and how it had continued to do so even as the worms had begun to bite into their skin. He’d tried to protect Tim then, too, putting himself between Tim and Jane Prentiss. For all the good it did, when the worms began to come from all directions. But Tim remembers the way the terror and pain in Jon’s eyes had been tinged with sadness, with a silent apology as he gripped Tim’s hand hard enough to bruise and they both accepted that this was it.

It hadn’t been, in the end. And now it is, with Jon all-but-dead and Tim still here, wheeling his way into Jon’s hospital room for the first time in weeks.

He’s halfway in before he realizes he’s not alone.

“Oh,” he says. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Martin lets out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Where else would I be?” he says, and it’s tinged with something bitter and broken that takes Tim a bit off-guard. It’s become almost routine now, for Martin to visit Jon, and usually, he comes back looking drained but otherwise fine. Sometimes, when Tim asks him for status updates on our resident medical mystery, Martin even manages a small smile and responds, still dreaming.

Martin scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim realizes belatedly that he’s crying.

“Martin?” Tim says carefully, moving a bit closer to where Martin’s sitting. “Are you… did something happen?”

“No,” Martin says, his voice catching in a way that indicates that something very much did happen. “It’s fine.”

“Is it…?” Tim pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it about Jon?”

Martin’s laugh this time is more like a whimper. “Nope, he’s- he’s the same as always. Still asleep.”

Tim moves closer but doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically in the background, and he waits. Patience has never been his strong suit, but it’s been something that’s been required of him as of late, and he’s getting better at it.

He likes to think he’s getting better at a lot of things.

Martin doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. He stares at his hands where they rest just shy of one of Jon’s, his fingers restless against the sheets, coming up occasionally to fiddle with the thin black ring that rests on the middle finger of his right hand. Then, so quiet Tim almost can’t hear it, he says, “My mother died today.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. They’re empty words, but they’re better than the good riddance and about time and you’re better off without her sitting on the back of his tongue, begging to be released. He doesn’t think they would be appreciated right now, no matter how true they might be.

“Yeah,” Martin says. He’s still staring at his hands. “They called me a few hours ago. She… she passed away in her sleep. Natural causes. From- from her illness.” He falls silent for a few moments, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Then: “I… I think I should be sad?”

Tim studies Martin’s face—the tear tracks down his cheeks, the unhappy set to his mouth, the way he’s shaking ever so slightly where he sits. His face is one of grief, but Tim doesn’t ask. He waits for Martin to continue, and after a moment, Martin says, “She was the only family I had left. She- she was my mother. I took care of her, I- I did my best to be a- a good son.” He takes in a shaky breath, curls his hands into fists, and says, “I haven’t seen her in months, you know. I- I visited at first, but she… she never wanted to see me. So I just stopped going. I’d call, every Saturday, but it was the same every time. She’s resting. She doesn’t feel up to talking right now. Call later, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Finally, Martin looks at Tim, and the guilt in his eyes is so acute Tim can feel it cut through him to his core. “I should be sad that she’s dead, but… but all I can feel is relief. And that hurts. I- I don’t know… why am I relieved? God, she was right, I- I’m horrible, no wonder she- she never wanted to see me, I- why can’t I- I can’t—”

Martin cuts off with a wet sob, and all at once, Tim understands.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he collects Martin’s hands from the sheets, holds them tightly in his own. “You can feel however you like, it’s- it’s okay.”

He squeezes Martin’s hands, just once, and repeats, “It’s okay.”

He knows Martin won’t believe him. But still, he sits, and Martin cries, and he says, It’s okay.

It’s okay.

The hearing aids are a permanent fixture in his ears now, as most people have full hearing restoration after six weeks apparently doesn’t include him. The tinnitus is still particularly bad some days, but they help with everything else. It’s not perfect, but it’s a small price to pay for living, he supposes.

He’s not sure when, exactly, he decides that he’s glad he’s alive. But he does.

He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear at all, when the Flesh attacks. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the wet, sticky sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to move without bones slipping through the vents, shattering the relative peace they’d begun to cultivate. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the pops of Basira’s gun, bullets burying themselves in things that barely flinched at the contact. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear Melanie’s screams of anger, the responding screams of pain from things with too many eyes and teeth and limbs as her knife carved a violent path through them.

