#wait this derailed from the original point lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

syneilesis · 2 years ago

Text

[fic, wip] Let It Stand | chapter one

Let It Stand

Ikemen Prince | Chevalier Michel x Main Character (Emma) | T ao3 link

Emma gets a new editor. This editor doesn’t like her that much.

A/N: Here it is! The Novelist AU Nobody Asked For. I confess that I know very little about the publishing industry; this was just written for fun. Originally this is supposed to be a one-shot, but I'm having a difficult time writing the second half, so I'm splitting this into three parts. I was gonna title this Stet as a pun, but I ultimately chose its definition lol. Emma's novels in this fic are Ikemen games lmao but it's been a while since I've played the alluded routes.

chapter one

“What do you mean my editor suddenly disappeared?”

There was silence at the other end of the line, punctuated by a heavy exhale then followed by a distant scream. Emma didn’t know who it was and why they did. She imagined that Sariel was in his office, and that there was probably some poor intern who bungled up the photocopying machine and was now facing Sariel’s slithery wrath. She silently prayed for the intern’s unfortunate soul.

“Not to worry,” Sariel’s baritone voice came back on. “We’re conducting an international manhunt right now, so it’s not going to be a problem—”

“Wait, international manhunt?!”

“—in the meantime, we’ll assign another editor to you as a substitute for Luke. We don’t want our schedules derailed just because one of our editors thought it nice to have an unannounced vacation.”

Emma was still stuck in ‘international manhunt’. “Excuse me, Sariel, what do you mean by ‘international manhunt’?”

Sariel’s voice was cheerful, which was an indication. “Expect an email from your new editor any time this week.” The line clicked.

Emma stared at her phone, willing for Sariel to materialize from the aether, just to explain what he meant by international manhunt. It sounded ominous—not for her, but for Luke. She hoped that wherever Luke was right now, he’s happy and enjoying life, because the moment Sariel found him it would be game over.

Outside the storeroom where Emma remained staring at her phone, the door chime jingled and Rio greeted the customers with bubbly energy. It’s a slow day, but the weather was nice. Emma thought about inviting Rio later to boba tea and telling him about Luke. Rio might be able to decode what Sariel was saying. She really couldn’t move on from ‘international manhunt’; it was going to drive her insane, she just knew.

“Emma!” Rio called. “Special order pickup!”

“Coming, coming!” Emma pocketed her phone and sighed. Work first, worry later.

✏︎

Emma was a reader first and writer second.

Her first book was about a girl who became a princess, and it stamped an indelible mark on six-year-old Emma’s mind—the magical transformation and the swell of true love. The climactic kiss between prince and princess after defeating the evil dragon. It was all so grand and exciting that she made her parents buy all the fairy tale books they could get, which filled half a wall in her room. Each book was an adventure, a journey, a window to all the things she couldn't experience and feel but wanted to someday.

In her teens she tried writing. At first: fanfiction. Exploring some untouched aspects in the stories she liked, Emma learned how to translate her imagination into words. It was a heady feeling—all the possibilities. After graduating from college she went on to original fiction, having enough encouragement from her readers and a few published stories here and there.

Rhodolite Press took her in with her debut novel, about an aspiring fashion designer who time traveled five hundred years into the past and met a haughty but competent feudal lord. It sold well—not to the point where it became a bestseller, but well enough that it ensured Emma the possibility of writing a second novel. Her readers, most of whom emigrated from her fanfic days, were solid and loyal, and she enjoyed interacting with them.

Luke was her editor, a towering teddy bear with the discipline of a lumpy bedsheet. If it weren’t for her literature degree, Emma would have floundered with an editor such as Luke. Though to be fair to him, while he forwent the technical aspects of fiction writing, Luke had impeccable intuition when it comes to storytelling. It would be nice if the warlord panicked over the main character so I can see that he’s already fallen for her, he had once said, after returning the original manuscript to her, pages clean and unmarked. It boggled Emma back then, expecting a thorough commentary of her characterization and narrative choices. But she noted Luke’s observation and revised the manuscript anyway. The second time they met, Luke was smiling and said, I really liked how he cried after he lost her. That was when Emma realized that she could work with this, with him.

And now, with Luke vanishing to who-knew-where, Emma was worried. Who could be her substitute editor? She hoped that they’d get along well. She’d adjust her work ethic, if need be.

✏︎

The email came on Wednesday, terse and to the point:

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] subject: Manuscript Editing I’m taking over while Four-Eyes is looking for Jumbo. Read my comments. Send the revised version in two weeks. CM

Emma blinked at the message. Then blinked again. Rubbed her eyes and blinked some more. The words didn’t change.

She opened the attachment; it was her draft manuscript littered with highlighted passages and comments. There’s less white and more color. Not a single page was spared from scrutiny.

She randomly picked one comment and it read: The mechanics of the portal is unexplained. If anybody can access that portal, how come only a few do that? Everybody would get curious about it, don’t you think.

Another one: The antagonist is weakly written. Motivation is vague; his goal is underwhelming. It does not match well against the motivation of the male lead.

And another: It is unclear whether this important scene happened within a dream or reality. How consequential is a dream in this world? And why is it brought up near the end of the story? There is no buildup at all. Review your world structure.

Emma read and read and read the comments. By the time she had reached the end of the document she’s ready to challenge C. Michel to a fistfight. The notes were less a review and more an execution. Was C. Michel a legitimate editor? Emma thought about the other writers who were assigned to this jerk.

She closed her laptop without replying. A walk to clear her mind was in order. It wouldn’t do her good if she replied right now, with her mood ready to erupt like a volcano. It wouldn’t be professional, and she’s also scared of Sariel anyway.

“Rio, I’m going for a coffee break,” she called out. With Rio’s affirmative, Emma donned a light jacket and went outside.

✏︎

Thirty minutes later and a white chocolate mocha on hand, Emma decided that C. Michel maybe had a point.

There were some parts, she felt, in her manuscript that required revising and restructuring. She wasn’t too keen on the world building aspect of this particular novel, but perhaps she had to flesh out the mythology and history in order to have a better grasp of the magic system embedded in the narrative.

If only C. Michel had been kinder with his words. They needed the editing more than hers.

The ringing of her phone jolted her out of her thoughts, and her brows raised when Sariel’s name appeared on the screen.

“Did you find Luke?”

“There had been a slight mistake,” Sariel said, which didn’t bode well for Emma.

“Um, what mistake?”

“Apparently somebody meddled with the names of editors available to handle you—” There was laughter in the background, and Sariel let out a resigned exhale. Emma could feel the exasperation coming through despite the mechanical filter of the speaker. “Chevalier isn’t supposed to be your editor.”

“Chevalier?” That’s what the C stood for?

“That’s right. Chevalier has enough work to last for ten years. I don’t want to saddle him with another task. I was actually thinking of asking Leon to guide you. He’s closer to Luke in approachability than to Chevalier.”

So. Chevalier was always like that, huh. Was it because he had a lot on his plate and the stress morphed him into a rude asshole?

Then Sariel said: “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Emma didn’t know what possessed her—her smarted pride, perhaps, or the sheer number of Chevalier’s offensively incredible comments—to hastily say, “Wait, Sariel—”

There was a pause. “Hm?”

“If it’s all right with you—with Chevalier, if he agrees—then I’d like to stick with him as my editor.”

That pause became a deafening silence, as if the air was sucked out of the room. Emma could picture Sariel taking a moment to stare at his phone and confirm what he’d heard. She didn’t blame him.

“This is …” He hesitated. “This is quite a surprise. I’d like to ask why.”

Why, indeed.

Emma bit her lip and groped for the right words. “To be honest, I got upset with Chevalier’s feedback on my manuscript. He could have worded a lot of things differently. But when I finally understood what he was saying, it dawned on me that I truly wanted to improve my novel. I’m going to revise it according to his remarks. I think … I think I need that kind of guidance.”

She waited for Sariel’s response, tense amid the evaluative quiet. When Sariel finally said, “I see. I’ll talk to Chevalier about it,” Emma released a relieved sigh, before realizing that she voluntarily offered herself to a bossy snob.

“Are you sure about this?” Sariel asked, telepathically sensing Emma’s burgeoning regret.

“I—am,” she said, almost sounding like she swallowed something bitter. “Bring it on.”

That elicited a chuckle from Sariel. “Fine. I’ll call you when something comes up.”

“Right. Thank you.”

The moment she hung up, doubt filled her very core. What was she thinking—why would she willingly enter a tiger’s den? To hell with proving something—she didn’t need that level of stress in her life!

Emma frowned at her already-lukewarm drink. She’s beginning to anticipate a lot more coffee in her future.

✏︎

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] subject: Re: Manuscript Editing Four-Eyes asked me if I’ll continue being your editor. All that time and energy I spent reviewing your work would be wasted if you pulled out. I have no patience for a blustering writer.

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] subject: Re: Re: Manuscript Editing Dear Mr. C. Michel, I hope this email finds you well. I have expressed to Mr. Sariel my desire to have you remain as my editor while the search for Luke is ongoing. I have found that your wisdom in editing is crucial for my growth as a writer, and thus seek your continuous guidance. I am currently revising the parts you pointed out in your comments and will do my utmost to send you the edited version on the date you’ve provided. I look forward to our prosperous partnership. Have a nice day! Sincerely, Emma

✏︎

Rio offered to look into Chevalier Michel.

“He probably has a profile page on the website, but I’ll ask around for some further information if you want.”

He and Emma stayed in the bookstore after it closed for some inventory, with Emma crouching by the romance section and Rio starting with nonfiction. The fluorescent lights flickered, which nudged Emma into noting that they need to replace them soon.

“That’s sweet of you, Rio, but it feels weird to do it behind his back, you know?”

Rio paused midway in taking out a hardcover and shot Emma a funny look.

“It’s not weird at all! He should’ve introduced himself in the first place—he should’ve been professional about it!”

Rio had a point. If it were other people, acting the way Chevalier did would result in getting fired, but Chevalier had held on to his and, based on what Sariel had revealed, juggled more workload than other editors. Emma never recalled any dark undereye circles or stress lines maligning Luke’s carefree face, which meant that he took only what he could handle. Chevalier tackling work ‘to last for ten years’ would imply that he was competent at his job; plenty of people relied on him, and that included Sariel.

Rio had been tinkering with his phone while Emma agonized over Chevalier and job stability, and she was about to remind Rio to go back to work when he cried in triumph and rushed towards her, phone screen tilted in her direction.

“Look, I found him! Let’s see … it says …”

The sunny tone in Rio’s voice petered off and he suddenly went quiet. Emma craned her neck to see where his gaze was trained on and—oh.

“Oh, no,” Rio whispered.

“Oh, no,” Emma agreed.

On the screen was Rhodolite Press’s website, displaying the information page of one of its editors. A profile picture was affixed on the top-left of the page, and in that picture was the most beautiful man Emma had ever seen. Blond hair framing his ivory face, with eyes the color of the sky reflected on a placid lake, an aristocratic nose and steel-set lips embraced by a magnificent jaw. He was all elegant curves, sublime geometry. Emma was certain she would never meet another one as beautiful as him.

“Emma, you’re blushing!” Rio’s voice was frantic. “Don’t fall in love with him!”

He snatched his hand back and Chevalier’s radiant face disappeared before her. It was ridiculous for Rio to think that a pretty face would sway Emma quick and easy; she only had to remember his manuscript comments and her simmering ire for him would rekindle like it never went away.

“I won’t, Rio, don’t be silly.” She glanced at her inventory list; she doubted they’d finish work tonight. “What are his credentials?”

He read Chevalier’s profile overview aloud, and Emma felt her brows rise and her eyes widen.

“—best editor of 2018, 2019, and 2021. In just three years, he singlehandedly catapulted Rhodolite Press onto mainstream radar to the point that Obsidian Publishing expressed interest in acquiring them in the past. Edited consistently bestselling books. Hm, hm, graduated top of his class, has master’s degrees in publishing and comparative literature … O-Oh, Emma, I’m serious—don’t fall for him!”

“Honestly, Rio! Stop that. I’m not going to fall in love with him. He’s my editor who writes mean comments that drive me mad! How could I fall for him when he’s my primary source of stress?”

Rio seemed appeased by that, but a pout still lingered.

“Anyway, what else can you find? Are there any bad rumors about him?”

“Well …” Rio kept scrolling on his phone. “It says here that he started out as a writer and published a few books, but now he’s focused as an editor.”

“Oh? What books did he write?”

“No. No, Emma.” Rio pocketed his phone definitively and adopted a chastising tone. “We’re behind work and need to finish our inventory.”

The panic that settled over Rio had Emma laughing. It was cute, in a sisterly kind of way, that Rio—almost comically—was keeping up with the facade of an aspiring husband around Emma. It’s one way of easing her worries, and Rio knew that, so he wore that role like second skin. Sometimes, Emma wondered if Rio was serious about it because it felt at times that he was being too sincere.

“Fine, fine, let’s get back to work.” And because she couldn’t help it: “You know that I’ll just google him later, right?”

Rio’s wailing could be heard throughout the street that night.

✏︎

And Emma did. Google Chevalier Michel.

One novel, one nonfiction, and three translations (one on philosophy, one on politics, and one literary novel). Emma checked if the bookstore had copies of any of Chevalier’s books; there were none, and she found that his books were no longer reprinted, which was unfortunate. Fascinatingly enough, his books were published by Rhodolite during its pre-mainstream days.

His nonfiction book was interestingly a monograph about historical literature. It was most likely an expanded version of his master’s thesis, based on the back cover description. The summary of Chevalier’s novel, titled A Solitary Moon, launched Emma into an upright sitting position.

A Solitary Moon was about an art historian who fell in love with the woman in a painting and spent the rest of his life searching for her. It piqued Emma’s curiosity, more so because never in her entire exchange with Chevalier would she peg him as a romantic. How could a man like him—curt, gruff, and irritating—conceive, much less write, a love story?

The novel had a Goodreads page, with a couple of reviews dated some years ago. It had an aggregate of 4.6 out of five stars. Impressive.

Most reviews praised Chevalier’s prose and his talent for imagery. Some had high hopes for his writing career. Few lamented his stoic approach to emotions, but overall, the readers enjoyed his novel. Emma belatedly realized that her mouth hung open in shock.

There was one bizarre review that captured her attention, though:

My boy Chev wrote a novel! This is great! Have to give it 1 star though, just to even things out hahaha

It was from someone named Lulu SH, and it had three likes. Emma just chalked it up to the nature of the internet.

Now she wanted to read his novel. She wanted to know what the fuss was about, even if she’s late to it. She wasn’t certain if reading his novel would shed light on Chevalier, but there had to be something she could glean from it.

If the bookstore didn’t have any copies of the novel, maybe the public library did.

✏︎

He came in like a whirlwind of bad news.

Emma had a healthy, functioning radar for trouble; it helped her on a number of occasions when she had to bail Rio out from picking a fight with customers—not to mention those who’d bother her on the way to work.

When the door chime tinkled and a streak of purple flashed in her periphery, alarm bells rang inside her head, loud and frenzied. It confused Emma, who had no reason to suspect the color purple, so she tore her gaze away from the logbook and redirected her attention to the source of her sudden discomfort.

A handsome man stood in front of her wearing the most suspicious smile in the world.

“Finally we meet,” he declared.

Emma weighed her options: there was neither a bat nor a stick in proximity to her, so should the man make a move to harm her Emma had no weapon to bludgeon him with; her phone was tucked away beside the cash register, three shelves between her, but she’s a slow runner so the man could have caught her long before she could reach the counter; Rio was out on an errand and there were no other customers—she could stall for time until Rio returned, and they might have a greater chance of overpowering the man.

She chose to stall for time.

“I’m sorry,” she began, silently proud her voice didn’t tremble, “but should I know you?”

If anything, the man’s smile grew wider. “The Four-Eyed Fiend would say you shouldn’t, but I’ve always wanted to meet you. We have a mutual friend—ha—Chev, Rhodolite’s beloved editor. Let’s bond over him.”

‘Chev’? Did he mean—“Chevalier Michel?”

The man clapped his hands in delight. “Are you having a difficult time with him? He may be your temporary editor, but I can share with you some secrets to win him over. I know a café that makes excellent mille-feuille. We can talk about him there.”

His suspicious smile became winning as he talked, like he’s used to getting his way through life. He did give off an air of being spoiled, indulgent—his movements languid that bordered on sensual.

