#still going with the theme of being at the mercy of gods who may abandon you at any time

[i-spilled-my-soup]

could we get an asklepious au update? pls id read thousands and thousands of words of words abt this au

i'm getting the almost-ending fleshed out, but the beginning, beginning-middle and end-end all need more work/reworking

hopefully i can actually write it out after ... two years of brainstorming... which i only recently realized

clarisse is getting a lot more screen-time than i'd anticipated, and i'm having a tough time figuring out where cecil and lou ellen play into it seeing as they have little screen-time in the actual books (i forget, were they mentioned in tsats?)

doing my best to make will take deliberate action as opposed to being swept up by circumstance, which has resulted in more morally grey territory that i have to flesh out more

as far as worldbuilding goes, i'm blurring the time between the titan war and the giant war, decreasing the number of pjo-classified monsters but increasing their respective significance and lethality, eliminating demigod-inherent control over the natural world and instead the natural world is manipulated through prayer and currying favor with the gods (somewhat like a boon in the hades game, power that is temporarily gifted), and modern medicine principles are in an otherwise fantasy-esque setting (germ theory, anesthetics, et cetera)

thinking about other callbacks to famous stories like the homeric hymns to dionysus and demeter, the iliad and odyssey, ovid's metamorphoses etc. don't know how much of the character-driving monologuing i can emulate without making it unbearable though

[agnoscoveteris-vestigiaflammae]

Okay this might mean nothing but…get your red string ready cause this is my Doctor Who S14/S1 theory masterpost

*Disclaimer in case of inaccuracies, I started writing this before Dot and Bubble was released and then I got busy and more things happened and now it's release day for The Legend of Ruby Sunday (which won’t be available to watch in my country until this evening) and I didn’t want it to go to waste so I finished it lol okay thanks* 

I’ve been thinking a lot about @waywardwes9 ’s theory regarding Ruby Sunday and other character names in this series of Doctor Who. So we’ve had Ruby SUNDAY, MUNDI (Monday) Flynn in episode three, and MARTI (Mardi/Martes/Tuesday/etc) Bridges in episode four, with dialogue bringing attention to the uniqueness/significance of each of their names. So when the casting list was released for episode five, ‘Dot and Bubble’, I couldn’t help but notice…Cooper Mercy, a slightly adjusted form of the words Mercury, or Mercredi (fr)/Miércoles (sp)/Mercoledì (it)/dydd Mercher (welsh)/etc. all of which means Wednesday!! So up until episode six, ‘Rogue’, this theory appeared to be holding up. It then became difficult to speculate further as we had little to no character backgrounds for these individuals and the cast lists for the remaining episodes are still incomplete but twice is a coincidence, four times is a pattern. 

Now we know that in the ancient Greco-Roman tradition, the days of the week were named after the sun, moon and planets which were in turn named after certain gods:

Monday - Moon - Selene/Luna

Tuesday - Mars - Ares/Mars

Wednesday - Mercury - Hermes/Mercurius

Thursday - Jupiter - Zeus/Jove

Friday - Venus - Aphrodite/Venus

Saturday - Saturn - Cronus/Saturnus

Sunday - Sun - Helios/Sol

Because of her surname, Ruby Sunday would be aligned with the Roman God ‘Sol Invictus’, who was considered the most supreme or important god for several decades of the mid to late Roman empire. So I decided to do a little research into this deity and found out that his feast day and the main festival dedicated to him, ‘Dies Natalis Solis Invicti’, occurred every year on December 25th… The day on which at the stroke of midnight, baby Ruby was discovered in a snowy churchyard, after being abandoned by her mysterious mother. This could just be a coincidence but it’s interesting nonetheless as it adds to the themes and theories regarding the “Pantheon of Discord” which includes godlike figures such as The Toymaker and Maestro. Could this suggest that Ruby is secretly a member of the Pantheon of gods? Or maybe she was created to be a pawn, a messiah-like figure, in their masterplan? Or maybe she’s a part of an antithetical pantheon of ‘good’ gods?

So returning to the characters named after weekdays, we may have expected a character with some variation of Thursday/Jeudi/Giovedì/dydd Iau/etc. as their name to appear in Rogue but unfortunately, there appeared to be nothing at all that would correlate to this theory… until people began to notice that the ring which Rogue uses to propose to The Doctor is emblazoned with The Caduceus, the staff of Hermes… also known as Mercurius or Mercury. 

It seems that our story has become stuck on Wednesday instead of continuing with the remaining weekdays, but why? Why could Wednesday or Mercury be significant?  Well gang, guess what the god Mercury is known as…

THIS IS HOW THE TRICKSTER TRUTHERS CAN STILL WIN !! Additionally, Rogue’s name originates from the DnD archetype, ‘Rogue’, who is regarded as ‘the trickster’. Very Inch Arresting. but we’ll return to the Trickster as ‘The One Who Waits’ theories a little later on.

The theory regarding The Caduceus can also play into the theory about Rogue possibly being an incarnation of The Master, or signalling the return of The Master. The Caduceus symbol, which can represent travel, thievery and mischief (which aligns with characteristics of The Rogue, The Trickster and The Master) is commonly mistaken or used in place of The Rod of Asclepius, which is used by healthcare organisations as it represents healing, care and the duties of doctors (which obviously aligns with The Doctor). 

These antithetical yet similar symbols could easily represent the Doctor and The Master and their shared past and turbulent relationship, or alternatively could represent the theme that things that appear too good to be true usually are, but who knows.

Now if you’ve made it this far, stay with me for this part because we’re about to get even more delulu, but I promise we’ll come back around into more plausible theory territory very soon. 

So with all this attention being drawn to character names, I decided to do some further research into the names of the characters named after days of the week and found something interesting. In the case of Mundi Flynn, we can presume Mundi is intended to mean Monday but Flynn actually means…Red or ruddy/reddish, which would make her name Monday Red… or Red Monday… just like Ruby Sunday. This got me extremely excited…until…I couldn’t find any connections to the colour red within Marti’s surname ‘Bridges’. However… Marti is named after Mars, which is known as… The Red Planet! Which would still make her first name Red Tuesday, or even Ruby Tuesday just like the famous song by the Rolling Stones. Now That is a stretch but we persist nonetheless by going even deeper into delusional valley with Dot and Bubble’s character: Cooper Mercy, Cooper…an uncommon name that is very close to the word ‘Copper’.. another shade of red, making her Wednesday Red/Ruby Wednesday. Also worthy to note that the character Cooper had red hair, which was a purposeful choice as it is not the actor’s natural hair colour. Okay, last one… while there doesn’t appear to be any weekday names mentioned in Rogue, (as we seem to be stuck on Wednesday) I couldn’t help but notice that ‘Rogue’ is an anagram of Rouge… the french word for red. Listen, either this all actually connects or RTD has quite literally been sprinkling RED herrings throughout the narrative. So what could this mean? Personally, this kind of repetitive naming convention reminds me of a dream-like logic or storytelling convention centred around Ruby,  which could play into everyone’s TV show/fairytale/dream theories (which are too expansive to get into and I don’t have much to add).

*I’ve heard that the Identity of Susan Twist has been revealed in today’s episode but thankfully I haven’t seen any spoilers yet so just ignore this if it’s completely off the wall lol*

However, this could also link to the idea of Susan Twist as a show director or writer, making cameos throughout her own work. In this light, she could be considered The Storyteller… TS… but if you physically twist the initials around…ST… Susan Twist.  

Then, there is of course the theory that Susan Twist is a physical manifestation of the Tardis. Particularly because in The Legend of Ruby Sunday she has been listed as Susan Triad, S.Triad, an anagram of Tardis. Could it be that the tardis is broken down or malfunctioning and is creating these scenarios to keep itself, the Doctor and Ruby entertained? I guess I’ll find out tonight hehe.

Okay getting back to The Trickster theory. By now most people have probably seen other posts that show that Ruby’s musical theme is almost identical to The Trickster’s theme from SJA, that the Doctor invoking a superstition at the edge of the universe could have brought back the Trickster,  that RTD could be using Ruby as a replacement for Sky from SJA, the baby that Sarah Jane discovered abandoned on her doorstep and adopted, who was originally supposed to be revealed as a child of the Trickster and a trap for Sarah Jane, and as well ofc that the hooded figure that drops baby Ruby off obviously resembles The Trickster. 

But another thing I can’t stop thinking about is the theme of the fragility of memory and existence that has been popping up throughout this series, particularly in the first few episodes, and how this correlates to the powers of The Trickster. In Space Babies, we see how the doctor’s memories of the night of Ruby’s birth are manipulated in real time to show him something totally different. In 73 Yards, we see how the Doctor is zapped out of existence, and then brought back through a future-past paradox. In several episodes we see the blurring of reality, the past and fiction with events such as the snow from Ruby Road appearing in places where present day Ruby is. We see on two occasions how history is changed by the simplest of actions such as stepping on a butterfly or a fairy circle. And of course in 73 Yards we hear Kate’s cryptic “This timeline is suspended along your event” line. All of these elements appear to correspond with the Trickster’s powers of time and memory manipulation as demonstrated in SJA, to the point that I’m actually gonna be disappointed if all this build up doesn’t result in an appearance from everyone’s fav SJA villain lol. 

Another thing to consider is The Doctor’s continuous references to the sea constantly getting closer to the land such as the “Everywhere is a beach eventually.” line from episode three and the “The war between the land and the sea” comment in episode four, the latter of which could of course just be a nod to the forthcoming dw spin-off series of the same name… or… could in fact be a reference to ‘the one who waits’. The last time the Trickster was defeated he was locked up in a box and thrown into the ocean, where he could be waiting patiently to return to the shore, to claim what he wants. Could this also be linked to Mrs FLOOD, whose water-related name may suggest that she is the one who waits for the oncoming flood. Who knows ! I’m just throwing things at the red string board and hoping something sticks. 

Okay that’s all for my crazy wacky wild bananas bonkers theories today. Can’t wait to see how many of these are disproven in approximately one hour lmaoooo. If you made it this far, I commend ur patience <3

[slashthrashandcrash]

Alright!! Let's say that the Other is pulled into the Fog, who would be the survivor counterpart to his killer? Option 1: Natalie, who he never kills and is now in an endless loop of cat and mouse with as well as other residents catching onto his obsession and only sparing her in the trials (maybe even going after killers who harm / kill her in their own trials). Option 2: Brooke, who is in a never-ending cycle of escape and be killed, and is always the target of the Other. (1 / 2)

Anon you're mind is simply so beautiful I want to live in it forever oh my god........................

First of all, can we acknowledge how absolutely bitchin' it would be to have a Hell Fest map??? Like if instead of being open in a themed field/neighborhood, it was all contained in a never ending haunted house maze????? I'd lose my mind. I would also lose my life several times because I have no sense of direction lmao.

God, both options are so good, especially with their angst potential. Because don't forget, The Other has kids, two of 'em. I can't imagine what additional damage that's going to do to his mind to know that they're abandoned and alone.

BUT LET'S START WITH OPTION ONE...I actually read a really similar fic for DBD Michael and Laurie! (inb4 anyone asks NO they were NOT siblings ofc he was just a slasher horny on main for a pretty girl). It's one of those observed patterns that people can be slow to pick up on simply because they can't believe it's real, and doubly so since there's plenty of survivors to rotate through. It's easy to use Nat as bait to lure The Other away for the survivors to escape first, just as easy as it is for The Other to use wounded survivors to lure Nat over to help so he can scoop her up himself. Yeah, he always lets her go at the exit and gets punished by The Entity for it, but he's pretty damn good in the other trails without Nat, so it all evens out.

It's also fun to imagine the downtime between trials, where Nat and The Other would have the option to leave their respective camps and roam around their designated "worlds" before the next game. Honestly, it feels like the cat and mouse never ends for Natalie, poor girl >:3c Nowhere she goes is safe from this psycho watching her. She almost prefers the trials when it's a random killer and she dies, because at least then she can appreciate the relief of being out of the hunt. But it also gives them a bit of time to become a little more...casual around each other. Nat's going to have to cycle through her stages of grief and eventually accept her new reality, where at least there's one killer that isn't looking to gut her. She's not happy still, but at least she doesn't flinch away anymore when The Other gives her his jacket because she's sulking in the cold for having lost a trial.

Option two is so fucking angst ridden though, it's unbelievable. It's not often you have more than one legit final girl, and I can imagine The Other being beyond pissed that he has to be stuck with the girl he wasn't able to kill in time rather than the girl he was actually stalking all night. I wonder if The Entity would give Brooke a similar "deal" that she has to survive a certain number of games in order to be reunited with Nat as a reward. It may be his final girl, but that's HER (literal) ride or die best friend forever, the idea of being separated and trapped with your bestie's slasher has to break her heart.

And The Other makes no show of hiding his distain of Brooke either. She's never shown any mercy, in fact he's the most ruthless with her. He'll ignore easy targets just to keep her knocked down, only hooking her at the very end so she has to suffer through her wounds the whole trial. He'll be damned if he doesn't reach the "quota" in record time to get the girl of his dreams. Obviously, the deal is likely rigged and neither of them would ever actually earn the reward of having Nat back, but imagine if somehow, someway...she did show up?

Never permanently, just periodically coming and going during some kind of glitch-in-the-matrix-slipping-through-the-backrooms type of deal due to how strongly she's connected to the two of them. Finally figuring out where her best friend has disappeared to, seeing what absolute hell she and other people are trapped in and trying to find a way to rescue her, and coming face to face once again with a murderer who will now stop at nothing to keep her here in the trails with him forever. The added threat that because she's not a survivor or a killer, if she dies, then that's it - permadeath.

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot “At the End” (Rated PG)

Summary: When the angels and demons finally succeed in having their war, there's only one thing that Aziraphale and Crowley can do with the time Earth has left...

Say goodbye to their home. (1408 words)

Notes: I wrote this hoping I would be accepted into a zine that ended up being canceled. The theme was basically what happens after Armageddon.

Read on AO3.

"Wot do you think you'll miss most about Earth?"

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale clicks his tongue in disgust, but he can't bring himself to look away from the chaos ensuing below them to berate his companion properly. "What a question to ask at a time like this!"

"I think this is the perfect time to ask that question," Crowley says, but without his teasing edge. He offers it sympathetically. They both have a similar connection to this planet, had an investment in it thriving, but Crowley feels Aziraphale's heart breaking more than his. "When you lose something, you mourn it."

"It's not entirely lost! N-not yet." Aziraphale chokes around the words. Even though they leave his mouth passionately, he knows he has sinned by saying them. 

Not lost yet may be the biggest lie he's ever told. 

The first few hours had been soul-crushing. 

The moment Holy rays broke through the clouds and shone down from above, ethereal voices announcing the arrival of God's angelic army, a flock of the faithful came out in droves to greet them. They prayed, sang joyously, raised their voices to the Heavens, invoked every one of God's Holy monickers. It should have been a huge stroke to Her ego... if She had been paying attention.

From Aziraphale and Crowley's perch atop St. Paul's Cathedral, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Those God-fearing mortals were the first to get trodden underfoot as angels barreled over them to confront their enemy - an extremely vulgar and unnecessary display when one considers that angelic footsoldiers can fly.

Hordes of evil-doers emerged from hiding as well, in lesser, but equally exuberant, numbers. They seemed suspiciously more eager for the fight, proving that those who call themselves 'Christian' might outnumber worshippers of Lucifer, but demons had their zealots better prepared for what the end of times would actually entail.

Either way, it didn't matter.

Those humans willing to spill blood at the drop of a hat, even their own, were used as cannon fodder against a foe they couldn't possibly hope to defeat. Within seconds, thousands lay dead on the streets of London and, Aziraphale suspected, all over the world.

For their part, Aziraphale and Crowley refused to join the battle, but no one paid them a lick of attention. An angel cavorting with a demon was no longer an issue. They could finally do as they pleased without fear of retribution, albeit on a planet whose hours were numbered.

"I would have to say I'm going to miss my car," Crowley continues, provoking conversation in an effort to allay his angel's anxiety. "And my flat. And alcohol. Hell's bells am I going to miss alcohol."

"Pity we don't have some now. I think a hull full would find itself useful," Aziraphale adds in a weak attempt at humor.

"Wot about you? Will you miss the food? Your bookshop?"

Aziraphale sighs. "Humanity."

Crowley raises a brow. "Humanity?"

"Yes. Without humanity, the rest of it wouldn't have been possible." Aziraphale scans the carnage below, trying not to focus for too long on any one thing... or any one person. He's already seen too many faces he recognizes, twisted from agony. "Without humanity, it wouldn't have meant anything."

"I suppose."

A tortured voice rings out, but it's snuffed out quickly. Aziraphale doesn't know which side does it, but he shakes his head in shame all the same. “I thought She’d show them mercy. I thought that, in the end, She’d come through. Spare them. That She wouldn't allow them to suffer as bystanders in all of this.”

“I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but… ”

“Then don’t, my dear.” Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand, pleading wordlessly for him to stop, but also needing him for comfort. “Where is She? Where has She gone? Why has She abandoned them?”

"You've been asking that question for generations. I would think, by now, you'd know the answer."

"But I don't. Perhaps I should... " Aziraphale swallows heavily, his attention pulled to the skies by a streak of gold, then one of violet, passing overhead. "They know," he spits bitterly. Crowley follows his angel's gaze to the trails above them, one which he assumes must be Gabriel's. "She's obviously told them."

"Perhaps not," Crowley says, not in an attempt to defend Her, but to soothe his angel. "Just like last time, they're doing wot they think is right. Following wot they believe."

"And what do they believe? I don't know! They've never told me!"

"You'd think you'd all be on the same page. I mean, there's a book about it and all."

Aziraphale scoffs at that. "I think you and I both know that the archangels, Gabriel in particular, have never held any stock in books. Books are primitive, human things. They have nothing to do with angels. Not even the Bible... " A host more gold streaks zip by, and Aziraphale's words trail off into nothingness. Of all the books in Aziraphale's collection, his Bibles have always been his favorites. And not just the misprinted ones. The words inside gave him comfort, especially during those long stretches when he didn't hear from God at all. Though written by man, they were imparted by Her (if he overlooked the dodgy editing). 

But they're gone. Not a single one remains, not even in the church where they stand, its insides crackling, burning beneath their feet.

Earth had become Aziraphale's Eden. Now, so many things he held dear are disappearing before his eyes.

Crowley squeezes the hand holding his. "Come, my love. It’s time to leave the garden.”

Aziraphale's eyes snap his way. They linger on his face for a moment, then drop to their clasped hands. “6000 years on this planet and you choose today of all days to call me your love?”

“I'm sorry." Crowley inches closer, lifts Aziraphale's hand to his mouth and kisses it. "I really am. I should have said it sooner. But I’m going to take you to a place where I’ll say it every day. I promise.” He wraps an arm around his angel's shoulders, gently urging Aziraphale to leave before the battle brewing, showing no sign of slowing down until it has consumed every last brick, every last breath of air, swallows them, too.

But Aziraphale hesitates. "C-can't we take them with us?" He gestures down to a tattered group of frightened survivors - a shivering young woman, no older than twenty-five if she's a day, and three children, all under the age of ten - huddled in a narrow crevice created by a metal door off its hinges, sheltering them among the rubble of the church's ruined stairs. 

They've found themselves a decent hideaway, Aziraphale thinks. But he knows they're simply delaying the inevitable. They'll be found out before too long, become collateral damage.

Like everyone else.

"We can't just leave them to die, Crowley."

"We have no other choice." Crowley's need to escape intensifies as he watches the poor humans, tastes their fear rise with the heat of the flames. "Besides, perhaps they'll pull through. You never know. Humans have always been resourceful. They might find a way." 

"Do you honestly think so?"

"Yes," Crowley lies. He would give his angel anything in the universe, anything within his power. He's trying to give him faith.