There are yellow doors and hands slick with blood and a sudden quiet as the last of the twisted, mangled creatures falls, sliced neatly in two in a way that’s just a bit too clean.

Melanie is breathing heavily, but her hands are steady and her eyes are hard with something raging and violent. When Basira reaches tentatively for her knife, saying, “It’s over now, Melanie. We’re- we’re safe,” Melanie stiffens but doesn’t resist.

“This isn’t right,” Tim says after Melanie comes back to herself in bits and pieces, enough to shudder at the blood coating her arms up to the elbows and mutter something he can’t quite catch before disappearing into the toilet. “None of this is. God, can we ever catch a fucking break?”

“We can deal with it later,” Basira says. She’s calm, but she can’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. Her Al-Amira is splattered with viscera. “Right now, we need to make a call. Get this cleaned up.”

“What,” Tim says bitterly, “so we can continue hiding away in the Archives? You’re the one who said we should start sleeping here. Should have known it wouldn’t be safe. It’s not like it was before.”

He rubs at one of the small circular scars on the back of his left hand, his skin crawling with a phantom itch that makes him vaguely nauseous.

“We stay here,” Basira says, leaving no room for debate. “We make the call, and we stay here.”

Tim makes a low, frustrated noise, and bites out, “Fine. Because Basira always knows best. Whatever.” He unlocks his wheelchair and says shortly, “I’m going outside for some fresh air. The smell of rotting meat is making me sick.”

Basira doesn’t follow him.

Martin does.

They situate themselves just outside the glass doors, and they don’t say anything for a long time. Martin still looks vaguely ill. His face is pale, and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His fingers are resting on his ring, twisting it back and forth, agitated. His shoes are stained a glistening red.

Finally, Martin tilts his head back so it hits the wall behind him and says to the air above him, “Is it horrible that I wish Jon were here?”

Tim snorts, anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin. “Because we’d have done so much better with our own flavor of spooky bullshit?” He bites out a bitter laugh. “Maybe he could have compelled them to explain exactly why every single monster out there has a personal vendetta against us. Working for an eldritch horror of voyeurism doesn’t give you much in terms of an offense.”

“Stop,” Martin says sharply. “You know what I mean.”

Tim does. He’s just not particularly inclined to wax nostalgic about the power of friendship and comradery when he’s got bits of meat stuck in his hair.

Still, he finds that he means it when he says, “I wish he was too. For what it’s worth. Which isn’t a fucking lot, but it’s what we’ve got.”

“Yeah,” Martin says. His hand brushes against Tim’s, and they fall back into silence.

The police arrive, followed closely by the ECDC. It’s a messy affair, even messier than the last time Tim had been in this situation, and Tim wants nothing more than to get away. Forever.

He doesn’t make any jokes this time. He just nods in the right places, and when they’re finally released and he and Martin return to a flat they haven’t seen in weeks, he can feel weariness cutting through him to the bone.

When he wakes the next day, Martin’s gone. His note, stuck to the door of the fridge, says, At the hospital. Be back around noon.

It’s ten in the morning, and the sunlight is bright as it streams in through the kitchen window.

Tim digs out the bottle of rum that Martin keeps tucked in the back of his cabinet and pours himself a drink.

“Peter Lukas wants me to be his assistant.”

Tim looks up from what’s turning out to be quite an impressive doodle of the little figurine of a frog in a top hat he’d purchased back in research from a charity shop and says, “Absolutely not.”

Martin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, holds it there for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know if I have a choice in the matter, really. It’s… it’s not safe here anymore.” Quieter: “He said he can help. Off- offer protection.”

Tim audibly scoffs at that. He sets down his pencil and notepad and crosses his arms across his chest. He can already feel a headache coming on. (More than the usual, that is. He’s almost able to tune out the constant ringing in his ears now.

Almost.)

“What’s he going to do, isolate them to death? It’s not like the Lonely’s any better of an offensive force than the Eye. We’re doing just fine without involving him.”

“Are we?” Martin’s voice is hard and a bit choked when he continues, “We’re living down here because it’s not safe to stay outside for too long. We’re still finding bits of- of flesh in- eugh.” Martin shudders and folds inward on himself. Quieter, enough so that Tim has to watch the motion of his lips to make out the words, he says, “Jon’s not waking up.”