“No, thank you. You haven’t even told me your name.”

“I haven’t, have I?” His eyes narrowed in amusement and the alarm bells inside Emma’s head rang louder and louder. “My name is Clavis. I already know who you are, so you don’t have to introduce yourself to me. Now that we’re acquainted, off we go.”

He grabbed Emma’s wrist and panic set in. “Wait, Clavis, wait—Rio hasn’t returned yet! I can’t leave the store unmanned!”

Clavis paused, glancing around the bookstore and finding no other people. He released Emma and pondered over this development as if it was some national security problem, a hand migrating to his chin, humming in deep thought.

“Well, if we can’t go to the café …” Clavis began. Emma had a wishful thought that Clavis would drop his attempt to ‘befriend’ her and leave the store, never to return.

Of course, her wish went unheard.

“Then I’ll just have to bring the café here, hahaha!”

Emma blinked, wasn’t sure if she heard right. “I beg your pardon?”

✏︎

Rio returned to the shop forty-five minutes after Clavis arrived, but by then Clavis had already: 1) set up a makeshift coffee table and chairs for him and Emma; 2) filled said table with the most mouth-watering pastries and the most heavenly coffee Emma had tasted; 3) ordered somebody else to entertain customers as they passed by Clavis and Emma, shooting them curious glances as they did so; and 4) spoke about Chevalier like he was some walking encyclopedia of the guy, regaling Emma frame by frame of what Chevalier had done to a young but arrogant writer who took offense at Chevalier’s admittedly brusque manuscript comments and thought it wise to disparage the editor. Emma winced at the story; even if she hadn’t personally met Chevalier, she agreed that it was in character for him to flay people alive for something they’d foolishly done.

“Right, right?” Clavis laughed, and something in his laughter jogged a memory from Emma.

“Hey—you’re that guy! The one who Sariel said meddled with the list of my editors!”

Clavis grinned, rakish and gleeful. “How did you know?”

“I heard you laugh while I was talking to Sariel on the phone. You sounded like you enjoyed giving Sariel stress ulcer.”

“Haha, it’s all very exciting, isn’t it? You have me to thank for arranging Chev as your editor.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Clavis.” For emphasis, Emma took a large bite of chocolate cake. It tasted divine. “He may have given me helpful feedback on my novel, but he could’ve been nicer about it.”

“Nice? A nice Chev? I can’t wrap my head around the idea of a nice Chev. The world would end before that happens.”

“Emma, what’s going on?! Who’s that guy with you?”

“Rio!” Emma was midway to standing before she thought the better of it; the pastries and the coffee called to her more strongly than she expected. “Clavis and I were just talking about, um, work. He’s from Rhodolite Press.”

Clavis did nothing to alleviate the suspicious look Rio tossed his way; in fact, he seemed to stoke it further by waving and wagging his fingers, as if to taunt Rio that he got to disrupt whatever normal day they should be having.

Rio tore his eyes away from Clavis and then did a double take. “Emma, who’s the guy behind the register?”

“As I was saying,” Clavis intervened, denying Emma a chance to answer, “I thought it would be fun to put your novel in Chev’s editing pile. I’m so glad you liked it!”

“‘Liked it’? He said that my protagonist was an idiot!”

“Haha! Classic Chev.”

Clearly Clavis was living in a different reality from her. He deliberately misinterpreted anything Emma said about her experience with Chevalier as her editor.

“He wanted me to delete a whole chapter! A whole chapter!”

Clavis nodded in sympathy—or in schadenfreude, because that seemed more consistent with his personality in the forty-five minutes Emma had known him.

“In another chapter, he said that I had the main character and the male lead fall in love with each other so quickly it didn’t seem realistic. But my goal was exactly that—the magic of love!” Somehow the cake on Emma’s plate disappeared; ranting about Chevalier took a lot of energy. She procured another slice of cake—cookies and cream this time. It was equally divine. “How would he write about love?” she continued, waving her fork like it was some metronome for haranguing. “I want to know. I can’t rely on his Goodreads reviews alone. I have to read his novel.”

As if magic words themselves, her last sentence froze both Clavis and Rio. Clavis, sensing blood, perked up in predatory glee, while Rio clicked his tongue in irritation.

“No—you really googled him, Emma!”

“You want to read Chev’s novel?”

Their piercing and expectant gazes discomfited Emma. She shifted on her seat and took a huge gulp of her coffee, which was tragically lukewarm now.

“Um,” she said, convincingly. “It stopped reprinting, if I recall correctly.”

“Well, Miss Writer, today is the best day of your life,” Clavis announced, his excitement vibrating out of him like a defcon 1 alarm. Emma debated whether to decline him outright or inch away from him until she’s outside the bookstore altogether. “First you’ve met me—a very handsome, very attractive man; and second you’re going to get Chev’s novel—courtesy of me! No need to thank me, of course. I already know that I’m kind as much as I’m handsome. Now, do you want an autographed copy? Because I can needle Chev into signing a book. Don’t be shy—say, ‘Yes, please, Master Clavis, you’re my hero!’”

“No thank you, Clavis. I can always go to the library to borrow a copy.”

It’s Clavis’s turn to click his tongue. “Tch. You’re no fun at all. But I’m still giving you one, because Chev has some extra copies in his office that I can pilf—ask for.”

“Were you about to say ‘pilfer’?”

“Of course not, you must’ve been mistaken,” Clavis said without missing a beat. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid I must leave you now. Busy man and all. Don’t miss me too much.”

He made a show of bowing with exaggerated flourish, like a circus ringmaster, and then strode towards the door, patting Rio’s shoulder along the way. The sound of the door shutting was a relief that had Emma heaving an exhausted sigh, and Rio took over Clavis’s place across the table.

“He paid for this, right?” Rio asked, as he hoarded all the bread. They were, unsurprisingly, soft and divine as well.

Emma sighed once more.

#fic #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince fic #ikepri fic #chevalier michel x emma #chevalier x emma #novelist au #stet fic

51 notes · View notes

fluorescentbrains · 2 years ago

Note

Wait I’m screaming I’m looking through the comments on that post and someone said: “it’s not Jewish because angels don’t have free will in Judaism” as if it’s not a pretty big point in the show that angels don’t have free will and the one angel who does develop it is viewed as a weirdo by the other angels. Also a lot of people who are speaking on Islam despite clearly knowing nothing about it?

The fact that people are getting mad at you is insane to me I’m not sure if they ever called Chuck the Abrahamic god and I don’t think Islam is ever mentioned but he is canonically the god of both the Jewish and Christian faiths in the show it’s not your fault it’s that way you didn’t write the show

“Based on some second hand impressions from tumblr and maybe a cursory google search I can say definitively that this fantasy show is 100% Protestant you upset me, a Catholic, by implicating my faith under the term abrahamic so I’m going to get all up on your post about it and most importantly what I personally dislike about the show’s writing that you could have no affect on instead of making my own post even though I’m severely derailing your post with my religious discourse. Christmas is a more important holiday to me than Easter and I’ve never so much as read the Bible. I’m just going off of my own interpretation of my faith which [though very valid in reality] is SO MUCH more valid than anyone else’s interpretation or experience, especially the Catholics on the spn writing team, who I doubt are real Catholics”

everyone on your post sounds Quite A Bit Like That; it’s absolutely absurd. (Going so far as to minimize real people’s faith bc you didn’t like their fantasy show is particularly cruel imo and people are doing that to the Jewish creator of the show)

Making any flavor of post about religion when it wasn’t initially about that is wrong; supernatural’s incooperation of highly fictionalized and (yes, anyone can admit, often bastardized) religious elements doesn’t make supernatural posts inherently religious debates like if you want to accuse Eric kripke of being a secret Christian because he made up some nonsense about demons for a plot point in his monster hunting show where no monster adheres to its traditional qualities very well at least don’t do it on a joak post about homophobia against destiel

the religious lore in spn is definitely something worth having Discussions and Conversations about but I always wanna push back when people are like “this is a CHRISTIAN show” like i get that to you spn is something you don’t want to be associated with because it has So Many Problems but it’s actually kind of a huge pop culture phenomenon so… maybe I don’t want to cede it entirely to a christian lens? especially when many of the creators are in fact not christian?? lmao people actually did used to post and meta about jewishnatural so this thing where we take it for granted that it has nothing whatsoever to do with anything non-christian is recent…

my interpretation of spn is that it started out as mostly a pure Cool Monster Show and then eventually the writers started playing in the space of “vaguely modern Christian mythology” (modern being a very key word here—many of the most quintessentially christian lore elements we are used to were developed rather late in the history of the religion and have scant or ambiguous support in the original texts). but what does the show actually SAY with that mythology?? well, a lot of conflicting and frequently offensive things… but occasionally very interesting things as well.

also funny you mention catholic vs protestant discourse because I feel like I remember there being Drama at one point bc people were saying “spn is catholic” and some people were like “no it’s actually protestant” 🙈

I wish I could find any word from eric kripke where he talks about how his jewish identity did or didn’t inform his writing. I think it could be really interesting, even if the answer is “no, I wasn’t thinking about judaism whatsoever.” like that in and of itself would be interesting. it doesn’t seem like it’s something he talks about much—all I could find was an interview about the boys where he talked about how he uses superheroes as a way to write about eugenics and fascism, because times have changed since they were created (by jewish comic book writers).

anyways I find it interesting that tumblr media analysts consider the cultural identity (or gender identity or sexual identity) of creators to be Very Important in basically all cases except when they’re jewish. I’m not necessarily saying it’s good that we rely so much on identity politics in this space (we could stand to move away from that!!) but the absence of consideration for jewishness is quite striking to me. people will go off writing meta about how xyz media is “promoting christian ideology” or whatever and thinking they’re really saying something and not even be aware that the creator/writer was, in fact, jewish, and considering how THAT might affect their analysis (I’m talking about the Star Wars sequels lmao). I think it really speaks to the uncertainty people have about how to even conceptualize jewish people as part of their social justice framework

#anonymous #asks #this answer is so stream of consciousness lol…#anyways gut voch yall

5 notes · View notes

just-patchy · 4 years ago

Text

Evergreen

CW: mentions of cheating

gif isn’t related, i just think it’s aesthetically pleasing lmao

This was originally going to be more about colour symbolism but as you can see, I derailed (as usual) and went ham with imagery instead lol 🌚🌚🤡🤡 anyways! I love how this came out and I’m super proud of it!

Stefano leaned on the balcony of his cosy penthouse, the vivid neon lights of the flashy signs enveloping his face in a soft, green glow. Despite that Christmas was just around the corner, the man was only wearing a deep green robe for warmth, the thin oversized white shirt and black boxers doing nothing to keep him snuggly. He stared at the passerby below in disinterest, half-heartedly listening to the mindless chatter as couples and families crowded the streets, a lonely figure on a mirthful night, not uncommon but pitying still.

Harley had left a few hours ago, wearing Stef’s favourite scarlet blazer and black slacks as he kissed him on the cheek and promised that he’d be back for the night, promises that both knew were only for formality sake and rang hollow in Stef’s ears as he sent his lover off into dark streets painted superficially in sickly, bright lights. The arrangement was convenient, and yet the director lamented the unfairness of it all, slumping over the cold metal of the railway. Harley could see whoever he wanted, crash at whoever’s place and do whatever he does when he’s alone with his chosen partner for the night. He’d growl his way through the same empty declarations Stef has heard countless times to all the lovers he keeps, run his hands through their hair as he tears at their necks, teeth scraping against tender skin. He’d leave marks and scars and little trophies, and stumble back to their penthouse- Stef’s penthouse, at some ungodly hour or never come back at all. Not even the next night or the one after does he return, drunk on the euphoria and the thrill of a dirty secret as he aims his ravening gaze elsewhere from his luxurious cave built with none of his wealth and a shallow oath of eternity.

Meanwhile, Stef could only be stuck in some twisted form of house arrest, waiting for Harley to fall into bed smelling of cheap perfume and awful soap with the faintest accent of trashy alcohol, and eventually wake up to a cold bed that barely felt slept in for all these years of cohabitation. He stays in shadows of silence and solitude until he’s shoved out, exposed as his walls are torn down and haven destroyed. He carries himself with the invisible weight of a crown on his head and a heavy cape he drags along like ball and chain. His unwanted throne is not one he can simply step down from, not when his dear lover cries wolf like the skilful actor he is, and the masses eat up the newest rumours of romantic scandals with vigour. He’s imprisoned on his grand, gaudy seat, gold peeling and fading to dull yellow, iron on his wrists and steel at his neck. It’s far too big for him, and he feels minuscule under the impersonal gazes of his distorted court, with the jester pulling and tugging at his face when he sees that the flat jokes only earn himself so much fictitious amusement from the porcelain monarch.

Stef eventually stops at some point; stops listening in to the rumours of infidelity and disguise; stops giving reactions to the smug expression decorating Harley’s face that he only gets when he knows he’s won; stops counting how many nights Harley walked out the door humming his favourite song and leaving Stef alone in the penthouse that feels massive for one person; stops covering for his dear lover during interviews and interrogations with flimsy excuses barely held together by thin logic and falsified evidence. They’re both grown men, the game of control and submission has long delved into a deep abyss of toxicity, the passion and fun they shared as teenagers had disintegrated and broken down to the waves of negativity brought forth by the sea. All that’s left is a damp dollhouse with its washed out little toys, on the verge of collapse and abandonment.

Stef barks out a humourless laugh at nothing, holding his lighter out in the direction of the giant Christmas tree set up at the nearest mall, and imagines it going up in a beautiful, blazing blast of fire and heat, to the joyous, festive Christmas tunes of religion and romance. A merry, toasty, glowing, roasting, mesmerising bonfire, where they could melt down the gold and steel and bronze; burn the clothes of velvet and silk and faux fur; clink thermos bottles together and feast to the sound of genuine delight; listen the flames crackling cheerily as intricate tapestries woven with golden, silken lies add just the right amount of fuel to keep excitement alive. A distant ideal, perhaps, but a marvellous celebration will it be!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #stefano fuoco #harley burattino #not me coming up with character full names on the spot lmao #🌚🌚🌚🌚#anyways!!!

23 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

Text

Shout out to that time in the preboot universe, when Lilith showed up to Donna’s wedding to the red-headed man she’d once prophesied Donna would marry and who would die horribly and thus is the reason Donna broke up with Roy originally, thinking the prophecy was about him, (its a long story, just go with it).....

.....and so then here’s Lilith just popping up at the Wedding of Doom she forewarned against, after being out of touch for ages, but she’s flying solo with no plus one and thus no sign of her caveman boyfriend Gnaark (its a long story, just go with it) and when all the other Titans were like hey wtf where’s Gnaark she was just like oh something terrible happened there but I don’t want to get into it now, its a wedding, cheers, because Lilith just does that, when she’s done talking she’s done talking lmao.....

....and then this winged angel named Azrael started popping up all the time and the other Titans are like wtf Lilith, is this dude stalking you, and she just casually waves them off and is like oh yeah, he’s been doing that for ages, he wants me to be his ‘mate’ or whatever, its this whole thing. Don’t worry about it though, its no big deal.’ Because again, Lilith’s just like that.

And then when Azrael keeps showing up Lilith starts glowing every time he’s near and turning into a combustion engine about to blow, and her teammates are like Lil, once again we are just here begging you to call this a big deal, this dude seems to be turning you into a human glowstick, but Lilith is just like omg stop being so dramatic, that has nothing to do with him even, I’ve been having those little ‘heat attacks’ for like years, and the Titans are like WTF LIL, WHY DID YOU NOT MENTION THIS BEFORE, and she’s just like ‘I forgot to okay, god, get off my ass already’ and she stormed off and dramatically quit the team with a huff and a “AND IM NEVER COMING BACK except for when I totally will cuz I already foresee this apocalypse we’re gonna have to prevent in like two years, so nobody take my room okay, thanks bye, and NO DICK, I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE UPCOMING APOCALYPSE JEEZ I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT RIGHT NOW, I’LL GET TO IT WHEN I GET TO IT'’.....because I mean....Lilith. *shrugs*

And then she came back and joined the team during the Terror of Trigon storyline and she was all dramatic and prophesizing left and right except lol it wasn’t really Lil as she was possessed by a bajillion Azarath spirits who were like, hey we’re gonna hijack you to cleanse Raven of evil, sorry not sorry, but don’t worry, we’ll tidy up after ourselves before we leave’....