Because he can't give him this. 

They can't save anyone but themselves.

Crowley turns Aziraphale away, blocks his view by unfurling his dark wings, ready to lift his angel into the air on his own if Aziraphale refuses. "I'm sorry, my love. We must leave them behind."

Aziraphale relents, unfurling his own white wings and heading for the upper atmosphere, watery eyes focused on the where in front of him and not the destruction behind him, with Crowley's shard of hope keeping his heart pinned in place. 

Crowley should do the same. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But like Lot's wife, Crowley peeks behind him one last time to say goodbye to this place that has been his home for most of his existence. 

It was a wonderful existence, but mostly because he had Aziraphale there to muddle through with him.

At least Crowley will still have him when all is said and done.

The last thing Crowley sees before they breach the clouds is St. Paul's Cathedral crumble in on itself, leaving behind a mound of ash.

And nothing more.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, epilogue

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, epilogue: goodbye

Masterlink Post

Word Count: 3.7k

Rating: M for mature themes, mostly T though.

Warnings: just sad feels, my guy.

Notes: One last and final thank you to everyone who has read, kept up, commented, popped in to say hello to me on Tumblr. You really made this an incredible experience. ♡ I can’t wait to get started on the sequel, and I hope you enjoy this little interlude!

Everything hurt.

Or, rather, everything that he could feel hurt—which wasn’t much, or was hard to categorize, considering that opening his eyes felt impossible and thus his brain couldn’t register whether or not all of his limbs were attached or not.

“.... ohn. John, wake up.”

No thanks, he thought, tiredly, as pain splintered up his spine and radiated through his skull. No, I’m really quite good right here where I am.

“John,” and it was Joseph’s voice, muddled with the sound of steady rain. “Wake up.”

John felt the groan, rattling somewhere deep in his chest, as he pushed his eyes open. Then, and only then, did the agony really fucking hit—real, pure body-pain, the kind that sank straight into the marrow of his bones and stayed for a good many days. Struggling, he forced himself into a sitting position, hands flat against cold, wet pavement.

Hands flat. Free. Not cuffed.

“Good,” Joseph said, sounding relieved, “you’re awake.”

When his older brother extended his hand out, John took it; with a surprising amount of strength, Joseph hauled him to his feet, and he finally got a good look around him.

Carnage.

The highway was littered with bodies and blood and the mangled metal of crashed vehicles. He saw dark figures; it was night, late, and his eyes burned, and his body ached, and when the low snarl of one of Jacob’s judges echoed in his ears, he thought, ah, that’s it, then.

Jacob was there too, with Faith glued to his side. Her palms skinned and her dress torn, and the blood from Jacob’s gunshot wound seeping through dark-crimson. A steady sheet of silver rain had begun to fall, drenching them all; the chill seeped straight into his bones.

And, of course, there was Joseph. Relatively unscathed. Not an open wound in sight.

“How did—” John started, his brain still foggy from pain and, presumably, being unconscious. Joseph gripped his shoulders. There was a kind of look in his eye; fervent, urgent, and John realized that it had been there all along—that his brother had always looked like this, and maybe he had just gotten used to looking into different eyes as of late.

“Our followers have stayed true,” Joseph told him, his voice low. “The Collapse remains on the horizon. Perhaps—”

His brother stopped, as though to gauge himself.

“Perhaps,” he began again, “not as close as I thought. I prayed, John. I prayed for us—for you, and for your child, and even for...” Joseph’s mouth twisted viciously for a moment. “Even for that Delilah of yours.”

Elliot, he thought, a wave of sickening, burning fury washing over him even when the venom in Joseph’s voice doused him like gasoline. Liar. Lied to me, lied to my family, lied—

Wretchedly clever and cruel. More devil than woman. He had always known it, had loved her for it, and he couldn’t be surprised when his hand had come back from the fire burned. You can’t have both, she’d said, and she’d meant it; of course she had. He wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t the kind of woman who meant what she’d said.

“We have much to do,” Joseph plunged on, as headlights turned around the corner of the road. “God is going to speak to me, I know it. I can feel that we have so little time left, John.”

“Okay,” John said, feeling a little dazed, trailing after Joseph when he began to move to one of the nearby trucks idling. “Okay, yes, we’ll—what do we do about—”

He stopped, opening the door to the car automatically for Faith to climb in. Of them all, he thought maybe he was the least fucked up—outwardly, anyway. Inside, his body felt like it had been jumbled around, tossed like a fucking salad at Olive Garden. The ache in his head didn’t dull as the seconds ticked by.

Jacob paused. The redhead’s mouth twisted, like he was biting back the things he wanted to say; John knew it had to be something like I fucking told you, I told you the situation wasn’t under control, I knew you couldn’t control her, but the words didn’t come out.

And in his own mouth, words sat, too: I’m sorry, I know I fucked up, but I know I can get her back.

Not can. Would. Would get her back, no matter what. By any means necessary.

“John,” Jacob barked out, and he realized that moments had passed—maybe minutes—of him standing in the rain, the door of the truck open. He moved on autopilot, hauling himself into the back seat of the truck and slamming the door shut.

The air inside the truck was humid, fizzing and popping with a strange energy. He could taste it on his tongue, electric; ozone; vibrating in his mouth and in his skeleton. Some of it the storm outside, and some of it the fury in his mouth, so potent it had become tangible.

Mine, he thought, shifting as pain splintered up his spine and shoulder. My wife. My baby. She thinks she’s done with us, huh? Not even fucking close.

“We have much to do,” Joseph murmured as the truck pulled a u-turn and began its route back to the compound. “Now, more than ever.” Through the rearview mirror, his gaze met John’s; lingered for a moment, and only a moment. “We will find her, John. Her, and your child.”

John felt his eyes flutter. Exhaustion was already beginning to try and take its toll on him. “She traded us in.”

“Yes,” Joseph replied, and his voice was terse, sharper than normal. “But God is ever merciful. And are we not to liken ourselves in his image, so that we may be as holy?”

He didn’t know if he wanted Elliot back to be holy. He thought maybe he wanted her back because she belonged to him—because they belonged to each other, two wretched creatures, and she owed him, and he would have what was rightfully his. What he was owed.

“Yes,” John agreed hoarsely. “Just as holy.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nothing like dry-heaving over a toilet with your mother standing by.

“You know,” Scarlet said, “us Honeysett women have always taken well to childbearing. You were the most perfect baby, Elliot.”

Her mother was perched on the edge of the sink, a glass of rosé (chilled glass, of course) in her hand, golden curls perfectly pinned and coiffed and the floor-length maxi dress pressed to perfection—in stark contrast to Elliot, gripping the edge of the toilet in her sweats, stomach somersaulting and trying its best to achieve Olympic level gymnastics.

You’re not a Honeysett woman, she thought exhaustedly. You’re a fucking Graves woman. She managed to spit, taking in a long-suffering breath. “You said I was colicky.”

“Well, yes. But I never got morning sickness.”

Elliot gritted her teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the hot wave of nausea rolling over her, prickling sickly heat along her spine in warning. “That’s awesome, mama. Good for—” She swallowed. “Good for you. So glad. Really cool.” She exhaled. “Thank goodness it’s five in the afternoon. What’s that, then? Afternoon sickness?”

“Mm.” Her mother sipped at her wine, setting it on the counter with a little clink that somehow managed to sound three thousand times louder in her wretched state. “Yes, we’ve always been excellent vessels for our children.”

“That’s lo-uuh—” She closed her eyes tight. “Lovely.”

Scarlet’s fingers brushed her hair back from her face, cinching it in a ponytail. “Must be the father.”

You don’t fucking say? Elliot wanted to spit, but there was no room. Scarlet Honeysett tolerated a great many things—poor weather on the day of her events, a lukewarm glass to transport her alcohol, the repeated and systematic abandonment of her by her husband—but a mouthy child she did not.

“Educated inference,” is what she said instead. “I think I’m done.”

“Well.” Scarlet looked at her, arching a manicured brow. “Stay here for a while longer, then, just so you don’t go puking on my carpet.”

“Thanks, mama.”

“Mmhm.”

When her mother swept out of the bathroom and took with her the scent of her perfume—normally familiar and comforting, now only nausea-inducing—Elliot closed the door with her foot and leaned back against the wall in the bathroom. Her chest was burning; the strain of dry-heaving while the skin on her chest was still tight and healing was enough to have probably broken it open if she hadn’t been meticulously taking care of it.

And thank God her mother hadn’t seen that yet.

After a few more minutes of questioning whether or not she was going to actually puke, Elliot pushed herself to her feet and rinsed her mouth out with Listerine. It had not been easy, the last two weeks. Not only was she acclimating to living with her mother again—a thing which she had not done since she was in high school—but she was doing it pregnant. Pregnant, and with the child’s father nowhere to be.

Her arrival at the ancestral Graves home—a meticulously kept two-story historic building that had not only been in their family for so many years, but was planted on twenty acres of premium real estate in what was otherwise a small town named Weyfield—had been a tumultuous one, to be sure. Though her mother seemed inquisitive about what had occurred, she wasn’t even aware that anything had been happening at all.

Because she hadn’t been there.

“What do you mean?” Elliot had asked, incredulous.

“Well, I always come down here when the weather is starting to turn,” Scarlet had replied idly, squeezing her lime wedge dry into her glass. “I left In July.”

“The weather is not turning in July.”

“Some of us, Elli,” her mother had snipped, “are sensitive to changes in the weather. It’s not my fault you couldn’t feel it. Nor my fault that you didn’t answer my phone calls.”

It provided, at the very least, a bit of leeway when it came to explaining what was going on. Her mother had, of course, been aware of the Seeds in some capacity; but only in the kind of capacity that she thought them a zealous nuisance, and a little slimy—“Except for the oldest one, he seems like a good man,” she’d said, much to Elliot’s disgust—but nothing more than that.

This meant that Elliot didn’t need to tell her anything she didn’t want to. For now. Until the news broke, if it ever did; it seemed like headlines these days were more preoccupied with what was going on overseas than what was going on within the States’ own borders.

“Here,” Scarlet said, planting a pill bottle in her hand. “Take one of these thirty minutes before you go to bed.”

“What are these?”

“Sleeping pills,” her mother explained.

Elliot’s mouth twisted. “I sleep fine.”

“If you slept at all, I might believe you. I know you, Elli, I birthed you from my own womb, and you’ve never been a good sleeper.” The blonde paused. “And I hear you at night, you know, moving around. You and that hound.”

Boomer was fairly good at being stealthy, but perhaps not so much so in a house that was almost exclusively hardwood flooring. She’d have to remember that the next time she decided to go on a walk at three in the morning.

Elliot looked at the label. Eszopiclone, it said. S. Honeysett. “I probably shouldn’t take your prescription, mama.” And why are you giving me sleeping pills you should be taking, anyway?

“You need to sleep,” Scarlet said firmly. “For you and baby.”

It took a concerted effort to swallow back bile that tried to surge up her throat—for some reason, the knowledge that there was now a she and a baby, that she was both herself and vessel, made her nausea want to kick in. She hadn’t been sleeping, it was true. Not for lack of trying, either. She’d drink some kind of stupid sleepy-time tea, settle herself into the bed, and lay there. And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But every time she’d close her eyes, she would be assaulted by images; Joey, jaw snapped and hanging loose from her face. Kian, face a bloody pulp. The blood seeping down her chest from the WRATH scar John had left. And John, of course.

He was always there, too. His eyes on her, his hands on her, his mouth on her.

So good, hellcat, it’s gonna look so good on you.

I’m all yours, just take what you need, I’ll give you anything, anything.

I’m fucking it for you.

I love you, Elliot.

“... listening to me?”

Elliot blinked. Her eyes burned, stinging with the threat of tears, and she swallowed thickly again. It felt like choking. Things often felt like choking, nowadays—things like breathing, swallowing, sleeping. It all felt too much for her to take, sometimes. Like she was deranged.

“I’m sorry,” she managed out, her voice barely breaking a whisper, and the second she felt the slip of a tear down her cheek she quickly wiped it away and sniffed. “I’m sorry, mama, I wasn’t.”

Something in her mother’s expression shifted for just a moment. Her eyes swept over Elliot, like maybe she thought she could see what it was that was really ailing her. Scarlet had tried to pry about John; she’d tried to figure out who it was that had left her daughter destitute, like this. What she didn’t know was that Elliot had left him destitute.

He deserves it, she thought through the heavy wave of exhaustion. Whatever they do to him, he deserves it.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” her mother suggested after a moment. “Dinner in an hour.”

“I’m going for a walk,” Elliot replied, tucking the bottle into her pocket for later. “Boomer gets crazy if I don’t.”

“Well, can’t have that. Back in an hour, then, bunny.”

She slipped past her mother, snagging the dog leash by the door and calling for the Heeler. He came sprinting down the stairs delightedly, and Elliot opened the door so he could go racing out. He’d certainly gotten less time running than he had prior to this, but he seemed in better spirits, anyway—new smells, friendly people. It was a dog’s dream.

“Don’t forget you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” her mother called after her. “I’m taking you in at nine A.M. sharp.”

“Yes, mama.”

The afternoon had passed by in a blitz, as it was wont to do in late Autumn, and now Elliot found herself with so little golden daylight left; but she thought maybe she liked it best like this, walking with Boomer darting around ahead of her, watching the sky wring the last little rays of light out of the sun before it dipped fully behind the mountains.

I love you, Elliot.

She stopped walking, closing her eyes for a moment. A low, dull headache had begun to bloom behind her eyes. Lack of sleep, probably. Lack of sleep, and now she had a—

A fucking baby, she thought, with no absence of despair.

Boomer had doubled back when she stopped moving, and for a moment Elliot felt a vicious sting in her chest. Cry, it said, when the dog nosed her hand with a cold nose. Cry, it said, when she struggled to sit down in the damp, chilly grass, and Boomer could push his face into hers.

She had been alone, before. Alone in all the world. But not anymore.

Boomer tucked his face against her neck and stayed there, panting his hot doggy breath down the collar of her shirt. And as dusk fell, and the first speckling of stars started to make their appearance, Elliot felt herself come undone.

Just a little bit; just for now, while she could bury her face into her dog’s fur and cry, she would come undone.

And when she was finished, she would get up and walk back home. She would sit down and have dinner with her mother, and listen to her complain that while the doctor they were going to see was quite new but supposedly very nice, and she’d take a sleeping pill so that she could hopefully get some peace of mind for one night. In the morning, she would get up and out of bed, and she would keep living. That was all she could do.

For now, though—for a little while, she would let herself grieve. And every time she thought she couldn’t do it anymore—every time she thought she’d reached the absolute bottom—she’d keep fucking digging. What would she do with grief, if not lug it?

She would never heal otherwise.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Where the fuck is Weyfield?”

Jacob’s derisive tone did nothing to help John’s mood. Hunched over a map, the scattered papers of the file he hadn’t thrown away, eyes stinging, he thought he’d felt shittier only once before—long before his reuniting with Joseph. Back before he’d been cleansed.

He’d read every paper three times over. Stared at her photo for hours. Nothing felt any better than it had two weeks ago, when she’d been screaming that she would kill him.

“Some nowhere corner of Georgia,” John muttered, passing a hand over his face. “Her file says she was born in Weyfield, but that can’t be right—that shit is so small. Like, population three hundred, maybe? And her mom’s rich, which means—”

“Probably some kind of old money, then,” Jacob suggested. “Historic home. Lots of farmland surrounding it. Didn’t you say her grandfather was a racing jockey, mom never worked, or something? Gotta have room for horses and big fancy homes to go with those horses.”

Oh, John thought absently. Oh, of course. Of course her mother is a trust-fund baby. They would have an ancestral home, wouldn’t they?

They’d been back at the compound for a few weeks; Joseph had been secluded, alone, ruminating and marinating or whatever else it was he had to do to really hear God, and that meant John had been free to figure out what his plan was. So far, it was pretty bare bones.

Find Elliot and baby. Bring Elliot and baby home.

Joseph did not have a timeline, yet. He didn’t even know what it was that had delayed the Collapse—not quite. He had fervently insisted he be left alone to himself and God, to ensure that there were no interruptions—“Interruptions,” he’d said, “interfered with it last time, I won’t have it again,”—and so John, Jacob, and Faith had been left to rebuild what they could.

What members of Eden’s Gate remained after the veritable slaughter the Family had brought upon them were run ragged, but the nice thing about having an enemy meant that they were bound together by the same hatred.

“So that’s it, huh?” Jacob asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Weyfield, for the little hellcat?”

“That’s it.” John sucked his teeth and came to a stand, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “I should head out to Atlanta as soon as possible. I’ll need—”

“That’s a big city,” his eldest brother cautioned.

“That city has resources I’ll need. As much as I’d like to think that I could just track her down and we’ll kiss and make-up, I get the feeling that if I don’t do this the right way, it’ll be dragging her back kicking and screaming.” He paused, his voice tightening. “And I will be getting her back.”

Jacob watched him for a moment. He exhaled out of his mouth before he reached over, planting a hand on John’s shoulder. He half expected his brother to say something like, just forget it, Johnny, or it’s not worth running the risk of getting recognized, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Be careful, keep in touch. And get my nephew back, yeah?”

John swallowed thickly. There was a lot wrapped up in those words; a lot that he had yet to parse through. Blinding, insatiable fury, that he had been tricked and lied to and deceived, but above all else—above all of that, he missed—

No, he thought, hands shaking and jaw clenching as he pulled his coat on. No, above all else, Elliot belongs to me, and that’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Don’t know it’s a boy,” he managed out, with all of those whispers rattling incessantly in his head. Jacob smiled.

“Joseph does.”

“I suppose so.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, and for the first time in a long time, John felt closer to Jacob than he did to Joseph—and maybe that was because he hadn’t seen his brother’s face in weeks, or maybe it was because he knew that for some strange reason, Jacob was pleased to have Elliot come back, and Joseph might not be.

Not if he was being honest, anyway.

“Off I go,” John blurted out, worried that he would get stuck in an infinite loop of trying to parse out things that weren’t meant for him to understand. “I’ll call when I get there.”

“Take someone with you?”

“It’ll just slow me down. Besides, I’m trying to not draw attention.” He paused, hesitating at the doorway of the church. “You’ll tell me when he knows, right?”

When he knows how much time I have?

Jacob’s expression hardened. He nodded once, short. “I will.”

“Thank you.”

John pushed the door open, stepping out into the night. It was chilly; soon, it’d be snowing, if it didn’t do so that very night, and the compound’s courtyard was bustling with sleepy life. As he climbed into the truck and took a breath to calm the rapid, unsteady beating of his heart, he closed his eyes for just one moment.

Just for now, he thought tiredly. I’m going to take a breath just for now, and then—

And then one more breath, and then another, turning the key in the ignition and shutting the radio off and throwing the car into drive, and then one more breath, until he was breathing all the way to fucking Georgia. He was going to get his wife back.

One way or another.

[sabineelectricheart]

A Divine Vision

Summary: Gilbert is praying alone in the cathedral when he receives a sudden visit of a mystical being.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words:1800

Notes: Yes, a Support fic. Very unoriginal. Sue me.

The hour was late. The monastery was quiet, not even the animals in the woods around Garreg Mach were bustling with any sort of noise.

Predictably, the cathedral is empty. Not even Dimitri, who usually hung around the pile of debris, was anywhere to be seen, and this is how Gilbert preferred it, so he could pray to the Goddess in peace. He knows the breath on his lungs was a violation of his holy covenant with Sothis and the Blaiddyd royal dynasty, but he could not help but find his prayers absolutely shameful

If he had done his job properly, there would be little need to pray for the dead, after all.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Goddess, and let perpetual light shine upon them.  May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. May the King and his family rest in peace and amongst their brethren. Amen.”