Tim feels something inside of him twist. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what’s happening with him.” A touch bitterly—old habits die hard, he supposes—he says, “Maybe he’s just not done going through his monster metamorphosis yet.”

“Tim.”

Tim sighs. It’s a profoundly weary sound. “Yeah, yeah. I… I miss him too, you know.”

He’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie.

“Right.” A small, shaky smile crosses Martin’s face, and he says, “I- I suppose they’re right, then. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

“Somehow,” Tim says, “I don’t think whoever coined that phrase had this situation in mind.”

Martin’s smile fades as quickly as it had come, and Tim feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” he says, pushing away from the desk and wheeling across the room to where Martin sits. He hesitates, just a moment, before placing his hand on Martin’s where it rests on his knee. “I… I suppose I’ve forgotten how to be lighthearted about all of this.”

Martin nods. It’s a small motion. He’s silent for a long moment; Tim squeezes his hand and says nothing. Finally, Martin looks down at his hands and says, “It’s been four months, Tim. Nothing’s changed.” He pauses again, his mouth pinching around the edges. “I… I visited him today. I begged him to wake up, to- to do anything to indicate that he’s even still there. I don’t know why I expected him to answer. It’s not like anything’s different now. He- he’s never going to wake up, Tim.”

Martin’s voice cracks, and he repeats, wetly, “He’s never going to wake up.”

Then, Martin’s crying, heaving sobs that overtake him completely and have him hunched over, dripping salty tears onto the back of Tim’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says, leaning forward as far as he’s comfortably able to and wrapping Martin in as hard of a hug as he can manage. He rubs his hands in circles across Martin’s shoulderblades, feeling Martin’s shaky breaths against the side of his neck, and says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He repeats it, again and again, as Martin cries into his shoulder and says, over and over, words thick with grief, “He’s dead, Tim. He’s dead.”

“It’s okay,” Tim says. Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

Eventually, Martin’s body stops shaking and he pulls back, the tear tracks on his cheeks already beginning to dry. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and he looks tired, grief apparent in every line of him.

“I said I’d think about it,” Martin says, in a voice rubbed raw and hoarse. “When Peter called me. I- I said I’d think about it. I- I don’t know why…” He cuts off, makes a small, distressed noise, and says, “What do I even have left? If- if this can help, what- what do I have to lose?”

Tim feels a pang of hurt flash through him, but he suppresses it. He squeezes Martin’s hands, gives him as wide a smile as he can without breaking, and says, “You have me. And I’m not leaving—you’re stuck with me. So don’t think for a second that if you take Peter’s deal, I won’t be there still. I’m like a bad penny, or, I don’t know, a- a fungus or whatever. The point is, you’re not going to get rid of me. Whether or not you decide to work for Lukas—which you shouldn’t, by the way, in case I haven’t made that abundantly clear—you’re not going to be lonely, okay? Not on my watch. I can be very persistent when I put my mind to it.”

Martin looks at Tim, eyes wide, and another small, hiccuping sob escapes him. “You really mean that?”

“Yes, Martin,” Tim says, exasperation and fondness filling him in equal measure. “Christ, just because things got… rough for a bit, it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Honestly, don’t know if I could. You’re a very lovable person, you know. It’s not like being your friend is a hardship.”

Martin laughs a little at that, his voice still thick with tears. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Tim gives him another smile, and this one feels easier. Like it would be harder not to smile. Still, he’s careful with his words when he says, “So, then. What are you going to do? I’ve made my opinion more than known, but…” Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and continues, “It’s your decision.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

Peter calls again. And when Martin hesitates for a long moment before giving a quiet yet firm no, the relief that sweeps over Tim is enough to make him feel weightless.

Two months later, as a man who smells of death shuts the door behind him, Jon takes a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes.

“Tim?”

Tim raises the hand that’s not holding a rather large bouquet of white daisies and baby’s breath in a half-wave. “Hi, boss. Been a while.”

The look Jon gives him is half-shocked, half-nervous. “I… I suppose it has. Six months, apparently.”

Tim makes a sound of affirmation before wheeling himself fully into Jon’s hospital room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You know,” he says, allowing a blanket of levity to fall over him, “when we said you should get more sleep, this isn’t exactly what we meant.”