And then she got depossessed and Azrael starting popping up again and she starting doing her human glowstick thing again except this time with actual fire actually burning shit all around her, and Lilith’s like “okay, fine, I’m willing to concede now that this MIGHT be an issue,” and everyone’s like GEE YOU THINK???

And her ‘heat attacks’ were now big and noticeable enough that they eventually got the attention of Lilith’s birth mother, cuz Lilith had been adopted and found that out and started searching for her birth parents and answers about her powers and where she came from when she was like, thirteen (its a long story, just go with it), and so Lilith’s flame on moments finally caught her birth mother’s attention and she showed up and was like surprise, oh hey and also I’m the Greek Titan of the sun, who escaped from Tartarus awhile back and came up with this whole plan to get back at Zeus and the rest of those turds by making a secret weapon baby - that’s you hon, so proud of you - and yeah your dad was just this rich dude who had a company I wanted to take over, I just kinda incinerated him once I had you and didn’t need him anymore, sorry but its not a big loss he was kinda dull, you wouldn’t have liked him anyway, but also, then this random nurse kidnapped you and derailed my master plan of using a toddler Titan to topple the Olympians, but now I’ve found you and we can get right back to that, and that’s what you missed on Glee!’

Cue the rest of the Titans being like......ummm, we have some questions and also some concerns, but Lilith’s just like huh, so what you’re saying is I’m a divine celestial being? Huh, yeah that tracks. Okay, I believe you! But also I don’t like your plan and I think you kinda suck so I’m gonna like....not do that and instead help the gods defeat you again sorry not sorry but I mean yeah, I’m just not feeling it here, I don’t think this mother/daughter thing is gonna work out on account of the you sucking part.

So then that happened and then Zeus was like, hey we’re down a demigod, how would you like to be a goddess? And Lilith’s like yeah, that sounds good, I’m not busy right now. And the rest of the Titans are like umm, Lilith? The team? We do occasionally save the world and protect people and stuff? And she’s just like oh relax, you’ll be fine without me and I’ll be back in time to help out with that alien invasion in a couple years....and Dick’s like wait what, but Lilith’s already gone and getting her demigoddess on. Because, y’know. Its Lilith. She has her priorities figured out.

And then post-Crisis she eventually rejoins the team as the masked and mysterious figure Omen, who wouldn’t reveal her secret identity, because like, she’s Lilith, and she decided hey I’m just not gonna let the team know that its me and just like, idk see what happens. No particular reason.

Except then she’s abducted by this villain named Haze and she has to use her powers to summon the original Titans to free her, at which point her identity is revealed and she’s like yeah, surprise, it was me the whole time, and the Fab Five are all like WHAT THE HELL LILITH, and she’s like WHAT, I WAS BORED, LET ME HAVE HOBBIES.....and also at this time she and the Titans found out oh btw, turns out that whole backstory about you being the daughter of that Titan was a lie, we’re not really sure how that works but just FYI, you’re actually just the illegitimate daughter of this super rich tycoon, and also FYI, Haze is actually your half brother who hates you because of something to do with the dad you didn’t even know existed, soooooo....that’s a thing....

And then she goes back to the Titans for awhile, still as Omen but with everyone now knowing its her under the cloak and mask, the jig is up, Lilith’s like ugh, lame, now what am I supposed to do for fun. But then it also turned out that for some reason that was never actually made clear, now she also had telekinetic and illusion casting powers and she was like ooooh now these I can have fun with. Coincidentally, like, half the team decided now would be a good time to take a sabbatical and focus on their own cities.

And THEN she was kidnapped by Vandal Savage, who wanted to make her use her powers to divine the perfect lineup of bad guys to take down the Titans once and for all, and Lilith’s like ‘well shit, you got me, guess I gotta do what you want,’ except of course she purposely chooses villains she foresees the Titans beating, which they do of course, and then they beat Savage, and Lilith is just like, dude, I know I’m the only precog here, but how did you not see this coming, like seriously, what on earth made you think there was gonna be any other way this was gonna go? OMG you’re so stupid, what happened to all the smart villains, ugh even being kidnapped is boring now, lame.

And then she died, and like, never actually came back except as a spirit in one story and a Black Lantern in that Blackest Night event, and that sucked. But oh well.

Anyway, the point is I miss THAT Lilith, the unpredictable, whimsical, always dragging chaos in her wake and not giving a shit because look its not her fault Destiny is like totally obsessed with her....

She was just a guaranteed source of WTF and she did it all with unnecessary flair and drama and she was one hundred percent a primary reason Dick Grayson was destined to have gray hairs by the time he was thirty, but oh well, that was just the price of being friends and teammates with her, because Lilith was just...*sighs* she was just so Lilith.

That’s really the only way to sum her up. A dozen writers took her in a dozen different directions cuz they couldn’t decide what to do with her so she ended up doing everything and being extremely extra about it which really tied it all together and just made it a universal truth that when it comes to Lilith, don’t just expect the unexpected, like....just accept that with her anything is possible and plausible and the most random shit will end up connected to her and you just gotta roll with it, because that’s just how it goes with her.

95 notes · View notes

assassins-and-hidden-blades · 4 years ago

Text

Would You Care to Dance?

So @marshmallow--3 and I were talking the other day, and this came out. I loved it so much that I had to polish it up and post it because *swoons very very hard* -- so here’s a nice lil’ drabble for ya

EDIT (post writing): I... don’t know what came over me. The fluff, I couldn’t control it, it was too much! /j lmao enjoy the sudden fluff fic.

Not requested, hehe... (requested by my brain)

----------

“Remember, get in and get out as fast as you can.”

That’s what Evie told you both, and you left her with Jacob’s confident dismissal.

Inside, the ballroom was enormous. The ceiling seemed worlds away, glass chandeliers gleaming in the candlelight. Cream walls housed hundreds of people in gowns and suits, stepping in time to the violin and piano. Chauffeurs floated around, champagne flutes aplenty on their trays.

This was not a party of your calibre.

Still, you and Jacob flaunted yourselves in, the air around you both announcing that you belonged there, whether people liked it or not. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, coattails fluttering behind him as he walked. He folded his top hat away as you both stepped inside, threading his fingers through his hair.

He’d never seen you in formal wear before, and once he did, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Your outfit was accentuating you perfectly, and you could feel the tingle in your cheeks as his mouth parted in shock. It wasn’t your preferred choice of clothing, but you had to wear it for the sake of staying undercover.

Once inside, you and Jacob blended seamlessly into the crows of social superiors and supposed Templars. The job? Get the intel, and find the targets. Both of you weaved to the other end of the hall beside tall columns (not without Jacob taking two champagne flutes); you needed to survey the area from a different angle. As Jacob leaned against one of the columns and sipped his drink, you scanned the faces of the crowd. “Champagne?” he offered.

You smiled nervously. “No, thanks.”

Jacob shrugged, disposing it by putting it on another moving tray. “Suit yourself.”

You tapped him on the shoulder a few moments later, discretely pointing at a dancing couple who were firstly wearing Templar crosses, and secondly, were talking in hushed whispers. “How are we supposed to hear what they’re saying from here?” The thought of dancing hadn’t made it anywhere near the forefront of your mind.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jacob smirked, straightening and disposing his drink on another tray. He adjusted his cuffs and moved to stand in front of you before bowing dramatically. “Would you care for a dance?”

You scoffed. “Not a chance.”

Gently, he grasped your hands, coaxing you onto the dance floor. You tried to protest while pretending to be keen at the same time. You slowly resigned yourself to your fate as you grew closer to your current targets, the risk of exposure too great. Jacob came to a stop in the middle of the room, surrounded by other dancing couples who were gracefully sweeping around the pair of you. Before he could begin to drag you across the tiles, you managed to speak through gritted teeth. “Jacob, I can’t dance.”

How you thought you could get away with not knowing how to dance on a mission that took place in a ballroom, you’d never know.

For a moment, he furrowed his brows; the face he makes when he has a problem in front of him he needs to solve -- you know it well. Then, he smiled reassuringly. “Then, I suppose I’ll have to teach you.” He pulled you closer towards him and moved one hand to his shoulder, holding the other. His hand resting on your waist was both surprising, but also comforting, but you hyper-aware of its position.

Both of you noticed the sudden lack of distance between you.

Both of you decided not to mention it; perhaps that was due to the simultaneous short circuiting of your brains.

“When I say ‘one’, move your left foot forward.

“When I say ‘two’, step to the side.

“When I say ‘three’, bring your feet together. Then, repeat with the right.

“Are you ready?”

You nodded, nerves too obvious to hide.

“We’ll go slowly; One...” His arms raise slightly and his uses his momentum to persuade you to move, your foot tentatively stepping backwards. His eyebrows raise, concentrating on moving slowly. “Two...” His torso nudged you sideways, and you made a conscious effort to move smoothly and quickly. “Three...” He straightened slightly, an inconspicuous cue to return to the original position. “That’s it. One, two, three... one, two, three...” Slowly, you grew in confidence, although your hands were holding Jacob tightly, white knuckling his tailcoat. He whispered encouragement in your ear, and alongside the security of being in his arms, you slowly began to trust him a bit more as he pulled you along. A few times you wobbled, and Jacob was watching your face closely enough to right you before it was noticeable, calling out the timings in your ear.

As you fell into a stride, you began to enjoy yourself even more, and could now focus on gathering the information you were set out to retrieve. But, you couldn’t focus on what was being said.

You were too busy focusing on Jacob.

His eyes wandered to the side of the room, eyeing the dancing Templars, but you couldn’t help but observe the creases in his eyebrows as he concentrated, his serious expression rooting your eyes to the spot.

He looked at you momentarily, before performing a double take, face breaking into bashfulness and modesty. “What?” His lips upturned slightly as he looked down at you.

“Oh, uh...” You flushed hot, embarrassed that he caught you.

“You weren’t listening to them, were you?”

You shrugged, composing yourself. “Is there anything worth listening to?”

A knowing grin worked its way onto his face. “As a matter of fact...” He made a motion of moving across the floor and towards the targets. Once his standards deemed it close enough, he did something you were nowhere near ready for:

He twirled you.

Your breath hitched as you rolled with the movement, no one ever having doing it to you before. You felt your dress brush against a few people as you spun, and once you faced Jacob again, you clutched onto his shoulder tightly. “Don’t do that again!”

“Relax, love.” He looked into your eyes, a sparkle of adoration prominent. “You’re doing brilliantly.” He danced you away from the Templars, and the song sung its closing lines. You both detached yourselves from each other to politely bow or curtsy. As you both walked to the outskirts of people, you heard a commotion. “Where is it? Where has it gone?!”

Jacob pulled you to the side and against a column, the heat of the crowd on your right, and the cool breeze from the open doors on your left. He leaned over you, pulling you close and grasping your waist.

“Jacob--”

“You have to kiss me.”

“Yes, but-- wait, what?”

“Kiss me.” He looked over his shoulder to see a crowd parting, and a very enraged man parting it. He pulled you around the column even more, shielding you both with more moonlight than candlelight, and more column than air. “Now.”

You had almost no time to react as he brought his lips to yours. He was gentle, but loving; this wasn’t how friends fake-kissed. Multiple times, he would break the kiss and return in a mere moment. As you brought your hand up to his cheek, he caught it, slipping something into your palm.

It was a piece of paper.

You improvised, withdrawing your arm to slip under his coat. You ran your hand over his shirt, looking for a pocket. Finally, you managed to find one on the inside of his coat and tucked the intel away just as Jacob broke apart, scanning the crowd. Once the coast was clear, he pulled back, another smirk on his slightly swollen lips.

He motioned his head behind him, to suggest leaving. As a response, you threaded his arm through yours and while acting natural, you both made a flawless exit.

You were breathless, the fresh air of the night refreshing your clammy skin. As endorphins rocketed through your nerves, you confidently said something which could end very positively, or it could derail your entire self esteem.

Here we go...

“Hey, about what happened back there?”

“What about it?”

“I... hope it wasn’t just a one time thing.”

#this... was supposed to be a drabble #ah well #guess it's a fic then #surprise?#assassin's creed #assassin's creed oneshot #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye oneshot #jacob frye imagine #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed imagine #jacob frye #assassin’s creed x f!reader #jacob frye x f!reader

277 notes · View notes

that-cunning-mind · 5 years ago

Text

The Untitled Chuckie Sputterspark Origin Fanfic Pt.1

(Guess who wrote a fanfic for the first time in years lmao...

Read below if you want to see my take on how @based-ducks and me thought up of Quackervolt fankid Chuckie Sputterspark’s origin...somewhat)

As the crisp, evening air descended upon the moonlit shadows of St. Canard, a particular purplish protector of the poor found himself investigating a case of deductive interest. A case of shadowy intrigue and mystery. A case that would decide the future of St. Canard in its epic battle between good and evil.

A case of price gouging tickets at a pizza arcade.

“Twenty dollars for an adult ticket and twelve for kids over ten years old? Why these crooked capitalist crooks, thinking they can force parents to come in here and charge them extra! I should just quit SHUSH and open up one of these places myself! I’ll be richer than Glomgold!” Part-time superhero and full-time parent Drake Mallard grumbled under his breath as he handed over his card to the tired teenager manning the cashier. His daughter, Gosalyn, was busy putting on the paper bracelets on herself and her other father, Launchpad McQuack.

“It can’t be that profitable,” Gosalyn said, “I mean, they’re taking out all of their animatronics! Can you imagine Pepper Panda’s Pizza Pagoda without Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang? I tell ya, there’s gonna be rioting in the streets after tonight! RIOTS!!!” Launchpad, not expecting the outburst, startled and ripped his flimsy paper bracelet.

“Eheheh,” he laughed nervously, “you guys got any tape or...”

“Ten dollars to replace any missing or broken bracelets,” said the cashier.

Launchpad turned to his husband with big puppy-dog eyes, a method that tended to work about 99% of the time. Drake grumbled some more as he took a solitary bill out of his wallet.

“If it wasn’t for our case,” Drake whispered harshly as they walked inside the pizza eatery, “I’d leave you outside in the car.”

“Aww,” Launchpad pouted, “but you know how much I love coming here! Plus, I know how much the animatronics scare you, DW.”

Drake scoffed. “Scared? The daring duck detective isn’t scared of any cheaply-made robot! Drakey Mallard, on the other hand, never recovered from that time he thought Cheddar Charles was going to bite him at Elmo Sputterspark’s tenth birthday party.” As he spoke, a run down animatronic of a child-sized rat in blue overalls and a yellow shirt sprang to life, scaring Drake into Launchpad’s arms. Gosalyn just rolled her eyes and sighed.

A crackly speaker from the animatronic known as Cheddar Charles started. “Hey kids! Pepper Panda and Pie Gang’s Nighttime Spectacular is about to start in ten minutes! Grab a seat now!”

“I’ll go grab us a table,” yelled Gosalyn as she ran to a booth.

Launchpad let Drake climb off of him, then sniffed and wiped away a tear. “I can’t believe it, after forty years the Pie Gang is going away for good!”

“Launchpad, the case? Remember the case?” asked Drake.

“Buh-“

“We’re here to stakeout the joint and lie in wait for that nefarious thief, Dr. Anna Matronic! Dishonorably discharged from the Imagineers, that raving robotics rascal will be using the Pie Gang’s farewell show to unveil her deadly creations. Little does she know that I, Darkwing Duck, will be waiting for her! Now, any questions?”

“Uhh, can we order the extra-large with cheese?”

Drake simply sighed as he moved to sit down on the sticky seat.

“Gee DW, what makes you think she’ll show up with all these people around?” asked Launchpad.

“Because, as a former Imagineer, she’ll no doubt want to watch such a historic show one last time. Although, I can’t imagine what kind of psyche an adult must have to want to watch Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang willingly.”

———

“Come on Megsy! I’m not gonna miss Pepper Panda and the Pie Gang’s final performance because of you!”

Little did Darkwing Duck know that behind the scenes, his two mortal enemies Quackerjack and Megavolt would be attempting to watch the show as well. However, they were taking a break from their usual crimes and attempting to have their monthly date night, per Quackerjack’s insistence on coming to see the last hurrah of the animatronics he grew up watching. Megavolt, meanwhile, was trying to carry leftover pizza boxes up the scaffolding over the stage as he and Quackerjack prepared to take their seats.

“You know, I think I kinda remember coming here as a kid,” said Megavolt. Quackerjack was surprised to hear this, as it was rare for Megavolt to remember anything before his fateful transformation into Megavolt. He pressed on with a simple, “Oh?”, demonstrating a rare moment of selfless interest.