As soon as he finishes his prayers, he hears a pebble falling from the mountain of rubble. His sensitive ears, honed by years of military service, alert for a presence within the cathedral. His large right hand grips the sword he carries around his waist, ready to draw in defence.

More and more pebbles fall, and anxiety grows exponentially in the heart of the knight. Whatever it is, it is probably big.

Soon, Gilbert turns his eyes toward the source of the noise. He realizes the rubble is not falling down; rather, it is oddly falling up, higher and higher.

As he looks to his left, a strong pulse of force passes through him, and while it is mostly harmless, it does banish the numerous pews away. The broken glass on the windows is quickly restored to its former glory, depicting the twenty-six known patrons of Crests.

Finally, with the nave completely and magically rebuilt, the clouds clear and moonshine bathes the altar. Gilbert remembers it is only the first crescent, and the light should not be strong enough for such clarity in the temple. Alas, the Moon shone as if it was larger than full.

The cathedral is as beautiful as it was five years ago, but with a most important difference. By the altar, sat a large stone throne, which carried the symbol of the Holy Flame. It was the throne of the Goddess at the Blue Sea Star.

There, lounging comfortable on the hard stone as if it was the finest cushions in Adrestia, was a girl. Not too young, about two and twenty, but still much younger than his sixty years on this earth. She donned fine silk and gold, in a short fit on her lithe body. Her hair was green and voluminous, held up by an encrusted band and flowing down the entire length of her back.

“Oh, hello there, sir knight.” She greeted amicably. “How are you faring this evening?”

Gilbert strengthened his grip on the sword and took a step back. Innocent-looking or not, this was a powerful being, and it would not do to lower one’s guard.

“Oh, please, sir Pronislav. This are not the manners your mother instilled you with, and I am sure it has not passed so long for you to forget them.” The girl sneers derisively. “We are amongst friends here. Drop your sword and come closer.”

“I know you not, fiend.” He grumbles, trying to keep his voice steady. “Let me leave and you shall not have anything to fear from me.”

The girl chuckles, as if the notion amuses her. “Whether I release you or not has absolutely no bearing in my fear from the likes of you. I wish you could just recognize me, dear knight, it would make for more efficiency, but if you insist to be so, very well.”

Suddenly, from the yards that separated them, Gilbert was thrust forward, kneeling over the feet of the girl, who looked down with an amused smile on her face, as if waiting for the punch of a very funny joke. It was terrifying.

Though, truth be told, he was not thrust with force or violence, but rather as if the space between them did not exist anymore. It was as soft as a blink.

Gilbert, then, raises his eyes to the figure. From the feet decorated with gold, to the left hand on a lean hip covered in silk and the pale green eyes of a muted Summer. He knows this person.

“Pro-professor!” He stutters. “What is happening?”

The green-haired teacher lets out a melodious and unrestrained laugh. “Not quite, sir knight. You see, the one you call professor and I are, indeed, two faces of the same being. Alas, for now, we are separated. I who stand before you am Sothis, the Goddess of this land. You may address me as you prefer.”

His breath catches on his throat. “It cannot be!”

“It is what it is, sir knight.” She dismisses with a wave. “Or would you prefer I call you Gustave? Your mother has introduced you to me by this name, after all.”

He says nothing, still shell-shocked with the ramifications of what he must be seeing. Is he dead? Mortals are supposed to meet with the Goddess only when they pass. Or is he hallucinating, perhaps?

“It is very rude to call one you have evoked for so many times a hallucination, you know? You are not dead either. This is boring and I have much to do, so believe what you want, I do not care.” The so-called goddess huffed. “Now, you have come to me with a request, one you have brought forward many times. What is it?”

The old man frowned. “Are you not the Goddess? Should you not know?”

“Indulge me, will you?” Sothis rolled her eyes. “If I am the Goddess, then you are my servant and should do what I say, not question me. If I am the professor, she would not know any of it. If I am a hallucination, well, there is no one else for me to talk to other than you, and I would think it preferrable to waste a few moments in redundancies.”

Gilbert sighed. “Very well. I have asked for King Lambert Blaiddyd and his wife to rest in peace.”

“Which one?” She chuckled, as if finding her own joke amusing. “I jest, I jest. You would do well smiling more, you know?”

“Excuse me, your holiness, but I did not find it funny at all.” He responded, with his face in a frown.

“Fine, fine.” She dismisses. “Tell me this, then. You have a goddess before you, one who can grant you any desire you might ever have. Why do you ask for the rest of a long-dead king?”

“Is there anything else I can do?” He counters. “You must know I was in service of the royal family, yes? Of the oaths I have taken in your name? When I was only a young soldier, the king saw fit to make a knight of me. I was given the great honour of guiding and protecting the royal family.”

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Sothis says, as she takes a seat on the throne, as if the subject bores her so. “You have taught both Lambert and Dimitri on the lance, you have offered your candid advice, you have served them faithfully even in face of reservation, which you have certainly had a lot. Until…”

“Until that day.” Gilbert finishes the woman’s phrase. “I was...powerless. When I received word of the attack, it was already too late. His Majesty was dead, along with many knights and soldiers. If only I had made it to Duscur more quickly...”

“This is for me to know and you to wonder.” The green-haired girl smirks. Her teeth were clean white and straight. “Then what happened?”

“After that, I abandoned my wife and child, and fled my homeland. I turned my back on everything I swore to protect.” The warrior finishes the tale with a forlorn look on his aged face. “It is my fault that the King has died, and it is my fault that His Highness, Dimitri, has become... The way he is now. My sins are countless. I will bear the weight of my guilt for as long as I live.”

Sothis avoids his ice-blue eyes, in a solemn expression.

“Perhaps you will, indeed. I have no bearing on the hearts and minds of my children, adopted or otherwise. Only you are the lord of your soul, Gustave, and only you will decide when it is time to let go of the guilt.” The mystical being declared, and then looked at him with a softer look. “However, you must know that praying will not help them.”

“I repeat, what else can I do?” He spats, bitterly. “Apologizing to my daughter and wife. Devoting myself to His Highness. That is the way to atonement, and yet... Even if I am granted the forgiveness of those who still live, praying is all I can do to atone to those who are with us no more...”

“Oh, Gustave…” She says as if he is a naïve child. “I cannot say whether Lambert or Patricia live in my realm or were banished to Ailell, and I cannot say whether you shall end up, either. What I can say, however, is that, wherever they ended up, it was by their own making, not mine or yours. What I can say is that the concerns of the dead are hardly past grievances or the way of their death. What I can say is that, while past actions warrant repent and reflection, there is only one path, and it is forward.”

“Long ago, there was someone who told me something quite similar, and yet, I still find myself unable to follow through with this advice.” The man sighed, worn as if he had returned from a long war. “Forgive me. This will not do. As I grow older, I find myself talking endlessly about the past.”

“Don’t they all?” She smirked. “It seems our time is coming to a close. I cannot tell you what to do, Gustave. I can only hope you make the right choices. Sooner or later, no matter what path you take, you shall arrive at the same place, and then we will know what must have been done.”

A soft breeze blew from nowhere and with that, Gilbert was back to the nave of the Cathedral, alone, as it was before he talked to the girl.

Goddess or not, there was sage advice on her speech. Yet, he is a stubborn man and cannot change so drastically, so quickly.

“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Goddess, and let perpetual light shine upon them.”

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

[mc-doppomine]

So we know Matenrou has like...a religious theme in terms of the members’ naming. And in some ways it’s just a way to be able to recognize the members as belonging together if you see their names (such as Mad Trigger Crew all having characters for animals in their names and the birth order of Buster Bros). But you know me, here to overthink this whole thing. (Also please, I am only working with sources I can find in relation to the deities, I’m not an expert in anything mythology or history related)

I find it interesting how Jakurai’s surname is the only one that is not spelled like a deity. Instead his is a temple or shrine. A resting place for the gods. Which he is generally seen as the one that provides reprieve to Hifumi and Doppo, the ‘gods’ that rest at his shrine. And in exchange receives the ‘blessings’ or protection from the gods. I feel MTC vs MTR manga best depicted of those two basically shielding Jakurai and most of their efforts are protecting him while attacking. There’s also a bit of reversal of the imagery since Jakurai is usually depicted and seen as the ‘god’--since they usually use saint when talking about him--and that his teammates receive blessing from him. 

Also a bit of a side note since his given name also could be over thought into this. Thunder is generally the warning you have for lightning. Which in many mythologies and religions is seen as the wrath of the gods. So like he’s the warning to his enemies of the coming of the pain that his team is gonna lay on you. 

Hifumi’s unfortunately doesn’t have much in the way of myth. I mean Izanami is after creation goddess but like most stories surround how she created Japan with her husband and the fallout from when she died. But there’s not nothing. Namely how the goddess’ name translates to ‘she who invites’ which fits Hifumi as being the most open of Matenrou and likely the driving force for many of the excursions that happen. And in terms of the mythology, it initially does seem like anything related to him but I found interesting was Izanagi--Izanami’s husband--coming down to the land of dead to retrieve her. But when he saw her, he fled. Despite it indirectly his fault that she is there--she died from childbirth with his kid--he ran and he trapped her in the land of the dead. Which is where I find the most relating to Hifumi.

Like I’d assume being the spouse being someone you trusted, Izanagi betrayed Izanami but not waiting to see her as she asked. Then abandoned her. We still have no idea what happened and not like we need to but I had seen it as Honobono having been someone Hifumi trusted. And she betrayed him and hurt him in some capacity. Only to proceed to leave him trapped with all the fear and darkness that she caused. And--at first--seems like he will never leave it. Izanagi blocked the way to Yomi, the land of the dead, leaving Izanami in the land of the dead which seems to described as dark and being of and surrounded by kegare. From what I have looked up and understand, kegare is ‘filth’ that often comes from contact with ‘death’ (menstruation, childbirth, sickness and rape are all under this including actual death).

It is considered ‘not good’ but how it comes about just is something that happens. But it is something that can affect not only the person afflicted but also those around them. It isn’t said but I would think since she’s surrounded by it that Izanami might not fully be affected by the kegare, I assume, she is now a source of since she’s...well, dead. Which I think fits with how Hifumi tends to cause trouble and how very rarely it directly harms him but certainly hurts those around him. But another reversal of the whole name convention, Hifumi is very well loved by those around him and endlessly approached, unlike the goddess (I’m sure she’s respected but I....I have no idea if you call that ‘love’ of her). 

Lastly and hopefully shorter but may or not be, is Doppo’s. His surname is partially named for the Kannon, generally named as the goddess of mercy or goddess of compassion. It’s generally ‘goddess’ but I’ve seen that the deity takes forms ranging from any to no gender so yeah. But I also noticed her name, or rather the name Kannon was translated from, Guanshiyin, translating to ‘the one that perceives the sounds of the world.’ Which I find fitting because I feel like that is basically all of Tirgridia, it is like Doppo’s observations of ‘sounds’ of the town of which he lives and hearing/sensing the lack of vibrance of those around him. Also in general, I see Doppo as sensitive to the temperament of those around him.

I did not find a lot of specific tales about the forms of this deity named as Kannon but there is a pretty big legend that involves her, the Journey to the West. As Guanyin (There are so many names for this goddess, y’all. There’s so many), she is a goddess that quite regularly gets asked for help in the adventures. Like, to me, it’s a kind of frustrating job (even if I doubt she would ever think that) to work hard for these guys that manage to get themselves into trouble so often. Kind of sounds like Doppo at his soul-sucking job and taking on helping people that are or act helpless. But moving on Kannon is this being of mercy and compassion, she hears the prayers for her help and promises to help and liberate. Dependent on what capacity she is worshipped at, she is a figure of unconditional love or a being that shows a great deal of compassion. Both of these things I feel fit Doppo even if he is not very good how he goes about it.

And an interesting distinction to make that she is actually a bodhisattva, which from what I get is a being that is near nirvana but because of a wish or love of other beings delays reaching it. Which is...gonna be a quick detour to dark for a second. (cw for suicide) which I feel like is something that Doppo also mirrors. Mainly in that I believe he is suicidal and has ideations about it. However despite his remarks of just wanting to sleep or die, he never goes through with it. Not even for himself but because he loves other people, namely his teammates, too much to ever leave them to attain peace for himself. 

(cw over)

Oh and for his reversal of theme of his deity, Kannon is actually one of the more popular and loved deities. Whereas Doppo is the most unknown and implied not liked or understood of all of Matenrou. 

And now that I finally, finally reach the end of the individuals....which believe me, I thought this was only going to be like three paragraphs became longer because of looking up stuff and finding more connections. I’m just doing some rapidfire observations. Not necessarily linking to them but but just interesting thoughts when looking stuff up:

Izanami had sent gods of thunder to chase after her husband when he fled from her. Again bringing that thunder and lightning are wrath of gods,

A lot of versions of Kannon in Japan specifically relate her to childbirth or children. Childbirth is what killed Izanami

There was a believed incarnation of Guanyin named Miaoshan, who told her father she would only marry someone that could ease the suffering of old age, sickness and death. Her father didn’t believe there was someone that could do this. He asked her what marriage could achieve that. She said a doctor could ease that kind of suffering. 

The entrance to Yomi is referred to as Yomotsuhirasaka and is where Izanagi closed it with a boulder. It contains the same final character of Doppo’s surname saka/zaka. 

[crystalelemental]

With Book 4 in FEH out of the way, I guess it’s time to talk about the stories so far.  Book 2 is still the best, in my opinion.

I don’t think I’ve really talked about this, so let me explain.  Book 1 sucks.  It’s nothing, it doesn’t even try.  The only hint of events occurring is that Veronica’s possessed by some evil dragon god of Embla, but that never got resolved in any way, and has really never been brought up again.  We’re so far outside of that plotline that Veronica’s basically a dedicated ally now.  Nothing about that book had a plan.

Book 2 had a plan, and a structure, and it worked.  It wasn’t flashy or interesting, and I can respect anyone whose stance is that Book 3 or 4 had a more interesting concept.  I personally liked the cast overall for Book 2, even though some got limited screen time and Surtr’s about as boring a villain as you can have.  But Book 2 wins because Books 3 and 4 flopped.

Book 3 flopped because they backed out.  The idea of the realm of the dead is cool, and facing off against the god of death is cool.  But the god of death is about as stock standard evil as you can get, with no actual plan beyond “swell the ranks of the dead.”  Why massacre these worlds?  Why does she need to kill Eir a million times to create more of the dead, shouldn’t you have plenty?  Like it doesn’t add up.  And Eir starting out as the concept of Merciful Death was amazing, that was the best setup possible.  And then it turns out no, she’s not even associated with death, she’s with the life dragon in opposition, none of that was real.  Oh okay. Way to undermine your entire theme for nothing I guess.  Also I hate to be like this, but I actually dislike the Veronica and Alfonse as Thrasir and Lif thing.  I thought it was substantially more interesting when they were presented as the ancient rulers of their kingdoms.  But then no, it’s just Veronica and Alfonse, and while Thrasir continues to get nothing except being omnicidal for funsies, Lif gets all the heavy drama and dialogue and focus, because god forbid this story stop riding Alfonse’s dick for five seconds.  Book 3 had interesting concepts that just didn’t pan out, and the characters all wound up being less interesting than they initially started out.  Also, let’s be real.  For a fucking DEATH GOD, they sure had no problem working around her ability to inflict absolute death in the most standard way possible.  Which kind of immediately nerfed Hel’s threat level for me, not gonna lie.

Book 4 started out interesting, immediately tanked harder than I’ve seen anything in this game tank, had a redemption arc, and then decided it had enough of success and ended in a pathetic squelching fart noise.  Fairies and dreams?  Awesome.  Aesthetic approved.  But it takes them like two chapters to introduce Plumeria as the fucking wet dreams fairy, and immediately all sense of this being serious is dead.  They even had the audacity to outright explain that no no, she may be the lewd fairy, but she doesn’t actually like that job!

Listen guys.  I get it.  You know the sexy outfits and character designs sell, but you also know that people are insane, and they somehow expect the slutty fairy to present this concept of being exclusively available to them so you can sell that fap bait.  I really get it.  But oh my god you could not have handled this any worse, because now that just feels like rape fetish.  “No no, her job is to be a prostitute, but she’s not a slut because she hates it!” is not the save you think it is, friend.  You’d have been better off either giving her a sadistic streak with this and enjoying toying with people who can never truly have her, or just making her slutty.  That would’ve been so much less uncomfortable.

So until the halfway point, we’re kinda just dealing with the fact this incredibly uncomfortable character just exists around here.  And then Freyja drops.  And initially it’s like oh, I just appreciate there’s an evil fairy whose costume design isn’t a fucking disaster, she actually looks good.  And then they have her motivation being assuming complete control over dreams by taking her brother’s power, and ensuring that the dream world can’t die like it almost had.  And they introduce this really cool concept of her taking in abandoned children and giving them a new life as the fairies, and...well...

Plumeria.  Again.  Okay, so it wasn’t quite enough that we had a fairy who’s apparently forced into being the wet dreams fairy despite hating it, now she’s also a child who was abandoned by her mother and is desperately seeking to be loved.  This is...this is next level of discomfort.  Plumeria’s character bothers me.  Like sure, fine, I get that this isn’t a badly developed character or anything, but it’s never really addressed how absolutely fucked up this is, and it’s especially disquieting considering this is IS’ sexy character for the book.  This is their sex appeal pandering character, and this is the direction they wanted to go.  Just...ew.  Come on, guys.  Have at least a bit of class, will you?

But the rest of the book at least continues to amp things up.  Are Peony and Sharena actually swapped around?  Freyr is dead, and Freyja is now literally unstoppable within the dream.  Oh shit, Alfonse is fucking dead.  There’s all this cool stuff happening, and then the final chapter happens.

Are Peony and Sharena actually swapped around?  Who cares!  Game’s not gonna tell you, because “it doesn’t matter.”  Well good, glad that was a huge mystery that didn’t need solving so nobody bothered.  Why even bring it up?  The message of “It doesn’t matter” only works if there’s a crisis of identity and you’re getting the support of your long-time friends.  Instead it’s just a mystery thrown in for nothing with no value, and the “it doesn’t matter, you’re my friend” comes from someone Sharena has no actual memories of and has only been around for like...a couple of hours or however long these events take place.  It’s a completely meanningless subplot that goes nowhere and does nothing.

Freyja went from the villain tormenting the protagonists to suddenly having empathy toward everyone at the drop of a hat.  They set up the frustration of not understanding why we’d fight so hard to return to reality when dreams are more comforting, but that doesn’t really establish much about Freyja herself.  We get exactly one moment, where she calls for Triandra and Plumeria only to realize they’ve died, and feels sad about it.  So when she gives up and everyone returns to reality, everyone’s back.  Triandra and Plumeria are fine.  Peony and presumably Mirabilis are fine.  Alfonse isn’t actually dead so what was the point of bringing it up?  Oh, but Freyja’s dead.  How?  Don’t...don’t worry about it.  She just is, okay?  Also if both masters of dream are dead, and the dream world was already dying before...how are the fairies still there?  Wasn’t the point that all the old ones were dying because people from the real world (don’t even get me started on that bullshit) gave up on dreaming, and thus they needed to make humans into fairies to keep the dream world going?  How are you all here as fairies?  Explain??  Game?!?

And then they just...loop back to the start.  Like nothing happened.  Because nothing did happen.  For all the interesting setup, all the interesting concept behind the new characters, and especially behind Freyja as an antagonist...it goes nowhere.  The ultimate defining feature of this book was “Pointlessness.”  Nothing mattered.  No one did or accomplished anything.  Except I guess killing the god of another realm, good job guys.  I just...I don’t get it.  What was the point of any of this?  Maybe Book 5 is going to focus on Triandra and Plumeria wanting to join up and have you help get Freyja back, so there’s continuity, I don’t fucking know.