Jon just stares at him for a moment, face blank and eyes wide. Then, a laugh escapes him, a small hiccup of amusement. “Yes, well. I can’t say that I feel particularly well-rested.”

Tim imagines what it must have been like, to be locked in a dreamscape stasis for six months. He can’t say that the idea sounds particularly relaxing. “Yep, sounds about right. Guess we can cross ‘spooky coma’ off our list of possible cures for sleep deprivation.”

Jon folds inward on himself a bit, hugging one arm to his chest and gripping the other tightly. “Right,” he says, his voice small. He looks away from Tim, focusing on the small window in the corner of the room, and says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

Right. Jon still thinks Tim hates him.

Tim lets out a long, weary sigh and makes his way to Jon’s bed. He practically shoves the flowers into Jon’s hands; Jon takes them, more out of surprise than anything, white petals tickling the bottom of his chin. “It’s been six months, Jon. You’ve been… honestly, a bit dead? No offense. And I’ve been alive. And we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t. I know. I already hear enough about it from my therapist, I don’t need to hear about it from you too. The point is that I’ve… I’ve had time to think. And some of the things you did, I can’t forgive you for. But some of it…”

Tim shrugs. “Martin would always go on about how it wasn’t your fault. About how you were suffering just as much as us. And maybe I didn’t believe it because I was already angry, or maybe I didn’t believe it because all I could think about was finally getting a chance at the revenge I’d chased after for years. But then you were gone, and the Circus was gone, and I just… didn’t have anything left for the anger to hold on to.”

Jon clutches the flowers tightly in his hands, looks down at the petals. “But you were right,” he says quietly. “A- about me.”

Tim casts himself back six months and sifts through a metric ton of bitter remarks and angry assumptions. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath. “About me not being human.”

Oh.

“Jon—”

“Do you know what I was dreaming about?” Jon cuts in before Tim can say anything else. “I- I don’t remember, not really, but… but I can guess. I… I Know, somehow, that- that they were the same dreams, over and over and over again.” Jon takes one of the flower petals between his fingers and rubs it back and forth, a nervous gesture. “I started having them soon after I took this job, you know. Naomi Herne was the first one, and I- I didn’t understand why. Every night, she was trapped in the fog, forced into her own grave, and I would try to move, because it- it felt like I should have been able to, but it- it never worked. So I… I stopped trying after a while. I would stand and watch as she relived one of the worst experiences of her life, every night, and I- I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Jon crushes the petal between his fingers. “She was the first one, but- but there are so many more now. Lionel Elliott and Jordan Kennedy and- and, Christ, Georgie—”

Jon makes a small, unhappy noise. “I don’t know when I realized that they could see me in their dreams too. That in trying to help, I- I’d just made myself another source of terror.”

Jon falls silent for a few moments; the quiet is filled by the familiar tick tick tick of the clock in the corner. Then, so quietly Tim has to focus on his lips to catch the words, he says, “I… I think I made a choice. Before I woke up. I don’t… I don’t know what it means for me, not really, but I know it means that I’m worse than I was before.” He lets out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “So, you were right. I’m just- just even less human now.”

Jon falls silent again, and for a few moments, there’s just tick, tick, tick. Tim rolls the words over in his mind, looks at Jon’s pinched, unhappy expression, and says, “Okay.”

Jon looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay?”

Tim shrugs and repeats, “Okay. You’re not human. I’m not going to pretend like that thrills me or whatever, but it’s… honestly, it’s a lot less of an issue for me now than it was back then.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon trails off with a frustrated noise. “What?”

Tim sighs. “A lot’s changed, Jon. Things have… well, things have kind of gone to hell. Honestly, we could use a few monsters who are on our side for a change.”

Jon blinks at him in stunned silence for a few moments more before saying, bewildered, “... Right. Uh, I- I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you’ve been, then.”

A wry smile cracks across Tim’s face. “I’ve been just peachy, thanks for asking. Blow up one Circus and suddenly every spooky monster out there wants to kill you. It’s been one big, long, horrible sleepover in the Archives. But hey, at least Elias isn’t there! Now we’ve just got Lukas, and if one or two staff members disappear every once and a while, well—that’s just how it is at the Magnus Institute. Nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes, we still go out for drinks.”