“Yeah,” Megavolt continued, “I think I had a birthday party here once. Mom forced me to invite everyone in my class, so I spent most of the day playing with the animatronics. I even got Cheddar Charles to almost bite this one duck, Jake. Or was it Lake...” Megavolt trailed off as his train of thought was derailed yet again.

“You must have been quite the kid growing up, a public nuisance in the making,” laughed Quackerjack. He looked off to the side in an almost wistful manner. “Though if I was a parent, I wouldn’t force you to hang out with any snot-nosed brats that stuck their faces into an arcade game!” Megavolt twitched, deciding not to tell Quackerjack that he definitely remembered sticking his face into arcade games as a kid, one of the happiest moments in an otherwise bullied childhood.

But more importantly, Megavolt picked up on Quackerjack’s wistful tone and cursed himself internally for bringing up his childhood. “Come on Quacky,” he whined, “we’ve been through this already. We can’t just-“

“Well, so what?” interrupted Quackerjack, “It’s just not fair! Lots of kids have parents that go to jail!”

“Yeah, but their parents aren’t criminal masterminds guilty of trespassing, theft, vandalism, and littering!”

Quackerjack pouted, “You throw a banana peel on the ground one time...”

“I’m serious Quacky,” Megavolt frowned, “we can’t just bring a kid into the super-villain business! Do you want to be like Dorkwing and have a pipsqueak get in our way?”

“Need I remind you,” hissed Quackerjack, “that his pipsqueak is fully capable of handling herself?”

“Ugh,” shuddered Megavolt, “don’t. Remind. Me. I still have the bruise marks from the last hostage attempt...”

“See?! The two of us could totally take care of a kid! All a kid really needs is food, a loving home, a pocket grenade...,” Quackerjack droned on, almost forgetting the point of his argument. Megavolt had to snap him back to reality if he was ever going to finish this conversation.

“Hey don’t get me wrong, it’d be nice to have some kids that aren’t just the poor, enslaved bulbs of St. Canard,” said Megavolt. “But, don’t tell me you aren’t the tiniest bit worried of screwing the kid up?” At this, Quackerjack pursed his lips and went uncharacteristically still, not daring to look at Megavolt in the eye.

“Besides,” Megavolt continued, “what if we go to jail without it? How would a normal kid protect itself? What if F.O.W.L or Negaduck found out about them and-“

“Oh alright fine! You’ve made your point, gloomy pants!” Megavolt shut his mouth quickly, turning to get a slice of week-old pizza and hopefully move on from this talk. Quackerjack pulled out his beloved Mr. Banana Brain, in an effort to calm himself before his temper took over. “Some date night this is! I’ve seen better chemistry in a high school science lab!”

“Butt out, banana boy!” Megavolt grumbled. “Great, could this date get any worse?”

The explosion that rocked the building answered that question.

———

The duck family ducked under their table as dust filled the room, sending screaming families in a panic. A giant hole had opened up in front of the stage, and from it rose a goose in a purple trench-coat honking maliciously. This was-

“Dr. Matronic!” Drake shielded Gosalyn behind himself as Dr. Matronic climbed onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she cried out, “children of all ages! To all who come to this happy place, Pepper Panda’s Pizza Pagoda is now MY Pizza Pagoda! Which means the animatronics are now mine to keep! Mwahonkhonkhonk!”

Gosalyn stuck out her tongue in disgust. “Ugh, you call that an evil laugh? A baby would sound more menacing than that!”

“Never mind that now,” said Drake, “we’ve got to get these people out of here! Launchpad, Gosalyn, evacuate the building while I keep her busy.” With a plan of action in place, the daring duck of mystery went off to find a broom closet to change in. Unfortunately, it was a very tight squeeze, as Drake tried to change and avoid the brooms at the same time.

“This night couldn’t possibly get worse...,” muttered Drake.

——

“Megavolt! That stupid doctor just ruined our date night!” Quackerjack’s temper had come out in full force, and now he was ready to let it all out.

“The nerve of some people! I mean, who breaks into a pizza parlor and steals the animatronics??” Megavolt yelled. Sparks started to fly as he locked onto the target of his ire, who was beginning to disassemble the helpless robots. “D’ohhh! Well at least it can’t get any worse.”

The blue smoke cloud that burst out answered that.

“Gah! Will you stop saying that!” shouted Quackerjack.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”

“I am the cheese pizza that burns on the taste buds of crime! I am Darkwing Duck!” Like clockwork, the purple caped crusader appeared out of the smoke.

“Oh no. It’s Darkwing Duck. Whatever shall I do,” said Dr. Matronic, not intimidated in the slightest. Failing to frighten his foe, Darkwing pulled out his gas gun as his mood worsened.

“Listen here doc! I may not like these rusty robots, but there’s no way I’ll let you take them away! Now suck gas, evildoer! Schpadoink!” As he shot off a canister of knockout gas, a Dalmatian puppy came out from behind Dr. Matronic and caught the canister, throwing it away from the doctor.

“What the-!”

“So,” Dr. Matronic grinned maliciously, “you don’t like rusty robots, eh? Well, I’m sure you’ll find that they have their uses!” Dr. Matronic pulled a walkie-talkie from her coat, and yelled, “Code 101: ATTACK!!”

From the crevice, a noise of barking and howling approached, growing louder and louder until from out of the hole, one hundred robotic Dalmatians came bursting out.

Darkwing gulped, hoping to hide his nervousness. “Alright, you digital dog deviants, prepare to face the might of Dark-AAAACK!!” The dogs never let him finish, immediately pouncing on Darkwing and biting everything that belonged to the flapping terror.

“WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND DALMATIANS!!!”

“Well, since you’re tied up at the moment, I might as well explain my origin story,” said Dr. Matronic as she got to work detaching the Pie Gang from the stage. “You see, those Imagineer fools said it was impossible to make one hundred and one animatronics! They said it was too expensive! That I was a lunatic! Well who’s laughing now, huh?! Mwahonkhon-AHH!”

Before the doctor could finish her evil laugh, a bolt of electricity from behind the stage curtain zapped her and sent her flying off the stage. In her hands she grasped the Cheddar Charles figurine, the remote controlling the chaotic canines flying off somewhere else.

Megavolt stepped out onto the stage, a wide manic grin on his face as his hands lit up. “Well, looks like we’re the ones laughing now, and much better at it too! Aheeheeheeheee!” With a flick of a wrist, Megavolt shot another electric bolt at the pack of piranha-like puppies, putting a stop to their attack on the poor, punctured defender in purple as they scattered off.

“Th-thanks for that...Megavolt,” Darkwing said shakily, as he attempted to stand up and not jostle his wounds at the same time. “Wait a minute, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! I swear, if that lunatic toy-maker Quackerjack is here too I’ll-“

What Darkwing would do, Megavolt would never know, for at that moment Quackerjack decided to introduce himself with one of his patented exploding toys. Laughing maniacally, he took out his signature mallet as he attempted to stomp out any robot trying to attack him. Dr. Matronic began turning her attention towards the most annoying threat in the room, directing robot after robot at Quackerjack.

“What, did all the freaks decide to come out tonight?!” yelled Dr. Matronic, as she whipped out a small flamethrower aimed at Quackerjack. The jester merely giggled and blew raspberries as he dodged all of her flame attacks. Darkwing and Megavolt, however, were not as lucky, and had to hide behind an overturned table to avoid the flames.

“Oh great,” sighed Darkwing, “the cherry on top of my already lousy sundae. Could this possibly get any worse?” Megavolt let out a yipe and braced himself.

“Uhh, you alright there Mega-,” asked Darkwing, before Megavolt clasped a hand around his bill.

“Don’t say that again! The universe has been more vindictive than usual today whenever somebody says that!”

“Alright alright, I’ll stop! Now, either help get me rid of this riddle-some ridicule of our rights, or GET OUT!” Megavolt’s train of thought got back on track, his temper overtaking him as he remembered his terrible night.

“Uhh, Sparky-“ said Darkwing, before a stray bolt from Megavolt zapped him away as the electric rodent turned back to Dr. Matronic.

“YOU RUINED DATE NIGHT!!!” roared Megavolt. Darkwing was dumbfounded, for once Megavolt hadn’t responded to his hated nickname of Sparky. Dr. Matronic began to worry, as she was inexperienced against the full force of the Quackervolt duo. Darkwing stepped back, hoping to get the upper hand as the villains fought each other when who should appear but Gosalyn.

“Don’t worry Darkwing, I’ll help ya!” cried Gosalyn.

“Gosalyn, NO!” Darkwing dived towards his daughter, shielding her from the wayward flames with his cape as he caught the full brunt of the attack. Dr. Matronic took the time to gloat evilly at her fallen foe.

“Well well well, guess the Pizza Pagoda is serving roast duck tonight! MWAHAHAHAH! How’s that for an evil laugh, by the way?” In her distraction, she failed to notice Megavolt and Quackerjack charging up the remaining animatronics, bringing them back to life.

“Hey lady, ever heard of the Bite of ‘87!?” they both yelled.

“The Bite of ‘87? That’s just a-“ Dr. Matronic looked back and saw the looming, terrifying animatronics trudging towards her. She gulped.

“...Just a myth,” she finished quietly.

As the robots began their attack, Launchpad came in and helped Darkwing to his feet. “Gee DW, how’re we gonna stop those three?”

“Oww, can’t we jus’...let ‘em kill each other?” Darkwing meekly asked.

Gosalyn, guilty over her father’s second degree burns, tried to remember about any useful information pertaining to the animatronics.

“Well, I read online that old robots used to explode from time to time...” she suggested. Inspiration struck Darkwing, reaching into his pockets for a special gas canister.

“Launchpad, hand me my gas gun!” With his weapon in hand, Darkwing loaded up the canister and aimed between the animatronics. “Get behind that column,” he motioned.

Megavolt, taking a break from the action that was almost too exciting to put in words, took a side glance to see Darkwing’s fan club hiding behind a concrete column. As he wondered what was going on, the duck pulled out his gas gun and yelled, “hey Dr. Matronic, see if your pooches can stop this knockout gas!”

Darkwing shot out the canister towards the animatronics and quickly took cover. As planned, Dr. Matronic took aim with her flamethrower, unable to tell the difference between knockout gas and explosive gas.

FWOOSH!

KABAM!!

“SHPOOSH-“

“Dad! Do ya have t’ make sound effects right now?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Darkwing sheepishly said. “Well, better make sure no one died or anything.” As the smoke dissipated, he could see Dr. Matronic knocked out on the ground, singed and certainly not triumphant. Quackerjack, who had tried to run from the explosion, was somehow still standing, albeit close to passing out at any second. Behind them, all of the animatronics were nothing more than scrap, their somewhat cute faces now melted and resembling characters in a subpar horror video game franchise.

Megavolt was nowhere to be seen.

“Uh-oh, Megavolt?” The prospect of being arrested for manslaughter began to unnerve Darkwing. “Hey Quackster, you seen your boyfriend anywhere?”

The only thing Quackerjack heard through his concussion was ‘Megavolt’, and tried to snap out of his daze as best as he could.

“Megsy! Sparky-poo, where are you!? Ooooh, I’m gonna get you for this Darkwing Duck!” But before Quackerjack could get him, the sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance.

“Mmm, but maybe not today,” said Quackerjack, and then took out Mr. Banana Brain. “Time to hit the road, Toad,” he said in a falsetto voice.

“MEGAVOLT! See you at the hideout!” And Quackerjack ran backstage, toppling over Launchpad who had attempted to catch him.

“Ah geez, sorry DW, he got away. Should we go after him?”

“Nah,” said Darkwing, “I’ve got enough on my plate with Miss Robot over here. Also I gotta make sure Megavolt didn’t explode or something,...”

“Ughhh,” groaned Dr. Matronic, “that’s DOCTOR- wait. The animatronics! What have you done to them you fiend?!” Before she could freak out entirely, the police came in, slapping handcuffs on her and leading her away.

“Why I say I say, ah-thank you Mr. Duck sir.”

The team looked back and saw a rotund rooster in a tacky pizza print suit come up to them, taking Darkwing’s hand and shaking it profusely. “I am the owner of this here establishment, Rolan N. Dough the Third, thought you may call me Mr. Dough. I must congratulate you sir on a job well done!”

“Ah-yep, yep, yep, all in a day’s work for Darkwing Duck, Mr. Dough!”

“So you’re not mad that he blew up your animatronics?” piped up Gosalyn. Darkwing hurriedly placed his hand over her bill, “Gosalyn! Ix-nay on the obot-ray! Ahaha, kids...”

“On the contrary, Mr. Duck, I’m overjoyed! Thanks to you, I’m gonna save a fortune on properly preserving those robotic freaks! And receive a rather sizable insurance check! A nice little profit for today’s events!”

Darkwing soured, remembering his distaste for the Pizza Pagoda once more. “You’re welcome, sir.”

“I simply must reward you! How does a coupon for a free pizza sound?”

Launchpad’s stomach rumbled at the sound of that. “Gee DW, can we cash it in now?”

Darkwing sighed, “Fine, fine, we’re not coming back here anytime soon.”

As Launchpad and Mr. Dough made their way to the pizza station, Darkwing crouched down to check on Gosalyn for any injuries.

“You ok?” he asked. “I mean, aside from seeing your favorite pizzeria in ruins that is?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I’m just sad the Pie Gang met their end like that.”

“Well it’s an Italian eatery owned by a Southerner themed around China, it was bound to end horribly. You gotta admit though, it was a pretty cool explosion.”

“Okay yeah, it was pretty cool. I mean the way that flamethrower just went GWOOSH and the canister was like SCHPAAAAM! Not too bad from Darkwing and his helpful sidekicks, huh?”

“Oh, that reminds me, you’re still in trouble for running in like that.”

“WHAT? Daaa-uh, I mean, Darkwiiiing!” The two walked away, preparing to stop Launchpad from spending more than $50 on pizza.

“Hmm, I feel like I’m forgetting something though,” said Darkwing.

“Ah well, I’m sure it was nothing important,” reassured Gosalyn.

———

In the subterranean hole where Dr. Matronic had come from, Megavolt had begun to regain consciousness, slowly sitting up as he willed the surroundings to stop spinning.

“Owwww, that’s it, next date night will be at the mini golf...”

From below, he could hear the faint voice of Quackerjack at hysterics, then fading away. Then he heard the shrill voice of Dr. Matronic screaming over the ruined animatronics. Megavolt perked up, remembering the explosion with clarity now.

“NO NO NO! The animatronics! Darkwing Duck and that stupid doctor lady ruined my childhood! This is worse than that reboot of my favorite movie with an all-female cast! Why I oughta-OW!!”

In his rage, Megavolt failed to notice an object in his path, and stubbed his already fragile toe against it. He was prepared to blast it to smithereens, when he noticed something familiar about the object.

Something metallic.

“Wait...it can’t be,” he muttered. He crouched down, digging through the rubble until the object was set free. It was Cheddar Charles, banged up a little but perfectly intact.

“Oh you poor thing,” Megavolt cooed, “you must’ve fallen down here after that mean old Darkwing blew us up!” He cradled the orphaned robotic mouse in his arms, feeling his paternal instinct flare up as he gently dusting the dirt off of it. A ghost of a childhood memory panged within him, recalling a time in his life when he felt safe and loved, unaware of the harsh realities of life that would face him later on.

Was it too insane to believe that he could pass that love on to something else?

He loved Quackerjack. He loved his life of lightbulb liberation. But if Megavolt was honest with himself, maybe there was something nice to the whole family concept. Maybe the idea of taking care of something and watching it grow with someone he loved seemed exciting to him. Maybe Darkwing had the right idea about having a kid sidekick-

Nope. It’d be a cold, day in Hell before Megavolt would admit to being jealous of Darkwing Duck.

He took out one of his trusty light bulbs to illuminate the scene, when an idea came to him.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “Quacky and I want a kid. This little guy doesn’t have a family anymore. That means...that means! Wait, where was I going with this?”

The Cheddar Charles let out a shock, charging up Megavolt once more.

“Oh right! Welcome to the family, new son! This is gonna turn out way better than that time I split Darkwing into two.” He took his son into his arms, already bonding with the temporarily lifeless robot.

“But ya know, Cheddar Charles is kinda long for a name. How about I call you...Chuckie!”