I honestly don’t know where I’d rank Book 4.  I want to put it above Book 3 based on concepts and the fact that Freyja was actually interesting, just rushed to her development in the last book so it felt forced.  But on the flip side, Book 4 was incredibly pointless.  At least stuff happened in Book 3.  Sure it undermined its entire theme and purpose, but stuff happened!  You can’t say stuff didn’t happen!  But I can definitely say that Book 2 is the only one I think turned out well.  Because it was self-contained and made sense.  Yes it was simple, but using simple tools to tell an effective story will always be better than trying to reach for complexity and falling flat on your ass.  And yes, IS, I’m telling you maybe you should stop trying.  Between two consecutive failed books and some of the Forging Bonds events of the last year just...completely doing nothing or even hurting the characters presented...maybe just...don’t try to be complicated.  Because you’re not doing a good job.

[fyrapartnersearch]

Trouble in the alien kingdom

Obligatory long post ahead warning: this post is quite long and I know it may be intimidating to some readers but please don’t let it put you off if you’d still like to rp with me :) Hello ladies, gents, and fellow rpers. After having a writing blast and seeing how I’ve got room for some more partners I’ve decided to come back in search of some partners who are interested in what I’m looking for.I’ve got a good ten or so odd years of rping experience under my belt but any potential partners do not necessarily have to have the same experience, they simply need to fit under these three things: -third person only with correct spelling, grammar and punctuation. - at least one small (no less than seven lines) paragraph per post as well as being willing to write more if the situation calls for it. Please do not contact me intending to give me only small paragraphs with each response as the above is simply the bare minimum I’ll accept if there’s not much going on in the rp that warrants a full paragraph. -no one liners, one worders, script talk, poorly written sentences or just laziness in general. This isn’t terribly much to ask for as picky as it sounds. An important thing I shall mention is that NSFW (i don’t fade to black nor do I care when the smut happens. Just please don’t leave me once the smut has happened like lots of people seem to unfortunately do) and dark themes are a thing that occur in all my rp’s so I require you to at least be eighteen before you reach out to me. I will not accept anyone younger than 18 since I myself am in my early twenties. Underaged characters are also a no go as well. Please know that I’m in the eastern Australian time zone but almost any time zone Is compatible for me as I am awake at very odd hours. Another important thing I shall add is that you must be able to post at least once or more a day and if I don’t get any response after two weeks then I shall simply move on (only exception is if you notify me beforehand as to why you may not be able to post for a while. I’m not that vicious). I only rp as male characters, as it’s simply my preference, I do MxM or FxM pairings. I will not double and I do not play multiple characters. I don’t do sub/dom dynamics when it comes to any aspect of the relationship. My characters are also non human (they’re aliens since this is a sci-fi rp after all) but what species your character is doesn’t matter to me at all as long as it’s not some god modded Mary Sue. Please remember that alien simply means a creature not from earth. Aliens can have fur, scales, feathers, etc, depending on where they come from. An alien with fur or scalies is not a furry or a scalie and please do not refer to them as such as it’s rude to label someone’s character as something they’re not. I will not write with someone who will insist that the theory of chimpanzees and humans unable to crossbreed should apply to hybrid characters regardless of whether they’re alien/alien or human/alien. This is fiction, not reality. Please also do not control my characters or dictate their actions. My characters are also premade and only have descriptions, I don’t do face claims or pics. I also do not care if you make a character up on the spot. Please remember that this is a sci-fi rp and that I will not accept requests to do fandoms or any genre that doesn’t fit within the category of sci-fi. i will not accept a character that has no place in a sci-fi rp either like a dragon,harpy,demon, elf or some other fantasy creature. The planet setting will basically be medieval styled but with sci-fi elements added to it, like metal castles, technology, aliens and alien creatures, contact with other planets, etc. Down below are some ideas I’ve listed. I’m open to discussing any idea you may have or potentially mix and matching the ones below. Disgraced: *when one entered the royal guard they took upon themselves an oath that bound them by blood and courage to the dedication of the protection of their king, queen and the kingdoms heirs. They were sworn to protect them from any harm whilst at the same time not allowed to use their position or power to hurt anyone else. When one breaks that oath, they are sent away in disgrace and branded as a traitor who must swear to never return. Life on the run changes people, sometimes for the better.....or for worse.* Space pirates and nobles: *space was a vast starry and endless sea that many voyaged across for the purpose of research, leisure or finding ones destiny. Like any real ocean, it was filled with dangers. The most feared of all was space pirates. Bands of blood thirsty cut throats and scandalous troublemakers whose sole pleasure in life was to steal, kill and take others prisoner against their will. Only pirates dare to do what other criminals would not. When a merchant ship is robbed by pirates what fate will befall the nobles onboard?* Healing wounds, growing love: *winter on the planet of malgor is one that is feared for its extreme weather. Snowstorms could appear out of nowhere and many a traveller had frozen to death whilst trying to make their way from one village to another. It was also a time where people were at their most vulnerable, relying on the winter harvest to feed every mouth that had been born and raised in the kingdom meant no mercy was spared for poor wayfaring strangers. When a kind soul finds a wounded outcast and decides to bring them home, they discover a threat that’s lurking just beyond the borders of their place of protection.* The knight and the heir: *royals could be spoilt. There was no denying that. A life of good food, wealth, the knowledge that they’d be pampered and weighed on hand and foot by servants was more than enough to turn even the most well mannered child into an insufferable brat. The knights tasked with the protection of the future royals knew this all too well. What happens when one particularly gruff, no nonsense knight refuses to bow to the whim of their future ruler and shows them what it means to be a true leader?* Exile: *The wind howled as thunder crashed and shrieked all around the abandoned cargo ship. Rain pelted the metal hull, turning the ground into a cold, treacherously slippery and muddy shallow river. The ship itself had crashed into the planet countless centuries ago and was slowly being reclaimed by the environment. Plants grew from cracks in the floor as moss and vines decorated the walls. A figure sat miserably hunched in what was once the cockpit of the ship, their only shelter from the raging elements outside but not from the storm that raged inside of them. The figure leapt to their feet as the sounds of footsteps in the mud drew closer and they held their breath. Who would dare to venture out here on such a miserable night?* Enslaved: *imagine living the life of one of the most successful people on the run that could exist. Galaxies trembled at your name. You and your crew swam in wealth and the going was good. Mutiny, sadly and sometimes not sadly, exists on its own accord. One man reflected on this as he was forced to his feet. A collar attached to a chain and electromagnetic handcuffs prevented his escape as he stood for all those who cared to glance as they walked by in the market to see. No one wants to have their only life’s purpose to be to serve another......only sometimes people don’t get that choice.* (Important point of notice: I’ll be playing the slave/servant. You’ll be the master/mistress.) Betrothed: *for as long as there has been civilisation and leaders, there has been arranged marriages. Arranged marriages, or betrothals as they were more often called, consisted of pairing two people together and making them get married in order to secure ties to another land or another planet. Political marriages benefited everyone but the married pair it always seemed. After all, you couldn’t possibly be happy being married to a complete and utter stranger? How does one who is betrothed build a life of love and prosperity when the one who bears the rings of their union is not the one who also bears their heart?* (Important point of notice: this can go two ways, either our characters are betrothed to each other or one character is betrothed. The idea has endless possibilities) Sooooo..... about those pairings. What is in Bold is what I’m going to play if we choose the scenario: 1: enemies to lovers or rivals. 2: knight x royal 3: **wounded soldier/pirate/commoner** x high ranking person/royal 4: **commoner/rogue/street rat** x prince/princess 5: **slave/servant** x master 6: married person X unmarried person 7: any opposites attract type pairing 8: inter species relationships 9:forbidden love. PLEASE DO NOT APPROACH ME IF: 1: YOU GHOST AT THE DROP OF A HAT. 2: YOU ARE NOT WILLING TO PUT EFFORT IN TO MEET MY REQUIREMENTS. I’m open to discussing and potentially mixing these ideas up till we get something that we both like. If you want to learn more about a certain idea tell me the name and I shall expand on it. The only platforms I rp on are discord,telegram and google hangouts. I will not rp or any other platform other than the ones listed. I also no longer rp on email due to how often I tend to get ghosted on there. If you do not have any of those then unfortunately we cannot rp. When you reach out to me requesting for an rp please In the opening message tell me what idea you liked, why you liked it, what platform you rp on and give me a little introduction about you and you must put 123 somewhere in your message so that I know you’ve read all of my post, don’t just put “hi wanna rp”. Make it interesting. I look forwards to meeting potential partners. My discord: tiberionsunsconqourer#6187 My telegram: Tiberionwars My hangouts: lleo52560@gmail.com

[dragonastra]

1-100 on the DnD questions, for Deah >:3

Wow you're sure as hell fishing to kill me huh xD

I'll answer these under a read more cuz FUCK. I'll also try to keep it spoiler free -- I may mention stuff that hasn't come up in game but it would be stuff that might not ever come up explicitly anyway. Everything else has either been said or can be gleaned.

If your character wasn’t an adventurer, what livelihood would they lead Probably what she had been doing -- being a pirate

Who in the party would your character trust the most with their life Probably Maddie and/or Gael. Maddie is a divine soul sorcerer and probably the one Deah is closest to. Gael is our barbarian/paladin who is probably the emotional backbone of the group? He is very earnest and genuine, and also hits like a brick house.

What are your character’s core moral beliefs? [Brushes off notes I made like a year ago] Promises must be kept, and debts one day fulfilled. Clean up the messes you made. Family is more important than self. Survival means not letting the past define you. (Not all morals but those are her ideals)

What relationship does your character have with their parents and siblings? She has a twin brother, whom she would die for. Their relationship used to be solid, but theyve currently broken apart somewhat due to lies and building tension, and the brother needing to go his own way. She is still very broken up about it. Her parents are both dead, and she has not spoken of much closeness there, but describes them as "they tried their best." Her pirate captain was basically a surrogate father for her teenage years and onward until their separation, and she... misses him.

Does your character have any biases for or against certain races? Not really. She probably doesnt trust ratfolk based on where she grew up, but beyond that? If you're good, you're good.

What is your character’s opinion on nobility? On authority? (: fuck em. She is... shall we say... less inclined to help rich people.

Describe your character’s current appearance: clothes, armor, scars they’ve picked up along the journey, etc. She's grown out her undercut so she has an asymmetrical style, one side of her head buzzed. She is still wearing her bright red pirate coat, but now wears a dark brown vest with purple accents underneath, as well as a long black sleeve to cover magical scars she received when she accepted a warlock pact with the hunter god. Also covering her scars is a gauntlet made by Maddie, so that they can't be detected by Detect Good and Evil and such.

What location encountered in the campaign has your character felt the most “at home” in, or just generally liked the most? Sometimes she still thinks about that nap she had on the beach at a random island they had stopped at to restock on food.

What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship? As i mentioned, she has a pact with the hunter god, Erastil. She does not worship him. In fact, she rather doesnt like gods much. She doesnt really understand other worshippers, but if they're not hurting anyone with it she doesn't really care. Their worship doesnt affect her.

If your character had time to pick up any artisan’s tools, game set, instrument, etc., what would it be? Let's get this binch some navigator's tools finally!

Describe your character’s current relationship with the player character sitting to your right. We are entirely online so we don't really have table seating. Based on the order of our nicknames in discord though, that would be... Haru, our new kitsune Oracle who joined us to fill a gap while some other players went on hiatus. Deah is uncertain about him, and she is generally pretty wary about strangers in her party, but he is useful. Their relationship is not deep by any means tbh.

What is your character’s current goal, summed up in one sentence? Stop the lord of the sea, and stop Aleksander.

Does your character ever want to “settle down” with a spouse, children, house, etc.? ;) you'll have to ask her

Has your character ever been in love? Before the campaign, certainly not. She's hella ace, and doesn't open up easily, so she's got some confusing feelings right now for Maddie ;)

What battle in the campaign has been most memorable to your character The battle against Tokt, since this was the battle that she was able to help save a person from being possessed by a demon -- something she figured out beforehand and convinced her team about.

If your character wasn’t whatever class they are, what would they be instead? I mean... probably a fighter???? Or maybe a full warlock, if she was desperate enough.

What is your character’s favorite season? Probably the fall? Sailing is usually good during that time, plus the harvest is coming in on land, so there's a lot of fresh food.

What would your character’s Zodiac sign be, following stereotypical astrology? She would be an Aries based on her birthday! Our homebrew world just uses "Season Day" as time markers, with 90 days each season. She was born on Spring 12, which would translate to the first week of April.

Where in the world does your character most want to visit? She's been all over as an adventurer and a sailor. The place she'd like to visit the most is one she doesn't know about -- somewhere important to her old captain.

What is the biggest mistake your character has ever made? Deah would maybe even say joining the pirates. It was the happiest she'd ever been, but it led her brother to a path he regrets and feels pain over, and she feels a... bit guilty about that.

Does your character have any noticeable scars? If so, what are their stories? The only scars she has are from her pact to Erastil. She hides them, though. She's not ashamed of them, but she likes to keep them to herself... she's private like that.

What animal best represents your character? I always liken her to a hawk, especially a sea hawk. In some ways she’s like a cobra or a porcupine too -- kind of hard to get close to!

If your character could go back in time and change one thing about their life, what would it be? 😬

Which other player character does your character find themselves having the most in common with? I don't know about most in common, really, but she gets along easiest with Ro, our halfling. Their banter is 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻. Honestly though? She probably has the most in common with Mercy, our tiefling fighter/paladin.

Does your character regret any particular choice the party has made? She probably regrets the party not staying behind in a certain town after a powerful enemy escaped. They thought the immediate threat had been dealt with and that another team from their guild could keep watch over the town, but then that team got surprised by an undead and two of them died. She feels at least partially responsible for that.

What would your character say their best trait would be? Her ability to perceive and track things. She has the observant feat plus the invocation that lets her see through even magical darkness!

What is your character’s greatest fear? Deep, irrational? Being abandoned.

What is currently motivating your character to stay with the party? No where else to go, really. Like, sure, she likes at least most of them and they've been through a lot!!! And she DOES you know, feel like this is a stable job, and she does feel good helping people. But... she really does have no where else to go. :(

What are your character’s hobbies and interests outside of their class? She does enjoy reading, though she's a little slow. Her favorite books are detective/mystery novels! She also sometimes likes to practice magic tricks (like... sleight of hand stuff). And technically this isnt outside of her class, but she really does enjoy training. Let's her burn off steam.

What would most people think when they first see your character? Pretty little waif, but that resting bitch face looks like she will cut me of I even say hello (this is by design).

What stereotypical group role does your character play in the party? (The Mom, the Mess, the Comic Relief, etc. Optionally: What role would your character play in the “Five Man Band” structure?) [Googles five man band] probably Lancer. Initially she wanted to be the Leader type but with the group dynamics and her own insecurities and issues, that isnt really truly possible for her. But she still tries to lead...

What is your character the most insecure about? :)

What person does your character admire most? Her old ship captain. Her DEAD ship captain :(

What does your character admire and dislike the most about the player character sitting to your left? She admires maddie's strength and kindness (and to a degree, innocence). Maddie's cooking skills. Maddie's family. She dislikes how nervous/anxious and possibly depressed Maddie can get :c

Why is your character’s lowest stat their lowest (the in-character reason, not “because there’s no reason for a wizard to have 16 strength, duh”)? Her lowest stat is strength, and her second lowest is constitution. This is because she grew up poor, and was at times starving and definitely malnourished. Once she was om the pirate ship, she was regularly fed though.

What would be your character’s theme song/favorite band/favorite genre of music? I've been saying if she was in modern time, her favorite band would be Florence and the Machine. There's just something about the Florence sound that speaks to her. She'd definitely be into that kind of music, plus some heavier stuff leaning more towards metal or symphonic metal...

What stereotypical role would your character play in a high school AU/if they attended a normal high school? (Nerd, jock, bully, goth, etc.) She's got the soul of a goth but the hobbies of a jock (in our team's college AU she's totally on the fencing and sailing teams). When I've drawn her in modern day she is usually wearing athleisure (capris leggings, loose tank top, sports bra, e.g.) but also it's mostly dark colors. She's Joth.

What treasure/item/artifact that your character has collected during the adventure is the most important to them? Toby :) just kidding, the pseudodragon isn't an item!!! Specifically collected during the adventure, probably her force blade. Her brother had found it, but had given it to her, near the beginning of the adventure.

Is there any particular weapon, item, etc. that your character longs to find? She's not really looking out for items, no.

Where does your character feel the most at home? On the beach, on the ship. Specific locations to call home, she does finally feel like she has a stable place to call home in the patty's estate.

Does your character care about how they’re perceived by others? How do they change themselves to fit in with other people? She's worn disguises and fake names before, but that's mostly to protect herself during her pirate years. She doesn't care a whole lot, but she does want to appear somewhat intimidating so that unsavoury people won't approach her LMAO. But she also wants to be seen as nice by children and poor folk, so she does soften a bit when they're around.

What does your character think is the true meaning of life? Happiness. Safety. Survival. Family/community.

What is your character’s scent? (Bonus points for a description that sounds like it could be from a bad [or awesome] fanfic.) She's always got a slight scent of salt on her, reminding you just a bit of the sea. For herself, she prefers to just smell... clean, so there's a fresher floral scent lingering...

Does your character think more with their heart or their brain? She tries to think more with her brain but sometimes the bottled up emotions get to be a bit much.

What is your character’s most recent or frequent nightmare? BEING. ABANDONED.

What opinion does your character have on [CERTAIN ESTABLISHED GROUPS/AUTHORITIES IN THE GAME WORLD]? (Dragonmarked Houses, royal crown, etc.) She hates (most) rich people and used to be a pirate, so you can kind of figure it out.

How did your character spend their childhood? Where did they grow up/who were their childhood friends? :(

What aspect of your character’s future are they most curious about? (If they could know one thing about the future, what would it be?) I dunno man she is just taking things one step at a time.

What colors are associated with your character? Red is her primary color. She also uses blacks/dark grays and a light purple as an accent. She's using more brown now tho to represent her connection to the hunter god.

Who in the party would your character prioritize rescuing, in dire circumstances? Maddie always. Then Ro. Then Gael. Haru would probably be up there because he is squishy and also mostly blind.

Is your character the most swayed by ethos, pathos, or logos? A mix of pathos and logos is most effective on Deah. Logos probably most of all, but there are pathos buttons that hold away above all that... if you know which buttons to press.

If your character was granted a single use of Wish, what would they use it for? Currently? To bring back her pirate captain. She knows its selfish but...

What is your character’s favorite spell? If they don’t use spells: what is their favorite personal weapon/combat maneuver/skill/etc.? Her favorite spell is stab with rapier.

How does your character feel about keeping secrets from the rest of the party? She keeps secrets pretty regularly! Basically if the party needs to know, then the secret should be shared. But if it doesnt really affect the group or something important, and the person doesnt want to share, then go ahead and keep the secret.

What type of creature in the world is your character the most intrigued by? Dragons probably, at this point. Definitely an influence by me the player, haha, but it's buoyed by an early meeting with a particular dragon that sparked her interest.

When they were a child, what did your character want to be, or think they were going to be, when they grew up?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ she didnt have life plans as a kid. She just wanted her and her brother to live.

The player character to your left admits that they’re passionately in love with your character. How would your character respond? That's already happened LMAO. Deah didnt know how to react so her brain blur screened and she ran away from the situation for a bit.

If somebody (an NPC, someone from their backstory, etc.) your character trusts/loves asked your character to do something against the party’s best interest, who would they side with? If it only involved herself, Deah would probably go do it. But if it was a huge net loss for the group, she wouldn't, if that makes sense? It's hard to make sweeping statements like that.

Does your character value their own best interest more than the party’s? She values her own interest for sure, but she would prioritize the party's if one meant dunking on the other. She knows what it's like to sail with a tight knit crew; sometimes you sacrifice to make the group as a whole better/happier.