“Tim,” Jon says flatly. The exasperated expression on his face is so familiar—so Jon—that Tim feels a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding slip away.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim says, waving a hand absently in Jon’s direction. “Point is, I’m not disappointed or angry or whatever that you’re back in the land of the living.” He pauses, and then, more sincerely: “Martin’s not the only one who’s missed you, okay?”

Jon’s lips part into an O. Then, his mouth twitches up into a smirk, and he says, “Mm, you’re right. Basira did stop by earlier, and then of course Georgie, and I bet even Melanie—”

“Unbelievable. And here I was nice enough to come all the way over here, to bring you flowers.”

“Mm, they are very nice flowers.”

“Damn right they are.”

Jon smiles then, a fragile thing, and says, “Thank you, Tim. I… I’ve missed you too.”

Tim could point out that Jon had been asleep for the majority of the time in question. But he knows that’s not what Jon means. So instead, he offers Jon a smile in return and says, “Be honest: more or less than the Admiral?”

Jon shoots Tim a flat, unimpressed look. “Tim, don’t be ridiculous. Of course less than the Admiral.”

Tim’s been out of the wheelchair for a week when he finally manages to make his way to the roof of the Institute, still learning how to maneuver the crutches he’s moved on to. He swears he can feel every motion of the pins and the rods in his leg—skin covered with even more scars for the collection—as he finally heaves himself through the door and into the cool night air.

The view is just as good as he remembers.

There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and Tim’s entirely unsurprised to see Jon silhouetted against the glow of London, leaning against the wall that rings the roof with his back facing Tim. The cigarette glows a dull red as he raises it to his lips and breathes in.

Jon doesn’t say anything, even as Tim painstakingly makes his way over to where he’s stood. Tim props his crutches against the wall before leaning his weight heavily against it, arms crossed atop the wall in a mirror image of Jon as they both look out onto the city below, humming with life and light.

Finally, after a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Jon says, “I’m going to get Daisy.”

There’s no room for argument in his voice. But that’s never stopped Tim from trying anyways.

“I thought you were done doing stupid shit that’ll get you killed,” Tim says, turning his head to look at Jon. Jon’s staring forward, but Tim gets the distinct impression that Jon isn’t looking out at the city at all.

“It won’t kill me,” Jon says quietly. He moves his hands as he talks, surprisingly competent sign language that he’s begun using tentatively in his conversations with Tim. When Tim had asked him where he’d learned it, Jon had been quiet for a long moment before telling him that he hadn’t.

Well. At least the Eye was being useful for once.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tim says. “Dead or not, you’ll still be gone. You know people who crawl into that coffin don’t come back.”

“I don’t—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated noise. After a moment, he continues, “I have a plan. I- I read a statement, and it said that I would need an anchor. A- a piece of myself to keep here. I can find it when I’m down there, and- and use it to guide me back.”

“Right,” Tim says dryly. “Because our plans have always gone so well.”

“What would you have me do, Tim? I- I can’t just do nothing.”

“Why not?”

Jon affixes him with an expression that’s half-affronted, half-stunned. “Tim.”

“What? Jon, we barely know Daisy. She tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look.” Tim jabs a finger in Jon’s direction. “You know I’m right.”

“I…” Jon trails off. After a moment, he hugs his arms to himself, his snubbed-out cigarette still smoldering slightly on top of the wall. “I know. But I… I still have to go. I… I’m still going to go.”

Tim exhales slowly and says, “Right. Suppose I should have expected that.”

There’s silence between them for a moment. Then, Jon removes his hands from his arms and signs as he says, quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

Tim stares at Jon for a long moment before saying, “What?”

Jon sighs and repeats, the motions of his hands larger and more emphatic, “Why don’t you hate me? Basira and Melanie, they- they keep looking at me like I’m some… thing, and- and maybe I am. No, not… not maybe. I’m not… I’m not human anymore, and I- I know what you said, but what happens when I—?”

Jon cuts off with a small, choked noise, like the air’s been sucked out of him all at once. Weakly, he signs, “I’m so hungry, all the time. What happens when I… when I can’t take it anymore? When I- I become dangerous, a- a monster, will you—?”