------

Meanwhile, on the other side of town…

“OH MY GOD,” cried out Drake Mallard, “I BLEW UP MEGAVOLT!”

#darkwing duck #quackerjack #megavolt #quackervolt #drake mallard #gosalyn mallard #launchpad mcquack #implied drakepad #my stuffs #fanfic #chuckie sputterspark #one of these oc's is actually #canon to the dwd lore #can y'all guess who it is lol #this took me way too long pfft

37 notes · View notes

michelles-garden-of-evil · 4 years ago

Text

Episode 36 Review: The Séance

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

Welcome back to my Garden of Evil and thank you for patiently waiting for me to return to reviewing Strange Paradise. It’s been a wild and chaotic past few weeks and I’ve just gotten around to returning to the course of events on Maljardin. And Great Serpent, this time we have one hell of a wild episode!

Because I already miss the bad puns in the earlier episodes.

Of all the episodes of this show, this one is my #1 favorite. It embodies everything I love about Maljardin-era SP: it stars Colin Fox as both Jean Paul and Jacques, features some delightful Jacques scenes, and is genuinely suspenseful and scary. There are also unintentional laughs as usual, but somehow none of them detract from the frightening moments. If I had to introduce SP to someone who had never seen it before (say, my mom, who only knows a little about it), I would use this episode, not the pilot which (IMO) is less scary and far more ridiculous. The magic of Ian Martin’s SP is on full display here. Although he doesn’t leave the show immediately after this episode, it feels like a last hurrah, and a spectacular one at that. You know you want to read about this episode, so what are you waiting for?

We open with Vangie napping on the couch shortly after the events of the previous episode. Over her, Jean Paul and Alison are arguing about whether to go through with the séance to contact Erica. Alison begs him not to because of the risk of death, but Jean Paul insists on pushing through with it anyway because, as Raxl recaps, “The Conjure Woman didn’t see her death, only [Jacques’].” Jean Paul interprets this as meaning that he himself might die, but it’s not clear if he truly believes this or if he’s trying to cover up his frequent possession by the handsome devil.

Vangie recovers and announces that she plans on going through with it, no matter what happens. Still angry from last episode, Matt protests and Jean Paul gives him this nasty smirk that reeks of passive aggression:

Either that, or Colin is trying hard not to laugh. I can’t tell.

“This is not your concern, Reverend,” Jean Paul spits, and Vangie agrees with him. Although she knows that she will one day die on the Island of Evil, she feels that the séance is her duty as the Conjure Woman.

Matt once again reveals his status as the Fool (or, rather, le Mat) when he remarks that Jean Paul and Jacques are indistinguishable “except by [their] manner of dress.” Evidently, he hasn’t considered the possibility that THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES can possess Jean Paul and thus wear the exact same clothes as him. In fact, Padre, he’s worn that same extremely flattering blue suit before when talking to you, and you don’t even know it.

Jean Paul orders Vangie to begin the séance and we get a lovely overhead shot of the glass-top table. I’ve already posted high-quality photos of the table, but I love it so much that the laws of obsessive fandom require me to post it again:

Oh, how I love that table and those chairs. Actually, I love the whole Maljardin set.

Jean Paul volunteers to help Vangie, Raxl, and Quito set up, which seems to surprise them because otherwise he spends no time cleaning up after himself and all his time brooding, throwing glasses at priceless artifacts, and--of course--getting possessed. Elizabeth and Holly see them setting up, and the former heads down the stairs to watch.

Elizabeth is wearing this fabulous ensemble with a checkered dress and a red scarf pinned with a brooch in the shape of a dahlia. It most likely came from her actress Paisley Maxwell’s own wardrobe, as she mostly wore her own clothes on the show and even provided some costumes for the other actresses. (LINK CONTAINS SPOILERS THROUGH THE END OF MALJARDIN)

A shot with a better view of her brooch.

Vangie tells Jean Paul that the room needs to be dark, and that the only light in the room during the ceremony should be candlelight. Cue Jean Paul glancing up to the chandelier precariously suspended directly over the glass-top table:

If this isn’t painfully obvious foreshadowing, then I don't know what is.

The chandelier even sways ever so slightly as he stares at it!

Holly asks if she, her mother, Dan, and Tim can attend, and Vangie tells them no! According to her, they are all “disruptive influences” who will derail the séance, which will likely be too frightening for her anyway. Jean Paul tells Elizabeth to go, too, which she takes as a personal attack because Jacques has tricked her into believing that he’s in love with her.

LMAO

They are almost ready to begin the ceremony, but first, we need more blatant foreshadowing! We need Jean Paul to glance up at the swaying chandelier again, apparently without thinking of the slight chance that it might fall and cause an accident:

Seriously, Jean Paul? You have an IQ of 187. You should know better.

This is some heavy-handed foreshadowing, even for a show that constantly reminds us that Jacques Eloi des Mondes is THE DEVIL and cuts to close-ups of him every other time THE DEVIL is mentioned. I think you can guess what will happen about halfway through this episode. I normally try to avoid spoilers and to warn about any that I include or link to, but let’s face it. You know that chandelier is going to come crashing down at some point in the episode, because of all the emphasis that the script and the cinematography have already put on it. It’s a foregone conclusion. And I’m sorry, but Jean Paul with his alleged super-genius IQ has no excuse. Move the table! Have Quito tighten the chain! Replace the chandelier with a single candle or small candelabrum on the table! Do something to lower the chances of the accident that we all know is coming!

Vangie begins the séance to contact Erica.

After commercial break (hence the lack of the Drive-In Classics logo), the séance begins. We have Jean Paul, Vangie, Raxl, and Quito, plus Alison and Matt and an empty chair for Erica’s spirit. It’s a marvelous scene with just the right amount of eerie atmosphere, which Vangie’s hypnotic voice only enhances. They bridge the divide between the worlds of the living and the dead and all seems like it will succeed, but then

The third one is my favorite.

Jean Paul contorts his face again as he tries to resist Jacques’ possession of him, but ultimately his efforts are in vain:

Jacques’ beringed hand attacking Jean Paul. This also means that the chain created when the séance participants joined hands has been broken.

Matt asks Jean Paul what’s wrong and Jacques answers. “Everything is under control now,” he whispers with evil relish.

“No! Not now! NOT NOW!” Vangie screams, and then comes the inevitable:

Well, there goes one of Jean Paul’s astrological sign tables. Good thing he has another in storage.

I’m not going to lie: the first time I watched this scene, I shouted “No!” when the chandelier fell, even though I could see it coming. Somehow, despite the foregone conclusion and Jean Paul’s ridiculous headache faces, the scene creates enough suspense and horror to be effective. Plus, if you’re like me, you care about Vangie and don’t want to see anyone hurt her, even if that someone is 6′4″ with amazing cheekbones, a devilishly sexy smile, and the most beautiful hands on any man living or dead.

The power also goes out at the same time, and the handsome devil denies all responsibility for it despite his history of screwing with the electricity:

Classic Jacques sarcasm.

Conveniently, the lights come back on a moment later. They come just in time for Alison and Matt to tend to Vangie, whom the chandelier has knocked unconscious:

You can tell her injury is serious even before her close-up, because the Reverend is in shirtsleeves.

A close-up, showing the blood on Vangie’s forehead.

Jacques tells Holly that there was nothing seriously wrong with the electricity, and Dan flips out on him, insisting that “one day you’re going to blow us all up.” (Does he suspect that Jean Paul is somehow playing with the lights?) Jacques insists that even he can’t afford to buy a nuclear weapon. The fact that he knows what a nuclear weapon is serves as yet more evidence that he’s really the Devil and not a ghost from the 17th century (although, if he were a ghost, perhaps he would have overheard Jean Paul talking about nuclear weapons before).

I think that this is one of maybe two times that I ever envied Holly.

Vangie stands up, but doesn’t say a word to any of the characters, just stares blankly ahead of her. She doesn’t even react when Alison slaps her. Jacques cruelly snaps his fingers in front of her, which Alison demands he not do because it might cause her to be “destroyed, locked into a world of darkness, less living than dead.” She adds that “[she] can’t help but thinking that what happened to her is so like [Quito],” and turns to face the zombie who is watching the now cataleptic Conjure Woman, horrified:

It makes you wonder what sort of traumatic memories from Quito’s human life the sight of Jacques turning Vangie into a zombie evoked. Also, we never learn who turned Quito into a zombie in the show canon, but this scene shows that Jacques knows how and is therefore a possible candidate.

This is yet another point where the plot of the aired episodes differs from the original story as indicated in the Lost Episode summaries. In the original Episode 36, Vangie would have revealed Jacques’ possession of Jean Paul to all the participants at the séance, thus confirming for Raxl that Jean Paul is two different men. I suspect that Matt would refuse to believe it because of his lack of belief in devils and Dan because it sounds irrational and like a cover-up for Jean Paul’s alleged crimes, but Raxl, Vangie, and possibly Alison would have the evidence they needed.

Anyway, Jacques and most of the others leave Quito to clean up the mess while they have some drinks in the dining room. Mostly, it’s Jacques trying to pressure everyone into drinking while trying to gaslight them into believing that there was a storm outside even though there wasn’t. They’re not buying it, least of all Dan, who now has yet another reason to be suspicious of him.

I should also add that Part 3 of the YouTube version of this episode (which contains this scene) is out of sync, meaning that most of the subtitles are combined with the wrong shots and the wrong characters. Sadly, we don’t get anything on the level of “NO NO NO YES YES YES,” but the out-of-sync audio does make Dan’s accusation almost look like Jacques is confessing to making the chandelier fall:

YES YES YES

He offers brandy to both Matt and Holly, but Matt tells him not to give it to either of them, so Jacques brings the glasses he just filled over to Elizabeth instead. He starts talking about how no one was hurt, meaning that she has to remind him that Vangie was injured. Still, “she wasn’t really seriously injured,” so I guess for him it doesn’t count. He sends her away and starts to drink, which I guess lets Jean Paul recover his body because he de-possesses him, finally letting Jean Paul see the mess he left behind.

I already posted a lot of headache faces in this entry, so here I’m just going to include my favorite from this scene.

For a moment, Jean Paul looks like he’s going to cry, but his sadness turns to shock when Quito shows him the writing box. The wooden box which previously only held sand, now bears a message written in grains of rice in the shape of the symbol of the Great Serpent. Quito appears terrified by the message, but sadly he can’t translate it for Jean Paul. Raxl, too, freaks out when she sees it and says it’s “from the Conjure Man, but he needs the Conjure Woman to translate it and she’s still in a trance!”

Apparently, the Conjure Man communicates in grains of rice.

Although she can’t translate the whole message, she can tell Jean Paul, “It tells of more accidents. Spirits are very angry...with you!”

This final scene, like the scene with the crashing chandelier, is genuinely chilling, resulting in one of the scariest episodes of the Maljardin arc. This is one of SP’s finest episodes and certainly one of Ian Martin’s finest from his nine-week period as headwriter. I’m not certain what led the producers to decide to have Vangie enter a trance instead of revealing Jacques’ possession to the other characters, but most likely it was to increase the suspense and the terror. Also, I’m starting to wonder if perhaps Quito isn’t actually undead, but instead is an immortal like Raxl (and Vangie?), but stuck in a magically-induced trance. Perhaps when he recoiled in fear over Vangie’s transformation, it was because Jacques (or perhaps the Conjure Man) did the same exact thing to him three centuries ago.

Coming up next: Jacques continues to meddle in affairs on Maljardin while Raxl struggles to interpret the writing box. (But before then--hopefully--the next part of my review of Shadow Over Seventh Heaven.)

{<- Previous: Episode 35 || Next: Episode 37 ->}

2 notes · View notes

b-rainlet · 5 years ago

Note

hope you’re still doing this, alluther for otp questions please !

I have other OTP question requests in my inbox that were asked before this but I saw some Alluther backlash lately and I???? Love them a lot?????? So I will do them first!

Which one sexts like a straight white boy?

I may sound like a broken record but listen, can anyone see Luther texting like a straight white boy? Anyone? Especially with Allison, like, he is so soft with her! Always!

Maybe with Diego he would bicker via text or playfully insult him (like ‘already eaten some raw eggs today?’ - ‘idk, have you watched some good nature documentaries lately?’) but with Allison it’s more like:

Luther: “Hey Allison, I know you’re probably asleep right now because of the different time zones, but I just thought about you and wanted to tell you that you are the most beautiful woman on this earth. I am so glad out of everyone out there - all the people who are better than me - you still chose me. I love you.”

And this just happens all the time. No matter if they just saw each other, or were having a phone call a few minutes prior - or even had a skype convo, because sometimes this relationship feels more long distance than anything else and it’s tearing Allison up inside - Luther willl just casually text Allison and just make her fall in love with him all over.

To get back to the original question: I believe Allison could text like a straight white boy, but I don’t think she does it when she’s texting with Luther - because Luther’s texts are just so wholesome, she could never ‘ruin’ that by trying to sext like that. Also, she probably has had her fair share of creepy guys trying to get laid by contacting her like that and most of the time, she doesn’t have any urge to replicate their messages.

(And if we talk about general sexting….do you think they would sext? In my opinion, maybe they’d start with some texts back and forth, slowly building up to…something, but eventually, they’d probably switch to calling each other. Simply because it’s easier for Allison to take control that way, and it’s more of a reassurance for Luther that what he’s saying is working for Allison, that he’s not miserably failing at another thing he doesn’t have any experience with.

Also they simply miss each other’s voices, okay?).

Which one cried during a fucking disney movie?

Both. Luther cries easily and he’s an ugly crier. Allison, on the other hand, is an actress, she can mask her feelings fairly well.

If she wanted to, she could seem totally untouched by whatever’s happening on screen and surely there had been a time - not long ago - where she would’ve perfected her stony/bored expression and carefully guarded any of her emotions, not letting them slip out, but around Luther?

She’s safe around Luther, she can be herself around him. Always could. So why shouldn’t she let go? Why not let her tears flow freely as the princess finds her prince on screen, fights for her right to be happy?

Why not glance over at Luther and Claire, cuddled up with Claire halfway asleep, head on Luther’s chest, Luther quietly talking to her about his favourite parts of the movie, about the pretty dress the princess is wearing, about her bravery and how he admires that.

Why not take in that sight, the two of them looking like a little family - the family Allison always wished for - and letting some more tears escape?

Why not accept the tissues Luther offers to her with a grateful smile instead of wiping them away with her shirt sleeve, pretending they were never there.

Like Allison doesn’t have any weaknesses.

Like Allison isn’t human.

Who put a goddamned fork in the microwave?

I would like to think that out of all the siblings, Allison and Luther are the Mum and Dad friends, respectively, but honestly, all of them have big dumbass energy.

I don’t think Allison even knows putting the fork in the microwave is a thing (I didn’t know before this ask game, actually!), so she probably wouldn’t give into temptation but when Luther does it and films the result, she totally watches it.

She’s mostly amused but still pretends to be mad at Luther for ruining the microwave.

(She gives him the cold shoulder for about 5 minutes before Luther scoops her up and tickles her and she’s a happy, giggling mess.

Allison, laughing loudly while Luther kisses her temple: “I am STILL mad.”

Luther: “So you want me to stop?”

Allison, pulling him close: “I didn’t say that!”)

Who does the silly hands-over-the-eyes “Guess who” thing?

Both!

Oh my god, totally both of them!

They’re so adorable! Just- Allison reaching up, going onto her tiptoes to reach Luther’s face, settling her hands over Luther’s eyes gently, pressing herself into Luther’s back to get close enough to whisper: “Guess who, baby?”

(Diego has watched this multiple times and everytime -without fail - Luther’s whole face lights up and he just says, in the most lovestruck voice ever: “Allison.”)

(At that point, Allison usually slides next to Luther, one arm still around him, and kisses his cheek).

When Luther does it, it’s less smooth and more so eager. He doesn’t even wait for her to answer, he just spins her around, hands framing her face and then they stare at each other like dumbasses before Five fake coughs to get them to maybe not widely smile at each other right in front of their salad.

Who puts their cold hands/feet on their partner?

Allison.

We have - well, I have talked about how Luther has problems with temperature regulation, but I feel like he would be less obnoxious about it?

Like, Allison feels more like the type to purposefully walk up to Luther and stick her ice cold hands down Luther’s sweater or sneak them under his shirt and press them against his back/stomach.

Luther hardly notices because he’s cold all the time anyway, but he still yelps because he’s a bit self-conscious about certain body parts. He relaxes when he hears Allison giggle tho. Allison is allowed to touch.