What decision would the party have to make in order for your character to consider splitting off from the group? Oh gosh, uh.... I mean, if they decide to help her enemies (not likely to happen, there are a couple shared ones). If they don't let her do something she REALLY wants... I can't really think of anything specific.

How does your character imagine the way they will die? Tragically. 

What is your character’s greatest achievement? Taming her pseudodragon ;w;

Is your character willing to risk the well-being of others in order to achieve their goal? Hmm... not to a certain degree. Eh, probably not. She only really wants to risk herself, not others. Risking others doesn't give them the choice.

What is your character’s opinion on killing others? She does it all the time!! But if they're defenseless or not fighting back, she won't.

What is your character’s favorite food? Beverage? She really loves fresh baked bread!! As for beverage, uh.... I guess she'd like water with like, something fruity mixed in???

How generous is your character? Especially to those they don’t know? To the poor and to kids? Very. Also, recently, she gave all of the money she got from a quest to a townsperson to help them rebuild their city a bit (secretly of course. Not even her team knows she did that, though maybe some of them suspect hahaha)

What is your character the most envious about, regarding anyone in the party? Once again... probably most envious of Maddie!! She comes up a lot doesn't she ;P

The player character to your left and the player character to your right are both telling your character two different versions of the truth. Who does your character believe? Maddie vs Haru? Shed probably lean towards Maddie :p

What is your character’s sexuality/relationship with sex? I've described Deah as Panromantic Asexual. She is rather sex averse and has difficulty pinpointing romantic feelings as well, being rather prickly at times.

What is your character’s biggest pet peeve? When people try to dig into something she doesn't want to share at the moment.

Describe how your character feels about the party’s current situation/objective/etc. The current objective/situation involves her backstory, so you'll see soon ;)

Who in the party would your character trust the most to keep an important secret? Maddie of course! She trusts Gael, but not with secrets. Similarly, she trusts Mercy to hold an oath to the best of her ability, but not if a secret comes up -- same with Rudi. Ro does what she wants LMAO and she isnt telling Haru anything personal atm.

If your character knew that they were going to die in a month, how would they spend the rest of their life? I dont want to think about that question and neither does Deah

What makes your character feel safe? Having her weapons. Having her pact/her pact scars.

If your character had the chance to rename the party/give the party a name, no questions asked, what would it be? Nah, she likes Fortune's Blades

What memory does your character want to forget the most? Cal leaving. It's probably her most painful memory.

If your character had to multiclass into a class they currently aren’t the next time they level up, what would it be and what reason would they have for doing so? She's already multi classed and her reasons for becoming a warlock are kind of muddied. She explained them initially but maaaaybe wasn't 100% truthful. If she had to pick a third, probably uh.... fighter?????

What television/book/video game/etc. character would your character be best friends with? (Or: what media character is your character the most influenced by/similar to?) I would HOPE she would be friends with Elizabeth Swan (: but idk lol

What unusual talents does your character possess? Sharp senses and magic tricks.

How does your character feel about receiving/giving orders? Are they more of a leader, or a follower? It's rather situational. She tries to be a leader type, but she also realizes she's not at the top of the leader chain (and, with her party, at times different people take the head, so it's almost more consult-y like).

What does your character’s name represent to them? (Or: why as a player did you choose your character’s name?) The player of Cal, her brother, chose his name first from a generator. I like to construct my names sometimes from different name elements, so I made hers to match the sound of her twin's (that is, make it sound like it came from the same language). Her name is constructed of "Feld-" (field) and "-Deah" (dye) so her first name translates roughly to "field of dye." Her original last name is Shearwater, which is a real life sea bird but also follows the traditional elven naming convention (their dad was an elf). She never felt much of an attachment to her last name. She recently changed her last name to Blackheart, which was the moniker of her captain.

Is your character more of an introvert, or an extrovert? Introvert for sure

How far is your character willing to go to pursue the “greater good”? Do they believe in a greater good at all? She would go as far as she needs to, but would never force others to make that same decision.

What does your character want to be remembered by? At one point she thought she would eventually be a famous pirate captain. But mostly I think she just wants to be remembered by those who love her and by those she helped...

What would be your character’s major in college? Fuck, uh... I had discussed this before.... I think I made her pre-law??? Math major???

Does your character consider themselves a hero, villain, or something else? Something else. She doesn't really care about that, she's just Being.

What major arcana tarot card best represents your character? I believe last it was discussed I had picked the Chariot for her.

Where does your character see themselves in 20 years? If not dead from adventuring, then settled somewhere nice, hopefully...

What is your character’s relationship with magic? Are they scared of it, wish to know more about it, indifferent to it? For a long time she was the Sokka of the group, the only non-magic user. Then she got her pact. She's still kind of awkward about it, and at times really doesn't like magic, but she sees it as a tool. A means to an end.

Who is your character’s biggest rival? Rival?????? I guess Morrigan tbh??? Cuz a rival isn't an enemy, and she had a thing going with Morrigan (her player is on hiatus tho). In some ways she rivals Mercy too. A dance of similarities and differences.

What is your character’s guiltiest pleasure? Fine, beautiful dresses. She doesn't own any, because it's a waste of money, but.... she wants them. Secretly.

What does your character hope for the afterlife? Peace and rest.

Who in the party does your character trust the least? Haru, currently, simply by virtue of being new.

What is your character’s biggest flaw? BIGGEST flaw???? Uhhhmmm..... Her secrecy probably. Her tendency to run away from really big, painful problems, to bottle up her emotions around that until everything just gets worse.

How did your character learn the languages that they speak? Common, prucrician and Elvish she learned just growing up. Deep, she just... mysteriously knows. Doesn't know why she can speak it. Draconic she learned at first from Rudi, and then from a dragonborn NPC to finish her lessons during a timeskip.

What is your character’s favorite school of magic/type of weaponry? Rapier

What is most important to your character: health, wealth, or happiness? Why must she choose? Wealth, because that brings health and happiness in her eyes. (Because money buys food and when you have food.....)

What advice would your character give to a younger version of themselves? I know it's hard, but open up more. You don't have to keep it to yourself to protect others. Your brother can be your friend as well... you don't have to just keep holding yourself back for your friends and family.

Are there any social or political issues your character feels strongly about? She doesn't feel super strongly about politics, having been a pirate. She feels strongly about protecting children and poor though, as I've mentioned.

What, currently, is your character the most curious about? The afterlife. Erastil, but specifically just that one god. Her ship captain.

[for-bucks-sake]

Underwater.

Pairing: Stucky x Reader Word Count: 4.5K. I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Warnings: Angst, Endgame Spoilers, general sadness? Characters death. That’s it probably. Summary: For the past five years, Y/n has been holding her breath.  A/N: Idk man, I want to thank everyone who read Missing Is a Recurring Theme. I was overwhelmed by the comments so just,,thank you! Currently working on part two (get ready for fluff!) But for now, this was requested by the lovely @fandomnerdxox. Hope you love angst, because that’s what this fic is all about. Hope you like it! 

Her lungs were filled with dust. She could tell. Unable to expend them enough to take a breath, ribcage staying painfully small. “Bucky?” She called, maybe yelled. Nothing was clear anymore. Not even the air.

The fighting stopped all at once, there was a shift in the atmosphere, like the universe itself sensed something has gone terribly wrong. She stopped running when a Wakandan soldier reached for her, hurt, looking distressed as he tried to come closer, his back bent.

She swallowed, the urged to find her partners almost overpowering her instincts to help the man. She took his hand nevertheless, holding it tight in hers and pulling him up. She glanced to the sides, forever searching with her eyes familiar figures, when she felt the man slipping from her touch; “Are you oka-“ y/n looked back just in time to witness him disintegrating in front of her eyes, warm human flash crumbling in her grip, nothing left but dirt.  

She gasped, nearly falling back. Her eyes widened in panic as she finally started to notice more and more people dissolving into thin air.

Y/n ran. “Steve!” Knowing it’s too late. But she ran. “Bucky!” The field was too big to cover on foot. But she ran.

There was a long leg clothed in navy blue uniforms, scattering into invisible particles. Wind spreading them all over two silver, Vibrenium made shields, That’s when she stopped.

“No.” She choked, vision clouded, not even registering the chaos she walked right into.

A single, large, sniper rifle abandoned on the grass, inches away from where the leg was no longer. “No.”

It can’t be. It can’t. Not them, it can’t be them.

She collapsed to the ground, the weight of her injuries finally hitting her fully;

“I can’t breathe.” She panted, holding her sore throat desperately, starving for oxygen,“I can’t breathe.”

-

Loneliness is a funny thing. You could be lonely for years, decades, even. And never once notice it. You could live content with what you have, not even wondering about what you might miss. That’s when life tricks you. It lures you into tasting it, like a pinch of salt you bake inside a cake, bringing the sweetness out. Life places it on your tongue, melting it away into your bloodstream, changing you forever so you will never be the same. And then, they wait.

Wait in the shadows, until they think you’re too used to it, until they decide you don’t deserve it anymore. So they take it. Snatch it from between your fingers with brutal force, leaving you alone, bare, unworthy.

Funny may not be the accurate word, no. But all the other words she thought of to describe her situation were too tragic. So she sticks with funny.

-

Nat asked her to move back to compound today.

Y/n said no, of course. Not even remotely considering this as an option, furious at Natasha that she did. It got heated quickly, on her part, mostly.

She was alone all her life. Both of them were before the universe was vicious enough to give a meager taste to the starved.  She thought maybe Nat, could understand.

Y/n didn’t want to move in. Waking up to the sound of Natasha trying to save a world that already lost. Listening to her secretly wiping about what Clint has become. She didn’t want to do that. Y/n had enough shit to deal with on her own.

She finally reached her front door, fumbling with her keys, groaning as the jingling continued because she couldn’t find the right one, hands still shaking from anger.

“Did you know how quickly smell fades away?” Nat’s hair was longer, red color vibrant than ever. It suited her.

“I’m sorry?” Confusion replaced Natasha’s fading smile,

“Smell.” Y/n stressed, “of people, I mean. When they’re not here to renew it, it just disappears. Dissolves into the air, like it was never there.” She refused to sit, not once stopping to chip on her nails.

“Are you okay? Y/n, I’m starting to w-“

“Especially with clothes.” She frowned, burring her hands inside the pocket of her oversized leather jacket, changing her mind right after, bringing right hand fingers to her lips instead,  “you know, I tried keeping their clothes in the closet, I thought maybe, it will help preserve the smell. But it was all bullshit. Turns out I just missed about a year of their scents. When I opened it, it was barely there.”

Natasha remained silent, too alarmed to speak. Y/n accepted it as an invitation to continue her ramble.

“I was so angry, you won’t believe.” She laughed bitterly, “At myself of course, like, I could’ve googled it or something, but I didn’t. So I don’t have much to go with now.” Y/n continued, either going through an aneurism, a fit, or finally losing her mind all together, doing so hysterically right in front of Nat.

Natasha left her chair, walking towards y/n as carefully as she would approach a wounded predator.

“Listen to me, it’s going to be fine.” She cringed at her own words, feeling terrible at making people feel better. Steve was great at it, he always knew what to say and when to say it. Surly if he returned to give an advice, it would’ve calmed down his grieving girlfriend.

Natasha was relieved to be her only audience, if anyone else was seeing her state she would get a fast pass to a psych ward. Nat knew she wasn’t crazy, just…hurting.

“Yeah. yeah,” y/n dismissed her, swinging her hand, “anyway, that’s my way of telling you I can’t move here.” She finally sat down, leaving Natasha facing the wall. She turned around.

“Why not?” She said carefully, crossing her arms, “the thought of you all alone is- .”

“I don’t mind being alone.” Y/n cut sharply the kind words directed to her,

“do you?”

She finally managed to find the right one, shoving the key to its lock and twisting. She pushed the door with her shoulder, dropping her small bag to the floor.

Five years had gone and she still wasn’t used to the unnatural silence.

The blinds were shut, the air didn’t move, and for a second she could believe that time actually stopped.

Y/n inhaled deeply, standing still in the middle of the room, not daring to make a sound - maybe time did stop. She jumped when a car honked outside. A loud, ear cutting sound that tore her ruthlessly from her bubble.

She blinked, as if waking up from a deep slumber, realizing her precious reality was nothing but a dream.

That’s how she felt everyday, if she was being honest. Sometimes their touch felt more like a delusion than a memory. Sometimes, metal hand and starred chest turning into dust were just a horrifying nightmare. Sometimes, two purple, ugly fingers snap themselves together was just a fucked up hallucination. Sometimes, the existence of two, perfect men, reciprocating the strong, burning love she felt was just too hard to believe.

Nothing was real anymore.

Y/n walked into the bedroom, grabbing the white bottle of aspirin from her bedside table and swallowing down two. It was an exhausting day.

Her head met the sagging pillow with a soft thud, unlike most days, sleep came quickly, and with a flutter of her eyelashes, she was already gone.

He was so handsome with that beard. It was really impacting her ability to focus.

“Hi, ms. Astronaut!” Steve called her, golden fragments of light dancing in his eyes, “your pretty dreamy looks won’t help you on the battlefield.”

“Really? So you’re just that good at punching people?” She smirked, adjusting the straps of her sports bra, “no staring at your enemies with those baby blues until they beg for mercy?”

He caught her off guard, using her shoulder to hoist himself up and tackle her ankles from the back. She hit the soft padding embarrassingly easily, Steve not even giving her the time to react.

He offered a strong hand, swinging her off the ground like she weighs nothing when she took it. He smiled at her, eyes a brilliant cerulean- “ready to beg for mercy yet?”

Y/n huffed and hit his shoulder, “not a chance.” She paused, tightening her ponytail, returning to starting position, “now explain to me how to block it.”

Suddenly, her scenario dusted away in a disgusting black ash, swirling around her body, ruthlessly throwing her into a field.

She started running. She didn’t know where she ran, but it felt like she’s been there before; sounds and smells familiar, recognizing the path to god-knows-where as her legs kept carrying her.

A more clear image started to form, the sky bore lightning but it was warm outside, faceless monsters with sharp teeth and slick skin tried to attack her but only went through. Y/n was starting to realize where she was; it was their last fight against Thanos, and she got another chance.

Running was a part of her by now. Unable to stop or slow down, one mission in mind. Looking for a reflection of the sun on metal, or just the eyes of two bearded men before they disappear for good.

She heard them calling for her, loud and clear, two voices she hasn’t encountered for a long time, yet will never be able to forget.

“Bucky?” She screamed, this time she has to find them, she has to, “Steve? Where are you? Steve, Bucky!”

The tears woke her up, cheeks stained and breaths that were no longer under her control, hasty gasps that choke her up instead of supplying oxygen.

She was so close this time.

Her body shook violently, trembling with fear and drenched in cold sweat. The headache she had when she fell asleep was worse now, an echoing sting compressing her brain every time her heart beat.

It wasn’t just her failed attempt to say goodbye. She dreamed this every other night, and every single time she finds herself inside an unknown territory, not knowing what she needs to do until the very last minute, when she fails miserably, only to awaken to the voices of her loved ones, calling her to come save them.

No, it wasn’t just that. Because this time- this time she had a good dream too.

They used to spar all the time together, it was a good energy outlet and an excuse to spend more time with each other. She had a lot to learn from two super soldiers, and to her surprise, she taught them some moves too.

Y/n remembered that day, Steve and she were having an early morning while Bucky was still soundly sleeping, so they decided not to wake him, leaving an orange sticky note on his metal arm that said, gone to kick steve’s ass, be back by 9:00. love you.

Steve drove them to the compound, crisp breeze hitting her freshly opened eyes as she clutched his firm chest tighter, leaning her body weight on his.

He asked if she was okay, loud noise of the engine and the wind free whistles in her ears, maybe he thought he drove too fast.

She nodded, smiling in reassurance when they bypassed traffic, Steve maniacally dodging cars and driving in between the small spaces vehicles leave. He was crazy. But he managed to bring them to the compound in under twenty minutes, which was a new record.

They entered the gym, Steve’s hand still on her lower back as they stopped walking, taking off their jackets, staying only in training clothes.

“I really like that jacket.” She said, feeling the worn leather of the large brown cloth under her fingertips.

“I know.” He smiled and bit his lips, taking her hand and guiding her to the large ring.

They took their positions, adjusting their stances, “Last night I remembered some old fight moves I didn’t use in a long time.” Steve scratched his beard then stretched his shoulders, “maybe we could start with them?”

She remembers nodding, not registering exactly what he said because she got distracted, thinking about his beard and his eyes and everything else.

It was a good day. Peaceful day. A day she would give anything to experience just once more.

Her eyes were tired, begging for an actual rest as she got up, still in her clothes from yesterday, blindly walking to the kitchen and hitting some buttons on the coffee machine- it was too old now. Needed to be replaced.

Nothing has really changed, since half of the world disappeared, since Steve and Bucky disappeared. She set next to the kitchen table, filling only one of four chairs, like every other day, holding the same bitter, black coffee in the same chipped mug.

Even killing Thanos didn’t mean anything, and she wasn’t even there. Too struck with grief to see the last light behind this monster’s eyes before they darkened forever.

Y/n felt like the world ceased to move, like maybe, in a way, they were caught in a lop, and time did stop.

-

“I’m sorry.” She went to visit Natasha again. Being sad was no excuse to treat her only friend spitefully. She leaned against the lintel, trying to find support, or hide behind it, she didn’t know.

Natasha’s eyes were swollen, eyes still threatening to tear up again any moment.

“It’s okay.” She took a bite from her sandwich, “Clint did it again.”

Y/n thought about yesterday, her own thoughts were so unfair to Nat, who did nothing but help her the past five years, how could she be so selfish, thinking she was the only one in suffering.

“I’m sorry, Nat. I really am.” Y/n approached her, taking the chair that was opposite of her, “did you try looking for him? Clint is a good guy. You know he is. He’s someone who lost everything at once. Something like that gotta mess up with your mind.”

“You’re still here.” Nat said quietly, already regretting it,

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek, reclining against the back of the chair, “If there’s someone in this world that could save him - it’s yo-“

“Hey, Hello, This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany, I got really big-“

Both women were startled, slowly getting up from their chairs, looking at the small monitor.

“Is this an old message?” Y/n asked, her eyes burning, she inhaled sharply. Scott Lang is supposed to be missing, he dusted with all the others. And if that really is Scott it means…

-

Scott didn’t disappear because of Thanos’ snap like the others. So it didn’t mean shit. And hope crushed her chest once again, hating herself for letting it invade her thoughts repeatedly, not learning her lesson.

His incoherent ramble about a time machine sure didn’t help. Natasha insisted they would go visit Tony anyway, saying that if he recognized a real chance he would never hesitate to help-

But when she sees Tony with his daughter, her world nearly crumbles for the second time in two days. The odds he would cooperate were now down to zero.

Tony saw them approaching. She watched him letting the kid down, following her with her gaze as she ran all the way to the front door, swallowed by the wooden house.

“I’m happy for you Tony,” y/n heard herself saying, “I really am. But you can help so many people, you can help bring so many people back, and you won’t even…”

“No. I won’t even.” There was a finality in his voice, one that clearly states they are done.

“Steve? You remember Steve? He used to be your friend. Or have you already forgotten him. How easy.” She pierced the air with an ice cold tone , anger consuming her. “You live your happy life, and you got everything. Tony. Everything. What do I got? What do I have?” She heaved, breathless, and he looked like he was going to say something, when his daughter came jumping on his lap, securing her little arms around him in a firm hug, “mom told me to come save you.”

Y/n finally got a good look of the girl. She was sweet looking, a visible brain behind her eyes; And she didn’t know Tony Stark very well, but y/n could tell the kid shared a deep resembles to him. Who wouldn’t do anything for their child? Even if it means letting the other half of the world burn. -

She clearly didn’t know the man at all, because for some reason- Tony Stark came back.