Jon’s fingers curl into fists, and he drops his hands to his sides, angling himself away from Tim and staring at an arbitrary point in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he says, loudly enough that Tim can make out the words above the hum of London at night and the ever-present ringing in his ears. “I… I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose this, to- to lose you and- and Martin. But maybe it’s better than becoming something that will hurt you.”

Jon won’t meet Tim’s eyes. Carefully, Tim reaches across the space between them and takes Jon’s hand in his, uncurling Jon’s fingers gently in an attempt to release some of the tension. Slowly, he says, “You know, I… I shouldn’t be alive right now. Back after the Unknowing, when I woke up in the hospital, I… I didn’t want to be. It was supposed to be whatever it takes, and to me, that was always going to mean my death. Revenge and poetic justice and all of that. I should have died, but I didn’t. And… and you did. And it’s not something I feel guilty about, because we both made the same choice in the end, but that… that doesn’t stop me from feeling, sometimes, like it was my fault somehow.” He lets out a sharp laugh and says, “Well, I was the one to actually blow the place up in the end, but, you know.”

Tim holds Jon’s hand carefully in his like it might break otherwise, the mottled texture of the scar tissue firm against his fingertips. His eyes find the thin white line slashed across Jon’s throat, the stark white bandage poking out from the collar of Jon’s shirt where it covers a fresh scalpel wound in his shoulder, the pale pink spots that pepper Jon’s skin in a mirror image of his own. He can’t see the splash of jagged scars across Jon’s back, a memory of shrapnel and white-hot explosions, but he knows they’re there. “You asked why I don’t hate you?”

When Jon nods mutely, Tim says, “I just… ran out of reasons why I should. I still wanted to, but…” He shrugs and gives Jon a wry, humorless smile. “We’re all just stuck in the same shitty situation. And I guess at some point, I just decided that you hadn’t chosen to be here any more than I did.”

“Oh,” Jon says, barely audible.

Tim takes Jon’s other hand in his, squeezes them firmly, and says, “And I’m sorry. Not for- for how we used to be, because I think the blame for that falls pretty evenly onto both of our shoulders, but… but for everything else. For what’s happened to you. Figured I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I might as well extend you the same courtesy.”

Jon’s fingers tighten around Tim’s, and he mumbles something Tim can’t quite catch. Then, he extracts his hands from Tim’s and signs, shakily, “I’m sorry too. For everything. But for what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you’re here. That you’re not dead. I- I know it’s been bad and- and I wish I could fix that, but I… I don’t know if I can.” Jon’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are sad but determined. “But I can fix this. I- I can get Daisy back. I can find my way out.”

Tim looks at the firm set to Jon’s mouth, the furrow of his brow, and says, “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that. Otherwise, I might have to go in after you.”

Jon looks horrified. “Tim.”

Tim holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, come back in one piece and we won’t have to worry about it.”

Jon opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s a long pause before he finally says, decidedly, “I will. I- I promise.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim wants to say. Instead, he shuffles closer to Jon and leans against the wall again, crossing his arms on top of it and looking out over the city. “Good,” he says softly.

After a moment, Jon shifts to face the city as well. His arm brushes against Tim’s, and Tim lets that point of contact ground him as he looks up and up and up at the stars above, pinpricks of light on a satin black sky.

“Thank you,” Jon says, just loud enough for Tim to hear.

Tim moves his hand to cover Jon’s where it sits on the wall and squeezes once. “Yeah.”

They stand there until sunlight begins to tickle the edges of the horizon. And when Jon gives Tim’s hand one last squeeze, the other holding the lid of the coffin open, and says, “Be back soon,” Tim believes him.

Three days later, Jon climbs out of the coffin with dirt caked underneath his fingernails and a thin, sharp hand clutched in his. “Tim,” he says, and Tim ignores the pain in his leg as he lets his crutches drop to the floor and hugs Jon tightly.

“Looks like I’m staying above ground after all,” Tim jokes, his voice light even as his words come out wet and choked.

Jon’s laugh vibrates against Tim’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, burying his face in the fabric of Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile. “Yeah.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #creators are revealed now so i can post this!#very exciting #blood cw #body horror cw #injury cw #hospitals cw #suicidal ideations cw #more cw in the body of the post as well #my writing #my fic

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