(Not to derail a wholesome post but I can totally see Allison doing that for the first time and Luther reflexively juts his elbow out and breaks her nose or gives her a black eye. He is terribly sorry and spoils her for a whole week, but Allison has had worse injuries due to training before. If she wanted to, she could even rumour the pain away, but she doesn’t do that anymore. Instead, she allows Luther to gently kiss the swollen parts of her face and stroke her hair while apologizing yet again).

Who had that embarassing Reality TV marathon?

Both.

Allison knows half the celebs on those shows and Luther loves listening to her talk about them, like:

“I know her from a gala, she did coke in the backroom while I was doing my make up. Seemed nice.”

“She was the one with the dickhead of a boyfriend I told you about. Seems like she finally left him. Good for her.”

“I like her.” - “Her? No, no, trust me. She’s a real bitch.”

(Sorry that Hollywood sounds so depressing, lmao, I’m just saying, Allison probably saw some shit).

But, lbr, Luther would do anything just to be close to Allison, be in the same room as her and be able to listen to her talk. He is very, very smitten with her.

(Additionally, Allison probably gets drunk on wine, lounging around in her sweat pants and throwing popcorn at the screen, the alcohol making her giggly and cuddly and it’s- it’s just very cute).

Who laughs more during sex?

Allison.

(Watch me really monopolizing on how soft and cute Allison is, askajsj).

Allison is ticklish and Allison is a person who just smiles and giggles and laughs when she’s happy and Luther makes her happy, so why not?

So please just imagine Allison on the bed with Luther on top of her, kissing along her neck while Allison laughs quietly, carding her hands through his hair and laughing even harder when Luther leans up to kiss her nose. Imagine Allison still giggling while wrapping his legs around Luther, arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his cheeks and his eyelids and his temples.

“I love you,” said with so much warmth and a visible smile in her voice.

“I love you so much.”

WHO IS THE LITTLE SPOON?

There is no little spoon. It’s cuddle anarchy as they decide to sleep face to face like complete mad men. Luther’s mouth pressed to Allison’s hairline, Allison with her arm around Luther’s waist.

(They always sleep in the same bed when Allison is in town, even when they had a fight. Even when it was a bad fight. They’ll sleep back to back, trying not to touch and still pressing their backs together. Eventually finding their way into each other’s arms after all, because they can’t stay mad at each other for long and they both know that they belong together.

Knew it since they were kids).

#alluther #it's 6am so maybe this isn't comprehensible #but oh well

15 notes · View notes

flyswhumpcenter · 5 years ago

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

Despite the initial idea of writing a prompt fill for something called the *Bad* Things Happen Bingo, I sure am a softie. This is fluff because all I've been writing lately is angst (but always with happy endings so fluff was bound to happen), and also to make up for all the angst I've written about the show lately. It's a quick and light fic because I really wanted to celebrate one of my all-time favorite characters' bday without being late as a train, so please excuse my lack of words for this one haha. And I'm also pulling out my "vague timeline" setting again because I was thinking of this story happening during the first season, but then I mentioned Tachimukai, so to heck with it. just take my offering. I'm just gonna say most likely after the third season of the original, where everyone is just a grade above. It works cuz none of the OG Raimon was in 3rd year lmao

Happy birthday Endou I love you and your smile and your absolute dumbassery

---------

Blazing Zenith

Summary: A team always makes things less frustrating, even if said frustating thing is a hospital stay.

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven (original series) Relationship: Endou & the original Raimon Eleven

Wordcount: 1.1 K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

---------

It’s frustrating.

It really is frustrating, no matter how he tries to twist things out.

It really is frustrating, no matter how he tries to twist things out and, in the end, he’s just trying to roll around in bed before it starts hurting again. Feels bad.

The room’s boring. It’s white and grey, safe for pastel blues and yellows for the curtains, and even the view from the window is boring as far as he knows: from the third floor or so, all he can see is the blue sky of August. It’s the ideal weather for soccer and he’s sure that everyone else is having fun outside training, exchanging the ball, scoring goals or stopping shoots. Good for them, of course: a team has to train and get better, it’s part of what’s fun about soccer and sports in general. He’s sure everyone is happy, outside, playing around. They deserve that, obviously.

Still, that doesn’t remove his frustration at being unable to go outside and play with everyone else. It’s not even his fault if he’s there: they said that it happened sometimes with people, that it was random and that there was nothing he could have done about it. In fact, on second thought, that’s even worse: at least, if he could have done anything about that, he wouldn’t be lying here with no purpose and nothing to do to keep his hands occupied.

God, being stuck in a hospital sucks, and it keeps getting worse.

It’s boring to lie around in bed all day, without even being able to turn around, when he could be playing outside. Hospitals aren’t places he likes anyway: they’ve always been synonymous with bad things happening around him, including Gouenji’s sister being in a coma and all that’s meant ever since the team has learnt about it. He doesn’t like being there, restrained to a bed and all alone like this.

He’s also never liked being alone for long periods of time. He’s just used to having people around: friends, family, opponents of a day, rivals, classmates, teammates. He’s way too used to hanging out with his team to feel complete without them by his side. He may have only been here for a day or so, but he already misses everyone, and solitude rubs salt on his wounds.

(That’s how they say it, right? That sounds like a thing Natsumi or Tachimukai would say…)

A knock on his door immediately catches his attention, causing him to immediately sit up, cringe because of his stitches hurting from the sudden commotion, and reply to whoever this is to enter with excitement. Finally, someone else than him, in this room!

He’s still kind of surprised when he sees a dozen persons or so barge into the room, hardly fitting in there without pushing against each other, but it’s not out of the ordinary for the Raimon Eleven. At least, it’s not weird or anything, to him.

“I knew this was going to be a bad idea…” Kazemaru mumbles under his breath, ponytail disturbed by Shourin on one side and Shishido on the other. “We can’t fit in there, guys!”

“C’mon, I’m sure we can if we try harder!” Kurimatsu replies right afterwards, tiny hands lifted as to signal his position.

“S-sorry guys…” Kabeyama apologizes, trying to reduce the space he’s taking, to no avail: Someoka still looks bothered by being almost squeezed against the wall.

Seeing his friends in this funny situation this reminds me of the atmosphere in the club and he’s so grateful for this. It’s like bringing the club to his room!

“Hi everyone!” He greets them, ignoring the numb pain lingering from his moves, waving his hand at the group.

“Hi, Endou,” Gouenji reacts with crossed arms and somehow outside the mass, back against the wall. It doesn’t seem to make Someoka any happier.

“I’m really glad you’ve all come!”

The entire mass says hi in their manner, with delays in-between themselves, yet in the end he still grins at having some company at last.

“I can’t breathe…” An unidentified whisper, most likely Kageno’s. “Guyyyyys…”

Then something hits him on the head.

“Wait, guys. What’s bringing you here? You’re not training?”

“Are you kidding?” Kazemaru pushes aside Shourin and Shishido to show himself.

“It’s not the same without you, Captain”, Kabeyama explains while fiddling with his fingers.

“What they’re trying to say is that they couldn’t focus and would rather pay you a visit,” Kidou ends the topic, arms crossed and smirking.

“Guys…” He doesn’t quite know what to say, but he tries to collect himself anyway. “Thank you so much…”

“It’s just a visit, no need to get all emotional over it,” Someoka chimes in.

He feels a bit embarrassed by the remark, but he laughs it off anyway and smiles to his teammates.

“It’s still really nice to have you guys here! How’s training?”

“It…” Handa chuckles awkwardly. “…didn’t go as planned, I suppose.”

“Yeah… Something like that,” Shourin confirms, not any easier about the situation.

“I see…”

The conversation derails on training as he tries to give everyone advice and tips, but in the end, the topic doesn’t revolve around soccer for very long, which is odd all things considered. Still, he very much enjoys the company nonetheless, so he doesn’t mind. They’ll talk about soccer later, he guesses.

“How long are you staying at the hospital for, Captain?” Kabeyama asks, smiling, but with eyebrows slightly frowned.

“I hope not for long! It’s just not the same without the Captain y’know!” Kurimatsu adds.

“I think they said a week or so… For stitches or something,” he’s not even sure himself, all things considered.

“They’re right to be cautious and have you stay here for a little while,” Kidou says, the group’s attention focusing on him. “We wouldn’t want you bleeding during practice because it’d have reopened, don’t we?”

“Wait, Captain, why are you in the hospital for in the first place?” Shishido asks, sounding lost. “I think I missed the memo…”

“What’s the word again?” His memory fails him. “A…”

“Appendicitis,” Kidou saves the day yet again.

“Yeah, that!”

A couple “ooooh” echoed in the room.

The light-hearted chattering he’s missed for a day suddenly comes to a halt when a point gets brought up.

“Don’t you think we’ve all forgotten something, guys?” Gouenji asks, arms still crossed.

“Oh, that’s right!” Kabeyama is the first to react.

The others follow suit, none without funny reactions to witness.

“Forgot what?” He asks, confused. It seems to be a great deal to them.

He may have forgotten about it until this moment, but Mamoru still feels happy tears when he hears the collective message they had to convey to him:

“Happy birthday!”

And, in that moment, he’s the proud captain and friend of the Raimon Eleven.

#bad things happen bingo #inazuma eleven #endou mamoru #kazemaru ichirouta #gouenji shuuya #kidou yuuto #kabeyama heigorou #raimon eleven #fluff #hospitalization #friendship #tooth-rotting fluff #kind of cheesy ngl #birthday fic #light-hearted #hurt comfort #but like cringe is dead #bthb 2 #inazuma eleven og

12 notes · View notes

whumpbeans · 6 years ago

Text

Soulmark

So I’m writing this bc when I was a young bean I was told that if I didn’t get married at 16 I was worthless, and then when I graduated high school I was degraded by my nuclear family so this piece contains some of that good venting hurt lmao. Also be gentle, I’m not a good writer and this isn’t edited lol.

Tw: suicide attempt, bullying, suicidal thoughts, near character death

Characters: lance centric angst, Keith, hunk, Pidge, Coran, Shiro, Allura (eventually), axca

Part one

He stood on the edge of a ten story building. The cold night wind sent a shiver up his spine. The hair on his arms stood up. He lifted a foot in front of him. He tested the gravity. No solid ground touched his foot. His heart pounded in his chest.

His foot firmly planted back on the ledge. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

His head pounded. He looked up at the sky. The stars obscured by city lights. Lance’s knees wobbled under him and he almost fell forward. He managed to stabilize himself and took a step down from the ledge.

This time he opted to sit on it instead. His feet dangled limblessly. He closed his eyes tightly and tilted his head back. His fingers gripped the ledge. He scooted himself closer to the edge. He let out a shaky breath. A wave of pain crossed through his chest. Something heavy and cold weighed his heart-or what used to be his heart.

“Soul-bonds, huh?” Lance chucked a crumpled piece of cement onto the pavement. Most people in the world were born with odd marks somewhere on their bodies. Once their destined touched them, the mark grows into a bigger tattoo. Lance stared at where his clean, unmarked flesh sat. His soulmark never existed. Likely his destined died in childbirth. Lance never even got the chance to meet them. “Fuck…” his voice choked. Hot tears slid down his cheeks.

“What’s the use of a soul if it’s incomplete?” His mother said this to his abuelita over the phone. She didn’t know he heard her.

“But it’s true,” Lance whispered to himself. He sighed. No point. “To be fair I never had a point here.” He chuckled, but his throat grew tight and hot. He coughed.

“I heard people lose their soulmates when they whore themselves out.,” his uncle glared at Lance. Lance was seven when he heard that. He shook his head.

“He’s broken, don’t touch him,” a woman grabbed one of his classmates arms and pulled him away from Lance.

“Broken,” Lance repeated numbly.

His eyes felt wet and burned. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He opened up his eyes and stared ahead. The shadows of tall buildings covered his frame from detection of any passerby in the street below. He took a deep breath and stood to his feet again. Another deep breath. He glanced behind himself. His neon blue sneakers sat propped on the base of the ledge. Lance’s eyes returned ahead of himself. Another deep breath.

Lance took a step forward. His eyes stared at the street. Time seemed to slow down. His body weight inched closer to the pavement. All the blood in his body rushed into his ears. It filled his head. He felt light.

His heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He closed his eyes. Lance waited for impact.

Except there was none.

Except someone held onto his hips. Strong arms wrapped tightly around him. His body half dangled over the ledge. The person who held him grunted. He pulled Lance back. Lance didn’t fight it. Instead he leaned his body backwards which allowed the guy to not fall over the ledge with him.

Lance fell backwards and onto the person who held onto him. He grunted. A sharp jab pressed against Lance’s ribs. Lance yelped and rolled off of the guy. He glared at the guy. His eyes immediately softened at the familiar face.

“Fuck me,” Lance groaned.

Keith-fucking-Kogane saved him. The most emo and well liked student amongst the garrison. He practically followed through Shiros, the school’s original top dog before he went MIA, footsteps. Why was he even here? Lance scattered to his feet and backed up. His back hit the wall of the ledge. Keith sat up quickly. His eyes wide. He quickly jumped onto Lance as if Lance would immediately try to jump off of the building. Lance struggled with Keith sitting on his hips. He tried to buck Keith off. Keith kept him pinned down.

Lance thrashed his head back and forth.

“Listen to me-hey!” Keith yelled at him. “Snap out of it!”

Lance tried to move his arms from under Keith’s grip. He Threw his head back and forth again. Keith wrapped his arms then around Lance’s torso. His body now supported by Keith. Lance froze.

Fat tears rolled down Lance’s cheeks. He buried his head into Keith’s shoulder. Sobs wracked his body. His hands clutched Keith’s stupid cropped jacket.

______________________________________________________

Lance was sure Keith didn’t recognize him when they got blasted into space. By the way he acted, Keith either could win a grammy with his acting performance or he didn’t recognize Lance. He felt pretty certain of the latter.

Now the team stood on an alien planet. They tried to recon with the planet but the planet was ambushed by galra.

Lance leaned his head back. His heart pounded in his chest. Blasters sounded off in the distance. He heard the familiar sound of a lion taking to the air. Now if he could just get to red…

“Get to your lions! We need to form voltron!” Keith commanded over the comms.

Galran soldiers yelled off directions. They stomped closer to where Lance hid. He readied his bayard. He took a deep breath in. He aimed. He shot down a soldier. He exhaled. The Galra turned towards Lance’s direction.

Lance took that as his cue to run like hell. He turned around and ran straight into someone. He quickly backed up, but his weapon got knocked out of his hand. Lotor’s squad. The big hunk of galran meat, Zethrid, grinned at him. Her murderous eyes filled with mirth.

“Can we do this another day, I gotta plane to catch,” Lances voice shook.

She grabbed his arm and threw him against the back of a tree like plant. He gasped.

“Lance! We don’t have time to joke around!” Pidge grunted through the comms.

Zethrid threw a punch at Lance. Lance ducked. He side-rolled. Lance ran forward. Zethrid grabbed his ankle and swung him into the ground. All the air in his body left him. She punched his chest plate. Lance choked.

He struggled against Zethrid, but she pinned him.

“Guys?!” he struggled to say into the comms, “I got trouble!”

The comms buzzed. “Lance, what’s your position?” Keith asked.

Zethrid raised her arm. Lance’s eyes widened. “I-”

She threw her hand down. The impact of her hand against Lance’s helmet cracked it. His head slammed against the ground. He felt dizzy. His eyesight blurred.

He could hear the comms buzz, but the sound they made didn’t make sense. Zethrid filled his vision again. She held up her hand again. Another punch. Lance felt the impact. His jaw ached. His eyes burned.

A neon blue colored bird landed in front of him. It bounced around and then took off. And with the bird, so did his consciousness.

Warmth spread through him. It dripped from his head and through his body.

Something pressed his shoulder. Something shook him. Lance lazily opened his eyes.

A purple galra shoved a clay cup into his face. Lance took it. He stared at the cup. His head dizzy and thoughts constantly derailed. He took a sip of the water. The water held no taste. Satisfied, the guard left. A cell locked in front of him.

Across from Lance sat another empty cell. Both areas purple and dark. Lance shivered. A cold draft passed through the cells. His head throbbed. Lance squeezed his eyes shut.

What happened? “Prisoner,” Lance’s eyes snapped open. He got taken. He looked down at himself. He wore nothing but a pair of scratchy, brown colored cloth pants.