Everything they did seemed to fail, and when Bruce couldn’t figure it out, almost making what’s left of the Avengers babysitters to baby Scott, Tony arrived to the rescue.

“He turned into a baby, didn’t he?” He snarked with a sly grin, revealing a weird looking metal bracelet and a proud attitude that said, I did it.

“Thank you.” Y/n took his hand, squeezing it hard, knowing that as of now, she owes this man her life. “Thank you so much.”

He offered a knowing smile, grief shifting his features, “I know what it’s like to lose someone.” - “See you in a minute.” She heard Nat, giddy with excitement, before all of them were pulled into a colorful vortex, a hurricane rearranging her guts, staying with her even when they landed in an unfamiliar ally in New York.

“Are we in the right place?” She asked Tony and Bruce, changing her white and red, Quantum traveling suit, into a more area fitting one with a single button.

Smashing sounds got closer by the second right after she asked, not long before they saw a much greener Hulk, destroying everything on his path.

“I’m pretty sure this answers my question. “ Y/n said to herself, amused, heart light inside her chest despite the heavy mission ahead of them.

Y/n wore a big SHIELD identification, saying she was incredibly high clearance, it’s supposed to get her what she needs quickly, no questions asked; but when she entered an elevator full of Hydra thugs, testosterone reeking the small space, she assumed there might be some questions.

“Gentlemen.” She said, too ceremonially, “I will need you to hand me the Scepters. Orders from high, I’m afraid.” She felt all of them tense around her,

“And who are you, if I may ask? I have never seen you here.” The bald man who looked less threatening than all of them asked,

Y/n held her ID high, pointing out her clearance level, “not ever seeing me here is a good sign, Mr…”

“Mr. Sitwell.”

“Very well, Mr. Sitwell. Now, if you will, the Scepter. I’m in a bit of a rush. Wouldn’t want to keep people on the higher floors waiting.” Y/n decided to do something bold, the outcome could either be a success, or one that she would have to punch her way out of. She leaned against Sitwell, bringing her mouth closer to his ear and whispered,  

“Hail Hydra.”

The man looked apprehensive at first, debating with himself for a long moment, until finally nodding to one of the other men, handing her the long suitcase reluctantly.

Y/n gladly accepted it , the elevator finally opening up as she turned her back to them, smirking in satisfaction, going towards the exit.

Her legs stopped in their tracks. She wasn’t supposed to see him. Not now, not like this.

Steve, wearing a very cheesy and outdated Captain America suit approached her, holding his earpiece, and before she could even registered what was going on, she heard him say he has eyes on Loki. Fucking Fantastic.

It wasn’t her Steve, she knew, but it was harder to accept than say, because as it seemed she is going to have to fight him, and she wasn’t ready.

In the months before the mission Natasha got her back into a very strict schedule of training, trying to beat her into shape again. It couldn’t repair years of damage and neglect, but it was better than anything. And as past Steve swung his shield to her direction, y/n held onto every bit of shape she head.

It wasn’t her Steve, her mind screamed as she dodged his punch, fighting the desire to take off his mask and kiss him.

He hasn’t met her yet, of course he won’t recognize her.  

“Hand back the Scepter, Loki.” He demanded, she was suddenly happy she couldn’t see his eyes.

Steve tried to use her shoulder to hoist himself up, but y/n hunched over, waiting for him to miss his jump, and placed two hands securely on his broad shoulders, lifting herself and using his support to flip over, forcing him down along with her, wrapping her body around his, trying to chock him long enough for him to lose consciousness.

“I can’t do that. “She panted, struggling to keep him in a tight enough grip, “and I am not Loki.”

Steve fought out of her hold, twisting his thighs around hers and kicking her kneecaps, rattling her entire body as they changed positions, now she was the one being strangled. She arced her back, hitting him in full force with it, but he didn’t budge. Not even when she jerked one ankle, jolting him right in the junk. She’ll apologize later.

Y/n couldn’t beat him in a hand to hand combat, poorly shaped and outmatched by him. Distraction was her only possible advantage, and she was running out of time, options, and air. What could baffle 2012 Steve Rogers? She thought frantically, just as the answer presented itself to her.

What would faze 2012 Steve Rogers? The same thing that would faze 2019 Steve Rogers, or any Steve Rogers for that matter.

“Bucky, is , alive.” She coughed out, and it was enough; the lock on her throat was released, giving her an opportunity to take the Scepter and run. She took it out of its case, pointing it at Steve general direction just as he gained composer again, hovering above her. She caught a glimpse of blue, cold and painful to watch without the warm undertones that appeared every time he looked at her.

“Sorry.” She squeaked as he dropped to the floor, head planted down. Only falling asleep, she hoped.

- The minute she saw Clint collapsing, an empty space to her left, she knew Natasha was not coming back.

They didn’t know exactly what happened, and it didn’t matter. Because everything else was clear. She gave her life to get that stone, to get everyone back. That only meant one thing; They could not fail.

- As time went by, y/n thought less and less about what would happen if they came back. There was no point to lead herself on, right? So she didn’t.

But now, as the possibility of them returning appeared more vivid, worry began to chew on her confidence.  Insecurity seemed the last thing she needed right now, so insignificant, superficial, in times like this, when the faith of the world was at stake. Yet, she was staring at the mirror, for the first time in five years, really looking. Examining carefully, with attention, how her body has changed. She didn’t like what she saw.

It’s not about you, she had to remind herself, it’s about them.

“Also", a very familiar voice, challenging her with the cheek in her tone; Nat. “Give those two dumbasses more credit, they will love you, no matter what.”

-

It was only them, and they were losing.

They managed the snap, and it almost cost Bruce’s life in the process. Nothing in the world seemed to scream about drastic changes so far, and then Thanos decided to pay a visit, depriving them of finding out if everything they have gone through was for nothing.

Slowly but surely, they were losing. Being wrecked by the purple alien that already destroyed once their lives as they knew and loved.

It wasn’t fair, Stark was the last one standing. She watched him from where she landed, after being brutally thrown. He could never face him by himself, he wouldn’t survive long enough. She remembered that day, it seemed like thousand years ago now; when she swore, she owed her life to that man.

No superpowers, no special suit, no weapon. Just her, and her fists. That’s all she had to offer. She owed it to too many people to not just surrender and die, leaving a world to burn behind her. She owed it to herself.

Y/n gritted her teeth and spit blood to the side, standing side by side with Iron Man, bringing two fists to the front of her body and fixing her stance.

She inhaled deeply and glanced at Stark, he nodded, letting her know he’s ready when she is.

“Y/n?” She heard her name, somehow loud, in her earpiece. Tony looked confused just as her, he heard it too, and it wasn’t him talking.

“Doll, it’s Steve. Do you copy?”

Her breath was knocked off her lungs, she searched around her for any sign of him, of Bucky, of anyone, when an orange portal was opened behind her. And then another one, and another one, and another ten.

“Holy shit.” Tony called from beside her, laughing, somehow, “holy fucking shit.”

Y/n was at a loss of words.

“Go.” He opened his helmet, motioning her to the sea of warriors behind them - he wasn’t standing alone anymore - “go!”

She shook her head, not moving an inch. “I’m staying right here.”

-

It was her dream again. Her eyes scanned the crowds, running amok between injured people, bodies. Vision too blurry and burning to see any face at all.

“Y/n!.” A deep voice called in her direction, and she nearly twisted her neck attempting to find its source.

Her eyes teared up instantly, knees threatening to buckle underneath her, a metal arm coming just in time to hold onto her, support her in place. Wiping tears was useless, she found out soon enough, giving up instantly to simply sobbing into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.” She kept crying out, he had a long cut on the side of his torso, he shushed her gently when she tried to bring it up.

There was a subtle movement behind her, and she tensed, head shooting up, “Steve?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” He said softly, another pair of strong arm enfolding themselves around her, his eyes radiated warmth, bright in the middle of a dirt stained face. She took one last look before burying her body deeper between them, surrounding herself with a scent that was a mix of salt and earth and blood, so humanly them.

“You were gone and I-“ Y/n kept glancing every other second at Bucky- even though she was still in his arms, hysteria got the best of her, gradually taking over any rationale left- the fear they’ll disappear, like last time, becomes too real.

“I didn’t say goodbye and-“ She gasped for air, they caressed her, talking sweet nothings in her ears, just to calm her down.

“It’s been five years and I…I couldn’t live without you.” She said finally, physically struggling to speak, clutching onto them harder,

“We’re so sorry.” Bucky muttered, choking down on tears of his own, weaving fingers through her knotted hair, “So fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured her one more time, kissing her temple, then her knuckles, then her lips. “we’re here now.”

[inonezurights]

plot twist: nezuko is actually going to be the one to use the breath of sun technique. theres some evidence for this scattered about the manga but it mostly plays into kny’s ongoing theme of inheritance. 

evidence under the cut!:

1.) nezuko conquers the very sun itself. 

as a demon she is able to do the one thing muzan could never dream of accomplishing (despite using alchemy and various other methods to fix this set back to his conditional immortality)

2.) the markings that appear when she taps into her well of power. she becomes more demon-like but gains a monumental power boost.

nezuko doesnt eat humans. my theory is that this is her demon slayer mark (you could argue that its just a demon mark but it makes more sense for it to be a demon slayer mark) vine-like marks appear all over her body. we know later on in the manga when demon slayer marks are revealed, that they come in all shapes and sizes.

her vines resemble gyomei’s marks in a way. demon slayer marks arent limited to a certain size or shape or only showing up in one location on the body.

3.) spider lily.

relates to the above point. ufotable sums it up best visually in the kimetsu no yaiba end theme sequence. nezuko is associated with spider-lilies. in the manga muzan is turned into a demon by a doctor through the use of a medication muzan’s spent centuries attempting to recreate. 

the medication held a key ingredient- blue spider lily. but a freshly turned muzan killed the doctor before learning its secrets, thinking it didnt work.

the vine-like demon slayer marks on nezukos body may be a reference to this!

4.) A: nezukos blood demon art. 

okay before we get into this.. lets clear up some things about breath of fire vs breath of sun.

all breaths are derived from the breath of sun. its creator, yoriichi tsugikuni did his best to teach as many swordsmen his talent but no one could perfectly recreate it. 

rengokus family utilized breath of fire. 

tanjiro remembers his fathers dance of the fire god in a near-death battle against rui. but... he was unable to sever ruis head by himself. the breathing technique took too much out of him 

(despite his father telling him theres a way to breathe where you wont grow tired even after hours of vigorous activity. tanjiro’s father being a frail man usually seen bedridden before his death but able to dance barefoot in the snow for hours)

just like tanjiros father comes to him in a near-death hallucination, nezukos will is awakened by her mother’s visage telling her tanjiro is in danger. she activates her blood demon art.

the ability for her blood to burn demons or take on an explosive quality.

its only by nezuko coating ruis strings in her blood, weakening them so tanjiro can actually cut through them.

this moments badass and turns the tides in the series but it almost takes a back seat to tanjiros dance of the fire god. its plainly there but the intrigue of his new sword style captivates the audience.

tanjiro and nezuko are the generation destined to end a cycle of hate. 

tanjiro inherited yoriichi’s hanafuda earrings.. but nezuko inherited his will and breath style. the ancestral memories tanjiro witnessed depict young yoriichi as the younger twin sibling to the first upper moon, kokushibou. 

young yoriichi is naturally talented with the sword but doesnt enjoy it like his older brother. instead opting to protect and support the weak around him (for instance their sickly mother. young yoriichi acting as a crutch for her)

(”youre weaker than your little demon sister. but anyways, youre pathetic!! You’re the big bro, so you ought to be the one protecting your little sis, not the one being protected.”

“Hey, man. How do you feel now? You’re alive, pathetic and alone. Your last ray of hope pretty much used up all her strength.”) the above page paralleling the plight of the twins.

during the fight with kokushibou he expresses similar sentiments. hes alive but hes all alone and pathetic, never able to surpass his human brother who died gracefully.

also, nezuko is often in a defensive / healer / support role like her twin counterpart. 

4.) B: Fire vs. Sun & Nezuko’s other blood demon art

Shinobu points out that theres a difference between the breath of flame and breath of sun / fire and to never refer to the breath of flame as the breath of fire. she tells him that he’ll have to speak to rengoku about it

taken from the wiki: “The kanji for "sun" (日ひ hi?) has the same pronunciation as the kanji for "fire" (火ひ hi?).”

nezuko’s other blood demon art is burning demonic poison out of inosuke and uzui

its an advanced form of the technique she uses to wake up tanjiro and the others on the infinity train!

5.) whats in a name? 

nezuko and tanjiros names. taken directly from the wikipedia:

“ The first part of her first name means "red bean" (禰豆ねず nezu?), and is also part of the Japanese word for a flower, the Japanese Snowball(五禰豆ごねず gonezu?). The second part is a common female name suffix, which translates to "child" (子こ ko?). “

nezukos name essentially means “flower child” further proving her connection to the blue spider-lily and it being an intentional detail. also interesting to note with her demon slayer marks.

“ His first name contains the kanji for "charcoal" (炭たん tan?), "to heal" (治じ ji?) and "son, male" (郎ろう rō?), which is also a common male name suffix. “ 

throughout the series tanjiro is shown to be a healer.

he heals urokodakis pain of losing his beloved students. he defeats the hand demon and releases all the dead childrens’ spirits.

he welcomes zenitsu as a travel companion and doesnt abandon him, becoming zenitsus first friend and a motivation for him to stay in the demon slayer corps. 

he earns inosukes respect and helps teach him what its like to live not just for the sake of survival. 

he heals giyuu who still blames himself for his sister’s death as well as sabitos. hes able to push giyuu to forgiving himself and working past his mental block

he even helps get genya and his brother sanemi to the point where they can understand one another again. he gives them that push

he heals shinobu. allowing her to know her older sister’s wish and legacy will be carried out even without shinobu there to ensure it. shes able to commit to her plan of taking in a lethal dose of wisteria poison so she can take douma out. 

he heals the rift in rengokus family with rengokus dying request. even leaving while still injured to speak with the deceased pillar’s surviving family. comforting rengokus little brother.

he helps kanaos heart awaken, giving her the push to do what she wants without the flip of a coin. its through his dedication and kindness he earns her respect

some examples with demons:

he shows mercy to ruis “mother” (killing her gently when he realizes she welcomes death to escape endless terror).

as rui dies he rests his hand on the boys back, realizing despite all the horrible things hes done, he was once a kid.

when confronting the drum demon kyogai (telling him his blood demon art was superb and treating his writing as if they werent trash by refusing to step on them) he allows the demon to remember who he was long ago.

he rolls the temari towards susamaru as she dies, wanting to play with her toy.

theres a few other examples but i think ive... made my point here.

6.) how?

like its creator, i believe breath of the sun came to nezuko naturally. its why shes able to rapidly gain strength in the heat of battle, why she doesnt need to consume humans. her will power is so strong (breath styles typically require self-discipline)

they even make a point of showing shes still breathing but asleep while tanjiro trains.

a style of breathing where the user can move without losing stamina... thats nezukos secret. 

this is how she will defeat muzan and try to save tanjiros life!!!

conclusion: tanjiros a red herring change my mind

[dailyaudiobible]

03/22/2020 DAB Transcript

Numbers 33:40-35:34, Luke 5:12-28, Psalms 65:1-13, Proverbs 11:23

Today is the 22nd day of March, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it's great to be here with you at this threshold that we step through every week into a brand-new week. And just reminding us each week, this is this is something that we have to live into and it's before us and this is a fresh start. And, so, we'll dive in. We’ll pick up, of course, the journey where we left it off yesterday, but we’re in a new week and we’ll read from the New Living Translation this week. Today numbers chapter 33 verse 40 through 35 verse 34. And we’re almost at the end of our journey and numbers. We will conclude this book tomorrow. But this is today. So, Numbers chapter 33.

Commentary:

Okay. We have an interesting story happening in the book of Luke. It's a famous story. It's kind of a Sunday school story because it's dramatic. And some friends have brought their friend who's paralyzed, they brought him on a sleeping mat to Jesus but they can't get to them so they climb up on the roof and kind of carve a hole in the roof and lower him down before Jesus. Super dramatic. But something really interesting happens because Jesus doesn't say like, “do you want to be made well or be healed?” He says, “your sins are forgiven”. Why is He saying that? Which only makes the religious leaders freak out. Like, “that's blasphemy. Only God can forgive sins.” So, Jesus responds to that and He’s like, “what's easier to say, that your sins are forgiven or stand up and walk?” And we can look at that and go like, I’m not sure which would be easier to say. They seem like completely different things.” But in this case, they're not. In this first century Hebrew spiritual worldview, in other words, the world Jesus lived in, if a person was chronically ill or deformed in some way, then it was because of some sin somewhere. So, for that person to be healed than their sins were forgiven, and they would go before the priest to verify this and offer the sacrifice and be pronounced clean or healed. So, with that before us than Jesus has been moving all over the place, forgiving sins. So, in so many ways Jesus is saying to the religious leaders, “are we going to split hairs on this too. Like I'm moving around the countryside doing this. What's easier to say, your sins are forgiven or get up and walk?” And then He unites the two issues, “so that you can see that the Son of Man has the power and authority to forgive sins. Young man get up and walk.” And then the man did. But it brings up something interesting to consider. Jesus continually refers to Himself as the Son of Man or the Human One and we are…I mean the goal of our faith is to become Christ like. And the Bible tells us that the same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead lives in us. So, can we forgive sins too. Do we bristle up at that thought? Like, do we bristle up like a Pharisee like this exactly like they did around Jesus at that thought? Can we forgive sins? Of course, we can. We must. We have no power to make ourselves or anyone else righteous before God, but we certainly can forgive those who sin against us. Isn't that what we pray in the Lord's prayer, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”, who sin against us. Of course, we can forgive. Jesus said, “if you forgive, you will be forgiven. If you don't then you won’t.” Forgiveness flows through God's kingdom like water. It sets the captives free and often that captive is us. Forgiveness brings healing to our soul and our lives, our hearts and our bodies as we see demonstrated in this story today. Forgiveness and mercy flow from the heart of God into our lives and then we in turn turn that out into the world. Forgiveness is where the actions add in God's kingdom. Forgiveness brings freedom. This is why we can see Jesus exasperated at times with the religious leaders because they don't get…they don't see it. For them it's in obeying the rituals, it's about obeying the religion, but they've lost the Spirit of the law as we've talked about so many times. What Jesus is revealing is there is a way, way better story going on here. There is way way more authority and power than you can imagine. All things are possible for those with eyes to see and ears to hear. And Jesus, in effect, is merging these two issues. Can I heal you or can I forgive your sins, since it's seen as one and the same in this worldview uniting them? For us reading this, we can see how pervasive the theme of forgiveness is in the Gospels is

Prayer:

Father, we love You and we thank You for Your forgiveness in our lives. Your mercy and grace abounds beyond anything we could ever comprehend or deserve. There's no question about that. And we certainly acknowledge that forgiveness is an irreplaceable part of Your kingdom and something that we must participate in every day. And we acknowledge we can’t walk around forgiving people and making them righteous before You, that's not the point. The point is You have forgiven us so much. You have been merciful so much that the only response is to turn that out into the world and forgive as we have been forgiven, forgiving those who have sinned and trespassed against us, knowing that the burden upon us, the damage that we do is astounding sometimes. And yet You still forgive us. So, come Holy Spirit we pray. And show us again the places that we need to revisit, the things we need to let go of, whether that’s an entanglement because somebody cut us off on the road and so now we’re following them too close to teach them a lesson instead of just forgiving it and letting it go or whether it's something far, far more deeper with tremendous amounts of wounding. It all starts somewhere, and it starts with this posture, this openness to forgiveness, to forgive and to be forgiven. Come Holy Spirit and let us see that this is where freedom lies. This is how Your kingdom works. Come in Jesus in we pray. In Your name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it's the website, where you find out what’s going on around here.