“You’re up,” said a shrill voice.

Lance shivered.

His cell door squeaked open. A pair of sentries and a druid came in and cuffed him. They placed a magenta colored collar around his neck that attached to a similar colored leash. The druid held the leash behind Lance.

Lance’s heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed thickly. The robots lead him into an off room adjacent to the prison cells. In the room sat a large lab. Many large tubes filled with strange purple and silver colored liquid stationed around the lab. A large dissection table with straps attached. Off of the center stood something that looked like a pillory.

The druid yanked his leash. It sent electricity through the leash and onto Lance. Lance yelped. He quickly matched his pace to the druid. It lead him to the pillory. Lance felt shame burn his cheeks as they locked his head into place.

“Blue paladin,” the druid almost sang. “I have been given permission to test you in the most lethal ways, how wonderful!” The druid drifted towards one of the control panels. It picked up an item sitting on it. The druid levitated back to Lance. It displayed a long whip at Lance. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Fear gripped Lance’s stomach. “He-hey! I’m not really into this stuff,” he stuttered, “Maybe we should, um, do something else?” His voice became shrill. The druid disappeared from his vision.

The first strike always hurt the worst. Lance squeezed his eyes shut.

“These freaks deserve worse,” Charlie Diaz rose his stick up again. He slammed it against Lance’s back. Lance screamed. He couldn’t fight back. Charlie was much bigger than him being a fourth grader while Lance barely stood a chance at seven years old.

The second strike snapped against his back. He felt blood trickle down his shoulder.

A hand wrapped around his throat. “This is wha’ ya get!” His uncle slurred. “Soulmateless...ha! You’re a sorry excuse of a life.”

Tears burned Lance’s eyes, but he held them back. He’s been through worse. Another snap of the whip. Lance’s knees wobbled. After another hit, his knees gave out. He barely held on using his ankles to support himself in an awkward squatted position. His body weight now half leaning against the pillory.

Several more whips attacked Lance’s skin.

“Lo siento, mijo,” his mother kissed his forehead. “No tienes una media naranja.”

Lance didn’t really understand her words. Soulmates were for parents anyways, and he didn’t need an icky partner. They had cooties anyways. “No la necesito,” he whispered. He looked into his mother’s eyes. The whites of her pupil red and wet. Her cheeks flushed. She hugged him.

The pillory’s lock snapped open. Lance fell to the ground. His back ached. His limbs too heavy to move. The druid yanked on his leash. The zap of electricity brought to life his jelly-like limbs.

Lance stood up and followed the druid. It lead him next to the table. He laid onto his back. He yelped from the pressure on the lashes that covered his back. The druid strapped him in. It tied Lance’s leash to a pole attached to the side of the bed across from his head.

The druid then returned to one of the control panels. Lance took several deep breaths. It came back with a syringe filled with some strange neon blue colored liquid in it. Lance glared at the syringe. The druid slapped his arm a few time. It then held his elbow steady and injected the serum.

The prick distracted Lance briefly from the pain in his back. A familiar heavy feeling sank in his chest. The serum took full effect. The druid unlatched Lance from his restraints. It didn’t undo the leash from the pole. Lance cautiously sat up. Fatigue crawled through him. The druid levitated to a high vantage point.

Lance sat against the table. His head felt dizzy. His back hurt. His chest felt empty. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his head against them. His heartbeat slowed. He swallowed back a sob and bit his lip.

He blinked hard. He wanted to...he shook his head. Not now, Lance ordered himself.

The blood on his back trickled. Unable to keep clotting. Lance let out a trembled sigh. He laid on his side. His eyesight blurry. He heard the druid levitate closer to him.

#langst #fanfiction #langst fanfiction #vld whump #lance vld

463 notes · View notes

mw-draws · 6 years ago

Text

With my recent(ish) posts, I've probably come across as really gung-ho about 13 being really really dark in the future as and I just wanna clarify, I don't think that her main character trait should be a completely "Time Lord Victorious" type of thing. I believe that her main character trait should always be kind, loving and caring because of 12's huge and amazing character arc of becoming kinder. If she went totally dark and evil, it would "undo" her recent character development in a way. 12's character development will always be one of my favourites but it would really be made kind of pointless if 13 went back to being really dark and evil. Well, maybe it wouldn't, because 12 wasn't dark and evil, he was just misunderstood and born out of war. What was hidden underneath that grumpy old man exterior was just a funky old space dad (not grandad, he doesn't look old enough lmao) who had a lot of love to give. 12 was sarky and rude in his beginnings, but he really was just kind underneath it all. What I would love to see from 13 isn't the total opposite of 12's arc, but more like delving into her darker side a little bit more.

... I'm actually gonna be honest here. I feel like I keep delving into this whole thing too much. It really doesn't matter right now, we have a year to wait for series 12 and I'm gonna make myself (and probably everyone else) go insane with all of this character (over)analysis. Basically what we have with 13's character is The Doctor. She's the same as she's always been. The Doctor has never been morally reliable and has always hated the Daleks. To be perfectly honest, I think what I've been doing with these character (over)analyses is that I've been treating 13 as completely new character, and she isn't, she's the Doctor. Her characteristics are the characteristics of the Doctor, why do they matter now? Is it because she's a woman now that I treat her character differently? I never cared that deeply about the Doctor's character before. Well, I did, but not this much. Not to the point where I go into deep character analysis and go "oh my god, she was really dark here, look at that!" or "ooh, she killed that Dalek! Holy shit!" yeah, no shit. She's killed hundreds of Daleks, all of them at one point, so why is it different now? Is it because heroic women in media have been portrayed as morally perfect? (correct me if I'm wrong with that question, I don't tend to watch super hero movies) Or is it just me? I don't know, but I should really stop doing these character analyses for now and maybe wait until series 12 or the next New Year's special.

Another thing that's never really bothered me before but does now is the viewing figures. When series 10 aired, I didn't really care all that much about the viewing figures I just enjoyed the thing and despite the fact that it got the lowest average ratings in all of New Who, it didn't bug me. However, once series 11 came out I noticed the drop in viewing figures and it really bummed me out. 10 to 6 million from episode one to ten. And Resolution got the lowest special viewing figures at 7 million. Why does it bother me now? Series 11 got tied second with series 1 in average ratings, that's amazing! But why am I not happy? Well if you look at the differences between these two series is that one has 13 episodes and the other has 10. The only reason as to why it got tied second was because it had less episodes and it had that huge jump in figures in episode 1, so obviously it had a higher average.

I'm gonna go for now because I've gotten myself into a really weird mood and this post has completely derailed from its original purpose, so see ya later.

#don't worry #if you like the character analysis i won't stop them for good #i can keep doing them #but not for a while #there's nothing but the same shit to go over and that's gonna get really repetitive real quick #btw sorry for bringing the viewing figures up i just had to get that off my chest #actually #sorry for the whole long post #i just started thinking and i type as i think #i've changed this post so many times and i got the point where i was like 'what's the point?'#doctor who #dw series 11 #jodie whittaker

35 notes · View notes

searchforthescars · 6 years ago

Text

Litany - Ch. 12/12

IT’S FINALLY HERE BABEY

okay pls stick around until the end bc I talk about Things and get sappy about this fic but @bombshellsandbluebells thank you thank you for editing this and loving this and not judging me for flinging chapters that only make a little sense into the void (this is what I get for not doing an outline lmao). I’m v blessed to have you in my life

@maelidpoetree , @sarcasticdebate , you guys have written such LOVELY reviews that I still re-read and get emotional about to this day. Thank you for that, and also for convincing me to not delete Litany those two times. Much much much love

And to everyone else who has loved, read, MADE PLAYLISTS AND EDITS FOR (omg) and supported this fic, thank you. I’m always astounded at the responses to things I write. It’s humbling. <3

(the fic is also on ao3)

I have told you where I’m coming from, so put it together. We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . . When I say this, it should mean laughter, not poison. I want more applesauce. I want more seats reserved for heroes. Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you. Quit milling around the yard and come inside.

Emori’s glass ornament catches the light from her window and casts beams of cool sunshine in fractures on the hallway wall. Murphy follows those beams to her doorway late on Christmas morning.

He watches as her smaller fingers caress the small delicate etchings there and smiles when he sees the fingers on her larger hand peeking out from the sleeve of her red and green sweater. She doesn’t cover it that often now, and he’s glad; his deep affection for the appendage has never wavered, and he likes seeing it out in the open every now and again, a sign of the comfort she’s found here.

Murphy watches her for another moment before knocking on her open door. She turns. Her hair is messy. She’s wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater he’s ever seen - bright red and green with tiny ornaments hooked into the neckline. He doesn’t have to touch her skin to know it’s warm, from both sleep and sun, and maybe some excitement too, if her flushed cheeks are telling the truth.

“Merry Christmas,” she says softly, a hesitant smile wrinkling the corner of her mouth. “Like my sweater?”

Murphy can’t help but laugh. “It’s...something.”

“Jasper gave it to me,” she says by way of explanation. “He, Monty and Octavia have matching ones.”

“Of course they do,” he grumbles, imagining the look on Raven’s face when she sees, and how Bellamy’s probably going to bust a nut. He must smirk at the thought, because Emori snorts and gives him a tiny smile. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. Her hair swishes around her face, and a few strands of it catch on the ornaments on her neckline. “Damn, that’s going to get annoying.”

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for her hair at the same time she does. Her hands fall back into place as she lets him smooth the hair back.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. Her eyes flick down to his mouth, then back up again. He thinks about saying thought that was my move, but bites his tongue, knowing he might get sucker-punched for it. He’s still not sure where they stand with one another, not after what he did and said, or after their small reconciliation the day after Thanksgiving.

She grins up at him, and suddenly it doesn’t matter. “Hey,” she says conspiratorially, “want to pull a prank?”

Of course he does.

They sneak downstairs and quietly divest the space under the tree of every gift underneath. They hide each wrapped package somewhere in the house; the more obscure, the better. Murphy is immensely proud of himself for thinking to hide his gift to Bellamy on the roof, right behind the chimney, and Raven’s in the oven.

“I hid Monty’s inside the couch,” Emori whispers to him as they scamper back up the stairs. Her eyes are shining with mischief. Murphy wonders if she ever pranked Otan. He also wonders if she’s ever had a Christmas the “traditional” way, but can’t think of a way to ask that wouldn’t be rude. Hey, at least he cares. It’s a start.

They stay in his room until the house wakes up. She walks around and reads the papers on his walls; he sits in his desk chair and watches her move carefully around the small space. Strands of her hair stick to the fuzz of her sweater. She looks warm; she radiates happiness. It’s a good look on her.

He shakes himself out of his snappiness just in time for Octavia’s door to bang open. “Merry Christmas, bitches!” she shouts, yelping as Lexa groans and probably throws something at her head. “Let’s get this bread!”

“Let’s get this- what?” Emori asks, adorably confused.

Murphy laughs and stands up. “Don’t ask. Come on, let’s go see the fruits of our labor.”

They make it downstairs just in time to hear the crunching of Bellamy’s tires on the snow outside and the roar of Zeke’s motorcycle. Murphy holds up one hand, counting down from five on his fingers. When he gets to one, Emori grins as Bellamy hollers, “What the hell?!”

“Nailed it,” Emori singsongs. Murphy snorts.

The door bangs open and Bellamy sticks his head in. “You put my present on the damn roof?!” he shouts.

Murphy grins impishly. “What makes you think it was me?”

Raven opens the oven door, then throws her hands up in exasperation. “Seriously, Murphy? Again?”

“It was my idea,” Emori says, her eyes laughing but her face straight. Raven rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile there that tells Murphy she’s just glad the two of them are working together on something.

Murphy snorts as Monty jumps up to retrieve a package hidden atop the microwave. Emori blinks at him. “Wait… Raven said ‘again’...”

“Oh yeah.” Murphy tilts his head and smiles. “I may or may not have done this last year.”

Emori smirks. “And here I thought I was original.”

Bellamy stomps into the kitchen, tracking snow on the tile. Raven squawks and swats him with a kitchen towel, but he ignores her. “Whatever this is,” he says, holding a damp package aloft, “I don’t want it.”

“You say that now,” Emori singsongs, then leans over to whisper in Murphy’s ear, “It’s a book. He’s going to love it. And I wrapped it in plastic, anyway.”

Bellamy peels off said plastic and drops it in the sink. As Jasper, Monty, Octavia and Lexa clatter down the stairs, he rips off the soggy paper and gives Emori a soft smile. “Thank you,” he says, holding the book up so she can see the cover, even though she’s the one who gave it to him. “I love it.”

Murphy’s heart warms when Emori grins. “I knew it!” she cheers to herself quietly, pumping her fist, a gesture no doubt learned from Monty.

The rest of the house starts ripping into presents too; Raven throws the crow-printed socks Murphy gave her at his head, Lexa races to the kitchen to pour orange juice into her “Classy, Sassy and a Little Smart-Assy” mug from Octavia, and Emori wraps herself up in the massive knitted scarf Murphy found at a street market in the city.

“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten, John,” she says, her smile as warm as the wool wrapped around her neck. “Thank you.”

Murphy’s heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest. “You’re welcome.”

When she leans forward to peck him on the cheek, he flinches forward and to the side ever-so-slightly and their lips touch for a brief moment. Monty wolf-whistles and Jasper cheers while Emori covers her mouth with her smaller hand and blinks shyly at him.

“I’m sorry-“ he stammers, but Emori leans forward again, throwing her arms around his shoulders and kissing him soundly on the mouth. “Oh.”

“Get it, J!” Raven yells while Lexa groans something about straight people being unable to control themselves.

“Merry Christmas, John,” Emori whispers. She gets to her feet, scarf still wrapped around her shoulders, and pads to the kitchen in search of coffee, leaving a stunned Murphy and his delighted friends behind.

Breakfast and lunch are haphazard affairs since everyone agreed they’d rather save room for the massive dinner Bellamy, Murphy and Zeke are preparing. Zeke shows up around noon, bearing bags full of groceries and presents. Luna follows him a moment later, Costia in tow. Lexa looks delighted, if not a little terrified, to see her surrogate older sister commiserating with her girlfriend.

“Relax,” Murphy tells her. “This could end really well for you.”

“Or really poorly,” Lexa mutters, eyeing Luna. “Luna’s a straight shooter. She could scare Cos away if she doesn’t approve.”

“My kind of woman,” Murphy remarks, yelping when Raven smacks him upside the head. “Ow?!”

“Your kind of woman is over there, and she’s the jealous type,” Raven says, pointing a thumb at Emori, who’s standing on the kitchen counter, digging around in the cabinet.

“Not jealous,” Emori calls over her shoulder, “Just possessive.”

Lexa wiggles her eyebrows. Raven rolls her eyes, and Luna laughs into her coffee cup.

Bellamy starts to get agitated around three when the roast for dinner isn’t cooking right. Murphy tries to help - it is his crockpot, after all - but quickly gets derailed when he realizes the kitchen is not big enough for all three cooks.

“Sorry, man,” he says to Zeke, whose efforts to shimmy behind Murphy failed after Murphy stepped back, almost whacking Raven’s almost-boyfriend in the head in the process.

“Oh no, no, you’re fine,” Zeke says, quick-stepping over Bellamy’s leg and putting a pan on the counter.

“What did you just say?” Raven calls from the living room, where she’s trying to install the new coding software Bellamy got her for Christmas.

“I said he was fine,” Zeke says.

“How Midwestern of you,” Costia remarks drily.

Zeke raises an eyebrow at her. “How did you know?”

“It’s easy to tell,” she says. “You say words funny.”

Raven hoots. Zeke groans and disappears into Raven’s room, where they’re storing all their coats. After a moment, Raven goes to join him.

“Have fun, Reyes,” Murphy calls after her.

“Fuck straight off, Murphy,” she replies. Emori whistles. When her eyes meet Murphy’s, she stands up.

“John, I forgot to give you your card,” she says. Murphy carefully picks his way across the crowded kitchen and dining room to reach her. She hands him a small envelope, then disappears upstairs before he can even break the seal.

The card’s printed sentiment is lame, but her written words aren’t. To his surprise and embarrassment, Murphy can’t help but blink back some tears as he reads. If anyone notices, they know better than to comment.

John,

Christmas is supposed to be a time for family, but my family isn’t here this year. I thought I would be heartbroken, but I’m not. You are my family, and so is Raven and everyone else. I’m not good at this sappy shit - clearly, since I wrote a swear word in a Christmas card - but I’m going to try.