And interesting times that we’re in as we great this new week. But no matter what the week may bring in terms of further isolation from each other, this is a safe place. Around this Global Campfire it's always been that. So, no matter how…no matter how we are led into further disconnection we don't really have to change anything about the rhythm of our life around the Global Campfire. This is gonna be a safe place and it's gonna be a different place, it's gona be a place that we know that we can go and exhale and be safe. And, so let's continue to pray into that and continue this rhythm forward as God continues to speak to us through His word. And let’s stay connected with each other.

So, at dailyaudiobible.com in the Community section you’ll find all…all kinds of different ways to stay connected as well as the Prayer Wall. The Prayer Wall lives there and it's a continual ongoing prayer and encouragement for each other. So, let's make sure were aware of that. So, that’s Community section at…at the website. If you’re using the app you can just push the little Drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner to get into the Community section as well.

If you want to a partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you with all of my heart. Thank you. In these times or in any other time, we wouldn't be here if we hadn't done this together. And, so I'm grateful that we continue to do this together and create safe space no matter what's going on in the world. Thank you for your partnership. So, there's a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, I mean this is the community for that. We don't have to carry these burdens alone. We’re not alone. We have each other no matter what we're facing. And, so, you can reach out 877-942-4253 is the number to dial or if you have the Daily Audio Bible app, just press the Hotline button, the little red button at the top and you can begin sharing from there.

And that is it for today other than to tell you I love you and I do and hang in there, we’re gonna get through this and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

This is the day our Lord has made let us rejoice and be glad in it. This is Dawn from Maryland and I’m calling for prayer. I had been blessed in the last few years to be surrounded by people, some ministers and being shown a different way of __ and prayer and also to church. I discovered the Daily Audio Bible probably within the last five / six months and I have been __. I wanted to ask for prayer and strength because my husband had divorced me and had taken everything from me - the house, the children and he advised that I did this because I was, you know, like not mentally stable. I had devoted my life to him and to my children and, you know, even…even before that I devoted my life to God. And I taught them about the Lord Jesus Christ. Please pray for me and ask God to release me from this depressive state that I have been in. I am in need of a lot of prayer. I can’t even find any friends. My family, you know, my family has abandoned me. My mother has not answered her phone. My sister has been calling but she’s going through her own issues too. And please keep my family in prayer. Also pray for my sisters, my two sisters that I have and my mother and also too for my two children. Thank you in the name of Jesus Christ. God loves you.

Hi DAB family this is CS from SC. We’ve been told that the best thing to do for this coronavirus is to self-quarantine, stay out of the public. So, I would like to ask prayers for all those that can’t self-quarantine, all those that can’t stay at home because of their job, all those that are the hospitals and doctor’s offices. We think of the doctors and nurses but I would also like to think about those that are the housekeeping staff, the people at the desk, the clerks, the people at the grocery stores and convenience stores, the people at the hotels that are doing housekeeping and working the desk and just all these thousands and thousands of jobs of people that don’t have the opportunity to stay home like some others do. So, Lord I just ask that You have a hand the protection over these…all these people that don’t have the opportunity to just stay at home where it’s a little bit safer, where it’s a little bit calmer, and that You’ll calm their souls, calm their nerves, that they’re not infected with this disease that only because of where they work or what they’re responsible for. Lord I ask this in Jesus name. Amen.

Good morning DAB family this is March 18th, and this is Teresa from Birmingham. I am calling for prayer request for all of our professors out there, our teachers that are trying to figure out the best way to help the students and how to navigate in this world where the coronavirus is ruling everything. All my students are…are being held at home and college students being told they can’t go back to the dorms and just overwhelmingness. Social distance…distancing can make you just feel alone. I pray for the students. I pray for calm. I pray for peace. I ask in Jesus precious name that as our teachers and our professors figure out how to put their lessons online and help their students the best way they know how, the Holy Spirit just watches over and protects them. I pray this prayer in Jesus’ precious name. Thank you DAB family for being there. Thank you, prayer warriors. We need you and I am just thankful to God. Thank you.

Hello family this is Lisa from San Jose. I really need your prayers. I just dropped my husband back up at the hospital because he’s having complications with his feeding tube. He’s probably down to 112 pounds now which he’s normally a robust 200 if not 180. So, please pray for me and him. They wouldn’t even let me in the hospital because of the COVIDS, you know. And, so, now I’m just at home waiting to kind of see what will happen. I’m confident though with all these prayers God has been holding him together and I thank you so much. And I do want to pray for the man who called in on I believe it was the March 7th prayer community line. He’s been on my heart a lot that’s in dark depression. I’ve been there brother and I understand that you’ve had this all your life, very dark and you’re just wondering where God is. He’s there. He’s there in the darkness. Please don’t forget it and hold onto Him with all your might. And, you know, it’s these darkness…these dark times that make us really cling to Jesus. And as somebody recently said, lean into Jesus. Oh…thank you family. We praise you, praise you Jesus. Okay, I’ll let you all know how Craig is doing. Thanks.

Good morning DAB family this is Janel in China. It is March 19th 9:24 in the morning and I just want to pray. I want to let everyone know that I am praying for you all while you are having to isolate yourselves for the coronavirus just like we did here in China. And honestly, we’re still doing that. I’m still working from home. I want to ask the Holy Spirit to give everyone who is listening the peace that only He can give. Have an awesome day everyone.

[gojirahkiin]

What the  Godzilla Anime should’ve been! Part 1

Starting with an apology to Tyrantis Terror, and a promise that unlike the last time I pinged you with fanfiction, this will be a good read.

Alright, so @tyrantisterror​‘s cry of “BE INTERESTING YOU COWARDS!” is essentially the majority opinion of the Godzilla fandom towards the anime. This is how I, personally, would fix it.

To do so, I would take three premises, because in my spite I want to prove that there is a way that good can come of them:

Godzilla has reigned undisputed for 20,000 years

Mothra is dead, but her egg and people live

Ghidorah is an eldritch god.

What the anime lacks boils down to two things: character and spectacle. Everyone was boring and nothing cool happened.

But even assuming that you want to go in a completely different direction than the rest of the Godzilla franchise, you don’t have to be garbage about it. So Mothra has no Shobijin/Cosmos/Elias equivalents. Fine, but she doesn’t need any since she has an entire race/species of people. But you know who does need some now?

I present some amazing fanart for a priestess of King Ghidorah! Ignore the Noodledorah silhouettes behind her. I am scrapping that entire design for eldritch ramen.

Even worse, the canon Exif communicated with Ghidorah through math. That is the lamest thing possible. But once again harvesting and inverting classic Mothra, what do you think I could substitute for Fairy Mothra, a fragment of spirit given form and purpose?

A Dorat. Obviously it needs tweaking. No aspect of King Ghidorah would ever deign to be so cute. But my point stands: his most devout worshipers would have these tiny avatars of their god to guide them in their malice.

Now, I said that Mothra doesn’t need the Shobijin since she has a race/species. That’s not a metaphor. The canon Houtua are covered in powdery tattoos and given antennae. It’s never made explicit (because that might be cool) but they are implied to be literal children of Mothra.

Imagine the implications of being able to genetically prove that your goddess is the mother of your species? I discard the name Houtua and rename these technical kaiju the Elias. Could’ve also called them Cosmos, but I flipped a coin.

I’ll come back to Mothra in a bit. For now, let’s talk about Godzilla. He’s the ruler of Earth in this continuity, but what does that really mean? Well...

I do want to say that I’m not making this a post-apocalyptic MonsterVerse, as cool as that would be. What I mean is that every kaiju that hasn’t submitted to Godzilla’s dominance has been killed.

Godzilla is King of the Monsters in that he has no true rivals for the throne, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t resistance.

Mothra’s egg is hidden, proving that it is possible to hide from him. It is also possible to run from him since he can’t be everywhere at once, and there are creatures capable and willing to do both.

This is where my versions of the Servum (the worm & dragon-like creatures that were never named and hardly shown in canon) come in, in both name and concept.

The Kaiju Catastrophe wiped out many species, if only because humanity got increasingly destructive in their efforts to stop it, leaving vacuums in many ecosystems. 20,000 years isn’t a long time for new species to evolve, but a core theme of the Godzilla series is that mutations happen quickly.

In the aftermath, many species mutated and evolved to be symbiotic towards Godzilla, because being simultaneously around and useful to him was a great way to survive and be protected.

These creatures are the Servum, but there aren’t that many ways to be useful to Godzilla, and so they are essentially “battle honey guides.” They hunt down and swarm creatures that show signs of hostility toward the King, or simply call to summon him if they think they’re out of their league.

Godzilla has naturally been growing and mutating for all 20,000 years, but unlike the near-comatose tree in the anime, my Godzilla is active and roaming. Most of the Earth has well-worn pathways because unless he must deviate to deal with a challenger, he has a decently efficient patrol route.

One of the other results of Godzilla's never-ending world tour is that everything is a bit more radioactive and a bit more violent. The first is natural. The second requires explanation.

Essentially, kaiju that covet the throne hide in nice fertile areas with lots of food of whatever kind they eat. These are typically destroyed in the battle when Godzilla finds them. As a result, aggression, growth, and general "kaiju-fication" has been encouraged in the wildlife for the last 20,000 years, because if you can protect your territory from would-be crown-hunters it won't be destroyed by Godzilla.

Biollante exists, but less as a distinct creature and more as a taxonomic classification; when Godzilla destroys a region in battle, it takes truly remarkable plants to colonize it - these aggressive and radiosynthetic plants are the Biollante.

Now let’s talk about Mechagodzilla, an technology in general. What is left of humanity after 20,000 years? Not a lot to be honest.

Bunkers aren’t much protection from burrowing kaiju, and not even the most optimistic “abandoned by people” documentary thinks any skyscraper will last for 20,000 years.

But it sounds like I’m contradicting myself - if new kaiju are always rising, and virtually all traces of humanity are gone, then where are Mechagodzilla and Mothra’s egg in this continuity? Hilariously, they’re still around because they’re in almost the same place.

In my take on this scenario, Godzilla first appeared in 1954 at a height of 50 meters. By the time humanity had to flee in 2054, he’d swelled to his 100 meter height.

As a result, Mechagodzilla’s factory was built inside a mountain, so that the facility could constantly expand so that if and when the machine got wrecked, it could be rebuilt bigger and better for the next rematch, and both mecha and factory were constantly being built and improved until almost the day humanity evacuated.

Mothra first challenged Godzilla after humanity fled, but her standard procedure is to find a nice safe place for her egg before charging into mortal combat, and she found this very conveniently mostly empty hangar inside a mountain. A bit bland and sterile for her taste, but safe.

Hearkening back to the Heisei era again, Mothra’s egg is psychic, and has a useful passive defense. It radiates an aura that renders the area uninteresting to any kaiju not specifically looking for a Mothra egg. As a result, the egg, the Elias, and Mechagodzilla have been housemates for 20,000 years give or take.

Some of you may have caught that I said Mothra first challenged Godzilla. That’s because this version of Mothra is also active in the timeline... in a sense. Each time the egg hatches, the new Mothra has been challenging Godzilla, and each time she’s taken longer to develop, but done better in the fight. And the most recent challenger was 10,000 years ago...

So, let’s talk about King Ghidorah himself. The anime’s designers claim that their Ghidorah is the final evolution of the essence of Ghidorah.

Screw that! If I want an enemy that’s unkillable because he’s technically in another dimension, other franchises have done it better and with more spectacle.

King Ghidorah isn’t just about destruction. It isn’t enough to let a ghost noodle rip apart and eat a planet (in lore and not on screen of course). King Ghidorah is about the fear, helplessness, and despair in the face of an end to everything you care about that cannot be stopped.

Some people complain that in Rebirth of Mothra III, Ghidorah only destroyed a little bit and then went back to guarding his dome. My hypothesis is that there was a very deliberate and cruel reason for that.

The children knew that they’d been captured and knew that the walls were acidic because one of them tossed a ball at it. But their parents didn’t know yet. Ghidorah destroyed a little and then went back to the dome so that the parents would know what happened and that there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Also, he loomed over the dome and watched it - he was waiting for the digestion process to begin; he was people-watching in the most sadistic manner possible, like a child setting fire to ants with a magnifying glass.

But that incarnation of Ghidorah was a bit too stoic and focused for my taste. I want him to hearken back to Shōwa Ghidorah: we don’t know why he does what he does, only that he’s having a blast doing it!

So let’s run with that. I’m discarding the Exif’s name. In another callback to the past, their name can translate as Xians or Xiliens depending on your preference. And the Xiliens don’t often name their god, but they call him one of three euphemisms: The Laughing King, The Golden Light, and The Threefold Death.

The Xiliens also follow their god’s example: they are quite cheerful and always happy to meet new people (because they’ll get to kill them later); they’re decked out in gaudy, shiny golden colors; and when they’re getting ready to kill someone, they do their damnedest to give them a threefold death.

The Death of their Hopes.

The Death of their Body.

And reserved for their god alone, the Death of their World.

When King Ghidorah is summoned by the terrible cruelty and laughter of his followers, a tear into another dimension is opened over the planet, and an asteroid drops from it, with all the destructive power you’d expect of an asteroid strike.

To die in the blast is an honor and a mercy, because the true horror manifests from the molten ruins and lets out a cackling roar that can be heard across the entire planet. If there are any orbiting ships or space stations, the roar defies all laws of reality to be heard there too.

And in every listener, the sound inspires the primal terror of imminent death.

A cornered rat will bite the cat, but the Laughing King does not begrudge his prey. It’s no fun if they don’t fight back! They need to believe that they stand a chance, so that as they lie bleeding and broken by the Golden Light of gravity beams their hopes can die with their flesh!

This is the true purpose of the Threefold Death that is King Ghidorah. You don’t kill for sustenance or defense; such material needs are mark of a mortal. You kill for fun! For the joy of watching life and hope leave a victim’s eyes!

That is the true essence of King Ghidorah!

[crossbowking]

The Road Ahead : Chapter 14

Chapter Index HERE

Summary : (Set in the beginning of season 1) Anna Brooks lost everything after the world ended — the last remaining part of herself being her older brother, who she lost contact with after communications dropped. While en route towards Atlanta to find him, Anna’s truck breaks down, leaving her at the mercy of the cruel new world. Now, Anna must face her fears head on as she struggles to deal with devastating loss, constant danger, and finding her way in a land that now belongs to the dead. But sometimes, a glimmer of hope can be found disguised as a short-tempered, hard-headed redneck who may just save her life in more ways than one.

Pairings : Daryl x Original Female Character

Warnings : Slow-Burn, Language/Violence/typical Walking Dead themes

Author’s Note : WE’RE GETTING SOME ANSWERS. WHOOP! Okay...not gonna lie...I really like how this chapter turned out! But I’M SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT ONE! It’s chopping up to be my favorite thus far!

TRIGGER WARNING : Attempted assault (It’s not super graphic or intense, but I still wanted to put this warning here just in case anyone is triggered easily by this subject.)

xx crossbowking

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Previously…

Anna paused, tucking a strand of her still-wet hair behind her ear, carefully formulating her next words. “What’s the deal with Daryl?” she spoke slowly, cautiously, part of her chastising herself for breaking her ‘no more Dixon drama’ rule.

But she couldn’t help herself — it was now or never. She was intoxicated and Glenn probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning anyway.

So it was time to get some fucking answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now…

“Huh?” Glenn murmured, brows creased in confusion as if he hadn’t heard her.

Anna smiled tightly, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him head-on. “Daryl,” she clarified, waiting until a look of understanding flashed across his face. “I just — he seems like —I don’t know, he kinda seems like —”

“A prick?” Glenn finished the sentence, quirking an eyebrow up playfully.

Anna scoffed. “Yeah, pretty much,” she nodded, wrapping her arms around her knees as she waited for Glenn to continue.

“I don’t know,” he began, shrugging slightly as he stared off. “Daryl’s…complicated,” he sighed, fumbling for the right words.

“I just feel like he — God, this is so stupid,” Anna grumbled to herself, unsure why she was even putting this much energy into a lost cause. “I just feel like he hates me or something. And I’m not really sure why, or what I did, or…” she trailed off, feeling utterly pathetic about her confession.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Glenn immediately retorted, shaking his head. “I mean, I don’t —“ hiccup, “— think he does,” he murmured, a bit unsure suddenly. “I think it’s just his, ya know, his personality? I mean, I don’t really know the guy that well, but I just think he’s kind of a hot head. Temperamental, if ya know what I mean,” he continued, attempting to wink, but failing miserably when both of his eyes closed instead of one.

Anna laughed in spite of everything, shaking her head as Glenn swayed once more, reaching for the wine bottle. “Oh, no, no, no,” she quickly intervened, grabbing the bottle from Glenn’s hand before he could take another sip.

“Hey!” he protested.

“You’ll thank me in the morning — trust me,” Anna grinned, setting the bottle aside as Glenn sighed dramatically.

“Probably right,” he murmured under his breath before he started lightly slapping himself in the face in an attempt to sober up. “Why’re ya askin’ about Dixon, anyway?”

Anna exhaled heavily, blowing the air between her lips. “I don’t know. Just curious, I guess,” she sighed, not entirely lying, but not exactly telling the truth either.

Glenn hummed in thought. “Well, if you think Daryl’s bad, you should’ve met his brother. Merle made Daryl seem like friggin’ Mr. Rogers. ”

Anna faltered, her fingers automatically coming up to trace the faint scar on her neck, the one she’d received from Merle’s knife. “Oh, he had a brother?” she probed, playing dumb, hoping to get a little more information out of Glenn thanks to his intoxication.

Glenn scoffed, his jaw clenching at merely the thought of him. “Yeah — he was a real piece of work.”

“What happened to him?” she asked, her curiosity piqued, still unclear about what exactly went down in Atlanta.

“So, a small group of us decided to make a run into the city for supplies, right? Well, Merle decided last minute to come along,” Glenn paused, shooting Anna a foreboding look before continuing. “Anyways, we got, uh — well, we bumped into a herd in the city. And the geeks had us trapped in this department store, right? And Merle was — well, Merle was being Merle. Starting shit, getting high, drawing more attention to ourselves than necessary. And, you know, when we found Rick — hey, Rick’s a cop, did you know that?”

Anna nodded. “Yeah, I kinda figured that from the uniform,” she teased before motioning for him to continue.

“Well, Merle and T-Dog got into it while we were on the roof and Rick intervened and he — well, he handcuffed the dude to a pipe.”

“Oh shit,” Anna mumbled, piecing together the story from there.

“Yeah,” Glenn nodded. “I mean, I thought it was pretty badass,” he suddenly grinned, before readjusting his baseball cap and getting serious again. “Anyways, things got — well, they got complicated. Everything happened so fast. We only had, like, three minutes to make an escape and I guess, uh — I guess T dropped the key to the cuffs somewhere on the roof and had to leave Merle behind.”

Anna exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair as she digested all of the new details.

“When Daryl found out, he was pissed — even tried to knife Rick at one point, I think. Still, we went back for Merle. We did. But when we got to that roof…he was gone,” Glenn continued, lowering his eyes.

“But — but how?” she questioned, confusion spreading over her features.

Glenn swallowed audibly, his skin paling and Anna wondered if it was from the alcohol or where the story was headed. Either way, a pit began to form in her stomach. “He, uh — he sawed off his hand. It was still sitting up there when we —” he faltered, looking as though he was moments from heaving.

“Shit,” Anna murmured, feeling a bit queasy herself. Merle was a dangerous person — she’d learned that firsthand. But she wouldn’t wish a fate like that upon anyone.

“Yup,” Glenn mumbled, closing his eyes, wiping the sweat that had begun to form on his brow. “It sucked. Daryl flipped, Rick and T blamed themselves. Just a shitty situation all around. And then, we ran into you on our way home from that.”

Anna nodded slowly, the puzzle finally beginning to fit together. Maybe that was the reason Daryl had been so aggressive, holding his crossbow to her head and all when they met for the second time. He was probably all kinds of fucked up after finding his brother’s sawed-off hand. “So no one knows what happened to him?” she whispered softly.

Glenn shook his head. “Daryl found a trail and we tracked him for a bit — I mean, I guess he’s alright ‘cause he stole the truck we’d parked by the train tracks and took off. That’s why we were hot-wiring your car — or, uh, you know. I mean, we didn’t know it was your car, we thought it was abandoned, but we saw it and, you know…” he began to fumble for the right words.

Anna held her hand up to stop his rambling. “No hard feelings.”

Glenn smirked before nodding. “Anyways, that’s what happened. We thought he was heading back to camp to, you know, ‘bring the wrath of God down on everyone’. But, he just kinda vanished. Haven’t seen him since.”

“But how could Merle just take off without his brother? That’s kinda messed up,” Anna shot back.

“Like I said, the guy was a piece of work. No one liked him. All he did was cause trouble at camp. Pretty sure Shane nearly killed him one or two times himself.”

“So, why’d you guys keep him around for so long? Why not make him leave the group?” Anna inquired, hanging onto Glenn’s every word — she knew once he sobered up, he’d probably be a little more hesitant to share. And on top of that, she was also just genuinely curious as to why everyone put up with a man as awful as Merle Dixon.

Glenn sighed, searching for the right words. “He and Daryl were kinda — well, they were kinda a package deal. If we kicked Merle out, Daryl would’ve left too. And — even though he can be an asshole sometimes — Daryl’s a good guy to have around when the world ends. He’s a hunter, a tracker, can hold his own against the geeks — no one’s ever said it aloud, but he’s pretty crucial to the group.”

Anna paused, mulling his words over for a moment.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know,” Glenn continued when Anna remained silent. “He’s just got a lot of shit goin’ on beneath the surface, I think,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly for a moment. “And you met him at a bad time — after everything with Merle and Atlanta and that big fight they got into, he’s been in rare form.”

Anna’s brow furrowed at that last part, her gaze swiveling to meet Glenn’s. “Big fight?” she questioned softly.

“It was bad — you weren’t around yet. The night before we left for Atlanta, before the whole ‘roof and handcuffs’ thing, Daryl and Merle went at it,” Glenn explained, shaking his head.

“Why?” she pressed, steeling herself for the rest of the story.

“No idea,” Glenn shrugged, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “The two of them had gone off earlier that day, said they were gonna go hunting and bring back something for dinner. But they came back empty-handed that night and Daryl seemed — I don’t know, he seemed weird. Anyways, Merle made some smart ass comment about something and Daryl went off — I’d never seen him so pissed.”

Anna gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment before speaking. “About not finding any food?”

Glenn shrugged again. “I don’t know — I don’t think it was about dinner because he started cursing Merle out for ‘doin’ some stupid shit ta’ an innocent girl’,” he grunted, attempting to impersonate the archer. “I guess they’d ran into another survivor and Merle had been screwing with her or something — got Daryl pretty riled up.”

Anna felt her heart drop, the blood rushing from her face, unable to form any sort of response as her mind began to race.

But Glenn pushed forward, naive to Anna’s distress as words continued to spill from his drunken lips. “Anyways, one of them started throwing punches, the other started fighting back — it was a mess. It took four of us to separate them. Daryl ended up storming away — said some shit to Merle and took off into the woods. Came back two days later but by then…” he trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence.

Anna felt her heart pounding against her ribcage as she absorbed what Glenn said — the circumstances were too coincidental, the timeline matching up…

“I mean, can you blame Daryl for the way he’s acting? His brother’s gone, probably dead, and the last thing he ever said to him was ‘ya jus’ a fuckin’ waste a’ space, a good-for-nothin’ addict, jus’ like dad’,” Glenn murmured, looking incredibly grim all of the sudden.

It dawned on Anna, clear as day, the truth of the current situation — there was a reason for Daryl’s hostility towards her. She’d apparently caused some sort of rift between the brothers and now, Daryl carried a weighted guilt regarding the cruel, final words he said to Merle — all because of her.

He blamed Anna. That was the bottom line here.

She felt a wave of guilt wash through her — the rational side of her knew that she wasn’t truly at fault for anything. Merle had been the one who attacked her, not the other way around. If he’d just left her alone, if Daryl had never intervened, maybe the outcome of things would’ve been different. But a bigger part of her couldn’t help but feel guilty for what had happened. Daryl had to be hurting right now, wallowing in regret over what happened between him and Merle. But that pain had been shifted into anger and it was now directed at the only other person left involved in the situation — her.

There was one thing she still couldn't figure out — this could’ve all been avoided. She hadn’t asked for Daryl’s help that day on the road. He didn’t have to interfere with Merle, but he did. He could’ve left her to fend for herself, could’ve left his brother to do whatever he wanted, but he didn’t. He stepped in. He saved her life. So why? Why did he snap when Merle brought up their encounter later that night? What about Merle’s words bothered Daryl so much that he chose to hurl those cruel insults at his brother? For her? For some random girl he didn’t know? It wasn’t adding up and Anna was feeling more confused than ever now.

Glenn suddenly groaned from beside her and she quickly snapped out of her thoughts, noticing the sickly green color he was turning. “Shit,” she cursed, jumping to her feet. “Alright, come on, let’s get you to your room,” she murmured, reaching down to help him to his feet.

“I’m —” Glenn attempted to wave off her help, but paused, forcing back a gag as he groaned once more, hunching over.

“Oh, boy,” Anna sighed, figuring this was bound to happen sooner or later. “C’mon,” she grunted, hefting Glenn up from the stairs and wrapping her arm around his waist, draping his arm over her shoulders.

“I was fine,” he grumbled, face scrunched up as the pair began making their way to the elevators. “Hit —” he paused to belch. “Hit me outta nowhere.”

“I know, I know,” Anna soothed, pressing the button to call the elevator to the main floor.

“Wine is the devil’s juice,” he whispered to himself and Anna had to fight back the grin creeping across her face.

“I know,” she murmured once more, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the elevator doors opened up. “Just please don’t puke on me.”

Glenn nodded his head, swaying slightly. “I’m solid,” he mumbled, giving her a thumbs up with his free hand, but the color in his face was fading fast. “Solid-ish.”

Anna half-dragged, half-carried Glenn down hall after hall of the CDC, following his unsure directions back to his room — but her racing thoughts wouldn’t allow her to focus. All she could think about was Daryl and Merle, the overwhelming guilt she felt, the hint of indignant anger that was brewing at the archer’s somewhat misplaced blame.

She could understand Daryl being upset, being remorseful about what happened between Merle and him — but that had been his choice. He said those hurtful things to his brother, he chose to stand up for her and to now treat her like shit because he didn’t want to take responsibility wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

Anna wanted to talk to Daryl — she wasn’t one to just let things remain unsettled. But was it really worth it? Would he be receptive to speaking with her about what happened? Would he accept an apology from her? She didn’t think so — but, stranger things had happened.

Glenn suddenly stumbled a bit to the side and Anna inhaled sharply, tightening her arm around his waist and steadying him. “Come on, Glenn. Help me out here,” she grunted under his weight, struggling to keep him upright. She was only about two inches shorter than him, but at the moment, it felt as though she was maneuvering nothing but dead weight. Glenn mumbled an incoherent apology, doing his best to control his drunken limbs.

When Anna finally spotted the hallway lined with the rooms her group had dispersed into, she picked up her pace, quickly turning the corner. But it wasn’t until she slammed into something solid that she realized she and Glenn weren’t alone anymore.

Her head snapped up as she stumbled backward, futilely attempting to remain vertical, but with Glenn’s added weight and her own fading intoxication, she felt the world suddenly tilt around her.

Right before she could hit the ground, a hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her forward, causing her to once again stumble forward and collide into a solid chest. She quickly regained her balance and pulled away, glancing up at whoever had just caught her.

“Shane?” she murmured, slightly breathless as she took in the man before her.

“The hell ya two still doin’ up?” he slurred, narrowed eyes darting between her and Glenn.

Anna’s brow creased as she observed him. He was wasted — body swaying from where he stood, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, sweat forming on his brow. And then she spotted three, bloody scratch marks on the side of his neck and felt a wave of caution roll through her. “Uh, Shane?” she spoke again, nodding towards his fingers that were still locked around her wrist.

“Oh,” he murmured, releasing her hand and taking an unsteady step backward.

Anna rubbed her sore wrist, his grip having been vice-like, as she glanced over at Glenn who was now hugging the wall, groaning softly. “Damn it,” she hissed, gently pulling him off the wall and slipping her arm around his back once more.

“Need some help?” Shane suddenly offered, but Anna quickly waved him off.

“We’re good,” she nodded, positive that Shane’s drunkenness would only add to the problem. Anna quickly maneuvered herself and Glenn around Shane, hurrying towards where Glenn’s room was. She could hear Shane’s light footsteps following them down the hall and tried to ignore the nagging sensation in her gut telling her that something was off with the man. “Okay, okay, we made it,” Anna murmured in relief, finally reaching Glenn’s doorway.

Glenn moaned softly as Anna slipped out from under his arm and pushed open his door. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted Shane just a couple feet behind, slowly making his way closer to them — there was something about his eyes that sent Anna’s nerves into overdrive, the way they were locked onto her gaze, like a predator stalking its prey.

“You okay from here?” Anna turned her attention back to Glenn, wanting nothing more than to get back to the safety of her own room.

Glenn nodded, cupping an arm around his stomach. “Hey, thank —” he paused, his eyes suddenly going wide as he forced back another gag before abruptly hurrying inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

Anna scoffed as she heard the muffled sounds of Glenn beginning to throw up whatever was left in his stomach from inside his room. “Kid’s a damn lightweight, don’t ya think?” Shane suddenly spoke from beside her.

She jerked her head in his direction, subconsciously taking a small step back. A nervous laugh bubbled out of her. “Yeah, poor guy,” she nodded as an uncomfortable silence formed. When Shane’s glossy eyes began to wander, Anna took that as her cue to leave. “Well, I’m gonna head to bed,” she murmured, her gut screaming at her to stop being polite and just leave.

“Well, I’ll walk ya back ta’ your room then,” Shane took a step forward, an easy smile slipping over his features as he ran a hand through his tousled, dark hair.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Anna immediately waved him off, moving past him. “I’m just down the hall. Goodnight,” she dismissed coolly, turning to walk away from the man.

But soon enough, Anna heard him follow.

Shane fell in step beside her, despite her rejection, and simply shrugged when she gave him a confused look. “My room’s down here too,” he murmured — but for some odd reason, Anna found his explanation hard to believe.

That same uncomfortable silence washed over the hallway as Anna hurried down the hall, desperate to escape Shane’s roaming gaze. She snuck a glance at him once she felt his eyes leave her, observing the three, long scratch marks on his neck — they were fresh, she realized, the faint trace of blood still moist around them. His expression was serious, pensive, like he was lost somewhere in his mind, unaware of anything else besides his churning thoughts.

Anna stopped at her door, quickly reaching for the handle as Shane halted next to her. He leaned casually against the doorframe, giving her a brief once-over before focusing all of his attention on her once more. She cleared her throat, wanting the awkward encounter to be over and done with. “Alright, well, I guess I’ll see you —”

“Ya clean up real nice. Anyone ever tell ya that?” Shane suddenly emphasized, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk as his eyes wandered over her face.

Anna scoffed lightly, a tight smile slipping across her lips as she shrugged. “Well, I guess showering does that to a person.”

Shane paused, looking as though he was trying to digest her humor before a deep laugh rumbled out of him. “You’re funny,” he chuckled, wagging a finger at her.

Anna forced out a small laugh, shrugging once more before reaching for the door handle again. “Goodnight, Shane,” she murmured, attempting a second exit.

But before she was able to turn the knob, Shane quickly snaked his fingers around her wrist once more, holding her in place. Her head snapped in his direction, his face now mere inches from hers, close enough where she could smell the overwhelming scent of liquor on his breath. A shaky breath escaped her lips as he tightened his hold around her wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, dark eyes glinting dangerously. “Have a drink with me.”

Anna’s gaze narrowed. “No, I’m good. Thanks,” she retorted curtly.

“Oh, c’mon,” he scoffed, that easy smile slipping over his features once more — but it only unsettled Anna further. “One drink — that’s all.”

“I said no,” she reiterated sharply. “Besides, I think you’ve had enough,” she hissed lowly, refusing to let the man pressure her.

Shane laughed once more, but this time, it came out sounding much more…malicious. “Well, look at you,” he whistled, leaning in even closer. “There ya go, bein’ funny again,” he snarled the word ‘funny’, his tone suddenly sounding much more sinister suddenly.

“Enough, Shane. Let go,” Anna demanded, trying to pull out of his grasp — but he only tightened his grip further and she winced as the bones in her wrist rubbed together.

“Don’t try an’ tell me ya don’t want this,” he sneered, the intensity of his words sending a chill through Anna’s bones. “I’ve seen the way ya been lookin’ at me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Anna snapped, feeling a mixture of confusion and dread course through her. “Let go — you’re hurting me,” she urged, pushing down the panic threatening to take over.

In the next instance, Anna watched Shane’s expression go dark and before she could process what was happening, he released her wrist and wrapped his fingers around her arms, pulling her away from her door and slamming her into the wall beside it instead. She gasped from the impact, feeling some of the air escape her lungs from the force of it, the back of her head banging against the drywall.

“Ya wanna know somethin’?” Shane pressed on, ignoring Anna’s desperate struggle for release. “I am sick an’ tired of you women thinkin’ y’all can jus’ lead a man on for shit’s an’ fuckin’ giggles —”

“Damn it, let go of me!” Anna cried out, pushing back against Shane — but he quickly overpowered her, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of her arm and shoving her back against the wall. She flinched as his nails cut into her skin, his body now pressed up against hers, holding her firmly in place. “Shane —”

“Now, c’mon, it don’t gotta be like this,” he grunted, letting go of her arms and grabbing her wrists instead, holding them together with one hand. He used his other to push back the hair that had fallen over her face, ignoring the way Anna cringed under his touch. “Jus’ relax, alright? Relax,” he whispered gently, words slurred together, his breath hot against her neck as he leaned forward to brush his nose against the soft flesh of her throat.

Anna trembled under him, a soft cry escaping her lips at how helpless she felt, how powerless. He kept his free hand firmly on her hip, pressing his body securely against hers as he began trailing soft kisses up her neck. His hand then left her side, roaming freely up her body, evoking a sharp yelp from her — but Shane immediately clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her desperate protests.

Anna squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the burning sensation his lips had left against her flesh and felt a swell of rage suddenly burst out of her. “Stop!” she shouted, her cry muffled. But she used that brief moment of distraction to muster all the strength she could, ripping her hands from Shane’s grip and shoving him away.

He stumbled backward, caught off guard at the sudden power shift — but quickly recovered and lunged at Anna once more, knocking her back against the wall before she had the chance to move out of his path. There was a brief moment of struggle, Anna using all the energy she had left to combat against Shane’s attack — but within seconds, she found herself pinned against the wall once more, Shane’s hands suddenly snaking their way around her neck before…

“Hey!” a gruff voice suddenly bellowed.

And that’s when Anna saw him.

Daryl stood a few doors down, eyes narrowed into slits, fiery gaze locked onto Shane’s. The archer’s hands were balled into fists at his sides, chest heaving, expression threatening as a low growl rumbled out of him. Anna had never seen him so furious, so enraged, so…so downright scary.

His gaze flashed towards her, his expression faltering for a moment as he took in her terrified state. But then a steeliness washed over him as his sights zeroed back in on Shane, an intense wrath like she’d never seen before washing over his features.

Then, without another word, Daryl cocked his head, tightened his fists, and like the swelling of a raging storm, began stalking his way down the hall, headed directly for Shane.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N : Oh shit. Daryl Dixon is not happy.

Well, we finally got some answers as to why Daryl’s been acting the way he has around Anna. Did anyone see that coming?!

I’m loving Glenn and Anna’s budding friendship, also!

And Shane. Ugh. LOOK. Like I’ve said previously, I liked Shane’s character. BUT. This is around the time he started spiraling - and when he drank, he lost control. (Remember his encounter with Lori?) I’m not trying to turn his character into some horrible, twisted version of himself - this was simply how I interpreted him and something I could see him doing.

ANYWAYS. NEXT WEEK. It’s a Daryl/Anna chapter...they’ll finally share a moment together. FINALLY. 

QUESTION OF THE WEEK: Do you empathize with Daryl and understand why he’s been acting the way he has towards Anna? Or do you think he’s being a little shit and needs to accept responsibility for his fight with Merle instead of blaming Anna?

Feedback is INCREDIBLY important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or message or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Let’s discuss and be friends!

If you want to be notified when I post again, let me know and I’ll add you to my tag list!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FOREVER TAG LIST

@jodiereedus22 @momc95 @distressed-honking @puppiesnclickers @lillyrosegirl @messiahofdystopia @reddhead95 @coffeebooksandfandom @xabigail-miwx @kazzieglove @art-flirt @side-effectss @selenedixon @auntiebyn @rubysglowingeyes @dreamingofonceuponatime @iminlovewithasuperboy @wtfcas @charity1080 @cbarter @mtngirlforever @hanaissupergirl @a-dlv @kickin-with-dixon @sugakookiexx @heyitscam99 @alwaysananglophile @vodkasindream @the-bleeding-rose @the-obsessive-fangirl @daryldixionfan1universe @munchkinfox @hp-hogwartsexpress @alilarkin99 @maddybeck01 @mrsdaamneron @randomtwistedlife @anything-for-the-archer @kittieswritingspot @sesshomaru-lover @x-everrosekillings-x @hopplessdreamer @teaxerz @daddys-little-princess67 @cltex84 @the-lady-corvidae @fakesoniapayne @cutiepiemimi13 @qhbr2013 @hotdigggittydogg @frienah @mummy-woves-you @azanoni-blog @rirylgrimeson1 @seninjakitey @cole-winchester @andiejones @missscarletawesome @countrygal17a @jinkies-its-a-writer @katsandwriting @mildnoobs @vampromancy @always-hopeful- @kilyra @sourwolf-sterek32 @wilhelmjfink @antiformidable @sapphire1727 @mel-2a @pumpkinqueenb @bruised13peach @tatertot1097 @sassi-luna @vox-noctis @youkilloryoudiie @winchester-angel @thatmentallyunstablefangirl @zzeacat @queenlouisa2001 @captain-shannon-becker @my-current-fandom-is @drina365 @risingphoenix761 @twdeadfanfic @jll72-blog @feartheendlesssummer @wanna-see-my-lease @bestillmystuckyheart @negans-wife @judymosali @thatsoragan @monetfatalia @kayninejayne @burningrupture @firehoopinmama @nicknack2814 @kaleeandspn @senecat17 @ancientwhispers @oh-balls-you-idjits @divadinag @lonewolf471 @qrangr @apossiblegentleman @cxgrimes @ifatfirstyoudontfricassee @wearegoldeninthenight @gruffle1 @iminlokisarmysofi @superflannel @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @iheartmusiclove @dawsonfyre @xxstylestrashxx @hyphymanatee @rasax45v @serfyan18 @a-radiant-sun @whatthefrickcrowley @thehybridsqueen @xmistressmistrustx @elizabethserrato @bleakmidwintr @embracing-illusions @twisted-tasty14 @blankmoniker @angel79sworld @lokilover2000 @keybangs @hidinginohio @lonelyangelseekingdemon @s7g @azanoni

Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the forever tag list.