When I answered Raven’s ad, I had no idea the love and safety you all would bring into my life. Thank you for your part in that. Thank you for loving me how you are able to, and thank you for trying to love me better by loving yourself. I see you, and I love you.

Merry Christmas, John. Never forget how loved you are, by me and everyone else.

-Em

During dinner, they sit at the dining room table and on the floor in the living room, spreading their Christmas Eve feast over end tables and folding chairs that no one wants to sit on for some reason. Murphy sits at the table elbow-to-elbow with Raven and Emori; Zeke and Bellamy sit across from them. Monty, Jasper, Lexa, Octavia and Costia sprawl on the floor, while Luna and Echo take over the couch. Raven tries to play music two separate times - “It’s for the Ambiance,” Octavia says, and Murphy just knows the capital A is implied - but the noise coming from all corners of the house renders that effort more chaotic than mood-setting.

Murphy keeps sneaking glances at Emori. Her eyes shine with excitement and delight as she takes a massive serving of Zeke’s now-famous corn casserole. She grins when Raven starts roasting Bellamy for only getting books for Christmas. She even smiles at Murphy once or twice, which sends his heart rate through the ceiling.

Echo finishes first and starts in on the dishes. Bellamy follows, brushing her shoulder with his hand as he leans past her to start drying plates. Murphy watches them over his shoulder, the confidence in their movements, the ease with which they exist in one another’s space. When he turns back to face the table, he locks eyes with Emori and sees his longing and jealousy mirrored there.

Time slows down in the moments between clearing his plate and ending up in Emori’s room. Somehow he ends up at her bedroom door looking at her back, braced against the window frame, her legs swinging over the window’s edge, hair blowing in the cold West Virginia wind. It’s a mirror of this morning’s moment, or maybe an inversion, since her back is to him in this instance, though her face is turned upward.

“I never had a Christmas like this,” he hears her say to the wind. He steps inside her room but doesn’t shut the door. “With people and presents and noise and happiness.”

“Was it- Did you like it?” He winces at his own verbal ineptitude.

She nods, sniffs and looks over her shoulder. Her eyes glitter in the pale light from the hall. “Come sit with me,” she says softly, beckoning with her smaller hand.

When he’s comfortably seated with his head leaning against the window frame, his body snug between it and Emori’s legs, she rests her forehead on his shoulder and speaks to his upper arm. “I miss you.”

The distance between him is his own doing. The ache in his chest is, too. “I’m sorry.”

How do I cross the line between us? he wants to ask, but doesn’t want to come off either dramatic or desperate, even though he is both, just by nature.

“Thank you for your card,” he says softly. He turns, rests his chin atop her head, and resists the urge to press a kiss atop it. “It meant a lot.”

“I meant it.” Her voice is muffled. She doesn’t look up at him, but he can feel the wrinkle of her forehead through his sweater.

“You okay?”

She lifts her head. There’s a look in her eyes, equal parts caged animal and hesitant human. “If I let you in, you can’t hurt me. I won’t let you.”

Murphy takes a deep breath. Here, on his side of the drawn line, there is everything he is ashamed of. On her side, there is the smile in her voice when she speaks to him and the soft way she says his given name.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” he says slowly. “But I won’t try to.”

Emori smiles, sudden and blinding. She turns to face him, shifting so she’s straddling the windowsill. The ornaments on her God-awful sweater glint and tap together as she moves.

“Okay.” She kisses him on the cheek, then the nose. He grins. “Let’s start over.”

Murphy leans forward and presses his lips to hers, a proper kiss this time. When she laughs against his mouth, his chest expands. Then he’s the one who laughs as he remembers a line from a particular Christmas movie.

“What?” she asks, pulling away. And then Raven’s voice sounds from the doorway, where she’s leaning against the frame, looking as self-satisfied as he’s ever seen her.

“‘And the Grinch’s small heart’,” she quotes dramatically, a shit-eating grin wide on her face, “‘grew three sizes that day’.”

Emori howls with laughter. The foot dangling from the window kicks in the air. Murphy reaches for the nearest pillow near the foot of Emori’s bed and chucks it at Raven, who shrieks and limps downstairs. Murphy catches up to her by sliding down the bannister and tosses the couch’s blanket over her head, then proceeds to tickle her in the stomach until she goes to her knees, laughing and wheezing and pushing a worried Zeke away.

Murphy looks up after pulling the blanket off Raven’s head and locks eyes with Emori, who hovers at the top of the stairs, one hand on the bannister, one hand on the first step down. It’s a mirror of a moment during her first day at home: her hesitant eyes, Murphy and Raven on the couch, his nonchalant “you can come down.”

An invitation, he thinks. A request, maybe, and certainly an assurance that no matter where he is, she belongs. That no matter where she is, he is wanted.

“You can come down,” he says to her quietly. She takes a step down. Behind him, Zeke helps Raven to her feet.

“You can come down,” Murphy says to her again, remembering waiting at the bottom of the stairs on their first date, awestruck at her beautiful dress and the warmth in her cheeks.

Emori’s feet hit the floor beside him. She slings her arm around his shoulder and he reaches up to play with the long fingers of her left hand. While watching Monty, Raven and Zeke make a nest on the couch to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, Murphy presses a kiss to every part of her hand he can reach.

“Dear Forgiveness,” he hears her murmur, almost to herself, in that casual, thoughtful way, “I saved a place for you. Quit milling around the yard and come inside.”

She kisses him on the cheek, disentangles herself from him, and goes to sit beside Raven, squealing when the other girl’s cold feet make contact with her bare ankles. Murphy watches them all, lit by the kitchen light and the glow of the TV, and wonders if it’s possible for a heart to break from happiness.

If it is, he supposes, as he leans his forearms against the couch inches from Raven’s head, he’ll gladly handle this kind of heartbreak now until forever.

Yeet yeet babey we did it

The end of this story is bittersweet for me in a strange way. I started writing Litany during a time in my life where I was not doing well, mentally, physically or emotionally. This story became a strange form of catharsis, a way for me to access the dark things in me and process them through the eyes of a character who resembles me in ways I'd rather not think about.

As Murphy and Emori learned and grew and recovered, I tried to do the same. Clearly, I'm not there yet (as evidenced by the two times I almost deleted this fic on a self-destructive whim). But there's always hope as long as you learn how to forgive yourself.

If you're dealing with stuff like this, please talk to someone. A parent, a teacher, a friend, a therapist, someone. My asks on Tumblr are always open (my Tumblr name is the same as here). We all need a Raven, an Emori, a Bellamy and a Luna sometimes.

Thanks for reading this. I hope you liked it. I'll see you soon, never fear :)

Much love, Amanda

#litany fic #long post #dailymemori #maelidpoetree #maskingtapepoetree #(in case you're still tracking the old tag)#bombshellsandbluebells #daisytachi #doortotomorrow #sarcasticdebate #memori fanfic

17 notes · View notes

trishmishtree · 6 years ago

Text

live-tumbling my reaction to ml season 3 episode 1 (”chameleon”)

Spoilers and salt below

=======

Hearing issues? Really? after she'd gone around charming the entire school and making everyone adore her and obviously having no trouble communicating? I'd buy it more if she had vision issues. I always had to sit in the front of the room in middle school because my eyesight sucked.

Also, whose brilliant idea was it to pair Alya/Nino and Ivan/Mylene together? Does this teacher have no idea how teenagers work?

Oh never mind. Apparently it was Lila's idea to reseat everyone. But why did Ms. Bustier agree to it? Doesn't she have enough to worry about with kids getting akumatized every other day and students not showing up to class because they have to fight crime? Does she really want to deal with the rest of her students being too busy chatting up their friends/SOs to pay attention in class, which is exactly what happens with this kind of seating arrangement?

You know what would make more sense? Putting this episode in season 2. Lila only showed up in the finale, even though they alluded to her being in their class before.

"You have a hearing issue, Lila?" Marinette asks, her voice at a normal volume. "Yes I suffer from tinnitus a constant ringing in my left ear etc. etc." Lila replies, apparently having no trouble hearing Marinette at all. For a "good liar," she's really, really dumb.

Also, they make it sound like everyone already knows about her "hearing issues" except Marinette, even though Lila's apparently been in their class for a while now. Why is the writing for this show so fucking lazy?

Remember during Origins when Alya confronted Chloe, asking her "Hey, who made you queen of the seats?" I feel like that might apply to Marinette right about now.

(This reaction has been mostly salt so far because I hate Lila [as a character, not as a person] and can't understand why she keeps getting shoehorned into the show, and I hate how Marinette acts when she's jealous about Adrien and how her characterization is so inconsistent across episodes.)

Oh for fuck's sake, just akumatize her already. At least then something interesting will finally happen. I'm sick of this status quo that the show seems to be allergic to changing.

I feel like I've talked about this before, but if the akumas aren't customized and can land on just about anyone anytime, why does Hawkmoth wait for someone to get pissed off before making one? Why doesn't he just cast one out every morning and wait for a nibble?

Ooh, cool. First look at the school cafeteria. (Where is it in the school though? It kind of looks like it might be on the top floor...)

Oh, now she has a wrist problem, too?

Has anyone referred her to a psychiatrist yet? You know, for her anger issues and her malingering/factitious disorder?

Okay, this makes even less sense. According to Marinette, Lila has literally only been at their school for a day, and that was during Volpina. So when the fuck did the rest of her class find out about her hearing issues? And how do they still remember it after she spent all of season 2 "traveling the world"?

Alya and Nino have a point that Marinette's being ridiculous. But at the same time, it's really not like them to not believe her and throw out whataboutisms to derail her. It's almost like the show writers have no idea how to write consistent characters, so every character on the show just exists there to throw out dialogue when it's convenient for plot.

(Where's Chloe in all this? I'm still waiting for the catfight that will happen when Lila inevitably trash talks Ladybug in front of Chloe.)

I know the point of this episode is to teach Marinette that it's really not worth it to get down in the mud with Lila (i.e. take the high road/sometimes it's okay to mind your own business if the other person isn't really hurting anybody), but I feel like this is something she should have learned a long time ago. Like, in season 1. Why bother with "character development" that you're just going to throw out the window by the time the next episode rolls around when it's the fucking third season now? That ship sailed a looooong time ago, and all you're accomplishing now is regressing Marinette as a character in order to build her back up to baseline. That's just shitty writing.

Interesting how Lila is baiting Marinette and making her look bad in front of her friends, and then extending her a peace offering.

I have a new theory: Hawkmoth noticed that Ladybug shows up really really fast when the person akumatized is a student at Francois Dupont, particularly when the victim is in the same class as Chloe Bourgeoise. The only 2 people in that class who haven't been akumatized yet are a) his son and b) that fashion designer girl, so he's sending Lila in to try and piss them off to see if he can tease out the identity of Ladybug.

That, or they're making Lila as obnoxious as possible so that fans won't protest when Marinette and Chloe become friends.

"Uhhhh I'm still here if you still need help catching up with schoolwork?" Finally a voice of reason! Adrien already knows that Lila's manipulative, so he just cuts to the chase and offers his friendship and a chance for her to be honest with him. And when she storms off because she can't manipulate him, he feels pity for her but he doesn't bother chasing after her because he's not interested in dealing with her shit.

Well, I guess it's a good thing that neither the akuma nor HM can sense Tikki's presence.

I guess he decided to give up on Marinette. Not a bad idea, really. This is the 3rd time he's failed to akumatize her (twice today and once in Zombizou) now.

But if Lila's angry all the time, and she's been in Paris all along, then why doesn't he just use her as his champion all the time? It's way more convenient that way, plus she's actually willing to help him.

Wait, so Lila's new akumasona is....herself?

Never mind. This is even weirder than her Volpina powers. It's like Princess and the Frog meets reverse-Sleeping Beauty.

And I guess it makes sense that she's using Adrien to go after Marinette.I

I wonder where her corrupted earring went after she transformed into Adrien though.

It is...REALLY weird watching Not-Adrien jump around the rooftops of Paris in his civilian clothes.

LMAO of COURSE Lila goes back to the Eiffel Tower.

(Can we leave her up there again at the end of the episode?)

What is she trying to accomplish here? I thought she'd pretend to be Adrien to mess with Marinette, but it looks more like ADRIEN is the one she's pissed off at, so she's making him look like an asshole to ruin his reputation in Paris. (And how is Gabriel letting her do this? I get that he's a shitty father and doesn't give a fuck about Adrien beyond making sure the kid is alive and breathing, but you'd think he'd be more concerned with the PR nightmare that's starting to brew around his fashion empire's most recognizable model.)

Well, I hope his voice actor is having fun messing around and not acting like the standard mopey and sad Adrien for once.

I'm glad that Ladybug saw through the disguise right away. But where IS the akuma, if Not-Adrien isn't wearing the earring?

What's up with the real Adrien waking up all of a sudden? Was the spell only temporary?

I would make a comment about being annoyed that Chat Noir got taken out again and served as nothing but a meat shield YET AGAIN, but whatever. It's only temporary.

I wonder if Not-Chat Noir's transformation will wear off in 5 minutes after the Cataclysm. Copy Cat had a time limit, but Queen Wasp was able to use her special Miraculous power as many times as she wanted.

I like how Lila hates Ladybug so much that she'd rather chase her down than grab the ring off an unconscious Chat Noir, even though it would only take her two seconds tops.

Aaaand we're back at the Eiffel Tower. Because of course we are. Lila had better get stuck up there again.

Seriously, WHERE IS THAT AKUMA? WHERE DID THE EARRING GO?

Wait, kissing an inanimate object turns Chameleon into that object? Or was that oyster alive? Is the real oyster asleep now? Can oysters kiss, or is she stuck as that oyster forever?

(Why does it have to be a kiss anyway? Did they only do that so they could show Lila kissing Adrien in the episode promo? Why couldn't she have a magic projectile shooting wand or something like Frightningale or Style Queen? That would be way more efficient and she wouldn't have to fight to shove her face close to anyone else.)

(Oh wait, no. Lila was watching from the window when Marinette kissed Adrien at the picnic at the end of Mayura. She must have specifically chosen kisses as Chameleon's special power as payback for that.)

"You sure got that supervillain to clam up." That.........was a terrible pun. I'm sorry I laughed. If you told me that pun in real life, I would refuse to look at you.

Wait, so if she hadn't turned Chameleon into an oyster, then where would the akuma have been??????

Oh, right. Adrien figured it out it was Lila already.

Wait, so what was the shirt for? (Disclaimer, I know nothing about how pearls are harvested. Do they need a towel/cloth to put the oyster on? Fuck if I know)

AHAHAHA, glad to see Nino got his cap back.

......I hope that comment about wanting to be Ladybug's friend is a reference to the end of Volpina, and not to the conversation she had with Marinette in the bathroom.

So she didn't get left on top of the Eiffel Tower again, since they fell off of it. But I guess getting left on a seafood stand under the Eiffel Tower is close enough.

Hey, I know that you (the writers/show creators) have promised an even scarier, more powerful threat than Hawkmoth in the new season. But you do realize that having Lila do the death glare like "oooh i know more than i'm letting on" after Ladybug leaves doesn't make her any more menacing as a villain, right? I'm still not going to take her seriously. She's a shit character, and the only reason she's even relevant is because you need a mean girl character now that Chloe's a good guy. Even though you could just make Chloe revert to being awful again. It's not like you've ever had an issue with writing characters inconsistently and having them lose any growth they had before.

Yay, words of wisdom and a voice of reason from Adrien.

(Now watch Marinette un-learn all of this by the time episode 2 rolls around.)

Again, unless Lila has figured out that Marinette is Ladybug, I don't give a shit about her as a villain. Her "evil" face at the end just looks like she has some kind of facial paralysis issue going on (hey, maybe early-onset Parkinson's can be next on her list of ailments that requre special attention). And "you and I are at war"? Really? Has the person who wrote that line ever interacted with a teenage girl before? Is that really how you think they fight with each other? How do you expect anyone to take that line seriously?

8/10. Overall, not a bad episode at all. I did have to dock a point off for having Lila in it, and another point off for everyone (except Adrien) acting out of character. But the voice acting was fine, and the villain powers were interesting, and the fight scenes were cool, and Ladybug's strategy for ultimately defeating the villain was actually brilliant.

tl;dr "It's like Princess and the Frog meets reverse-Sleeping Beauty."

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #miraculous spoilers #chameleon

18 notes · View notes