#which I’ve done before multiple times when I was in life threatening conditions because I knew my dad would be mad about spending money.

[angelnumber27]

It sucks so much not being able to get the medical care I need because it’s too expensive. I never ask for help even when I’m having really bad symptoms or a horrible mental crisis and know I need to see a professional because when I attempted suicide and was in the ER convulsing from taking so many pills, my dad stood in the doorway and said “this is going to be so fucking expensive.” and then left :-)

[tobi-smp]

Thoughts on a potentional arc in which c!Ranboo basically threatens to divorce c!Tubbo if he doesn't get his act together and be even mildly decent towards c!Tommy? Specifically if it is motiviated by him feeling enraged that they both left c!Tommy to suffer in the hellish conditions of Limbo, which he now has firsthand experience with?

Not asking IF you think it'll happen(probably will not, but hey, here's to hoping).

Just wanna see if you've got any thoughts on the idea or if you think it has potentional.

well if you want my Honest opinion.

there’s nothing inherently wrong with ideas like this as long as there’s an awareness around them. they exist for catharsis because one character is being mistreated, and there’s this desire to see it addressed as the unfairness that it is. and typically that’s facilitated by one character acting as the audience surrogate to enact the sense of justice that people feel is lacking in this situation. someone finally calling the aggressive party out, people finally realizing how much another character has been hurt, there being Consequences for people’s actions. it can be something that’s deeply satisfying to see done right, especially when you’re frustrated with the source material.

but it’s also something that’s often done very clumsily, with the biggest problem being a character acting as a mouthpiece to the point of it being immersion breaking. I’ve had multiple instances where I’ve dropped a fic because I’ve reached a titular Calling Out section, and I can picture the exact meta posts that the ideas being presented stem from. 

to achieve real catharsis it needs to feel natural to the characters and the situation, Even if the intent is to bend the characters to get there.

in this case, the way it’s presented Doesn’t sound like a natural path for ranboo as a character to take, it feels like taking fast pass to the part where you get to watch ranboo say to tubbo what the audience wishes they could say to tubbo.

consider this:

ranboo is going to be Extremely traumatized coming out of death, and that Should be a heavy focus at the beginning of an idea like this. and tommy Would Be in a position where he’d be able to help him, as he’s a character whose not only experienced death but has gone a long way in healing from what he experienced. he’d be able to show ranboo Understanding and meet his needs in a way that not just anybody could.

and it’d be From There that you could have feelings of guilt from ranboo about how He feels he’s let tommy down before. the same feelings that ranboo expressed after tommy’s actual death. it should be ranboo and tommy promising to be there for Each Other, to be present in Each Other’s lives. tommy not pushing people away to keep them safe, and ranboo choosing to be Active in tommy’s life rather than only acknowledging what he Should be doing and how he feels when he’s alone.

it needs to be something that the character Would realistically think and believe. ranboo isn’t likely to blame himself specifically for tommy Staying in limbo, there wasn’t much they could’ve done at the time with sam being in control of the prison and dream being in control of revival. but I Do think that ranboo could reasonably be expected to realize that he had a hand in trapping tommy in the first place, and I Do think he could be reasonably expected to regret not Keeping Up With what he talked about in the aftermath of tommy’s death.

and if part of the point of the fic is going to be calling out how tubbo has dropped the ball in his relationships recently, then it should stem at least partially from tubbo not being able to be emotionally available Here with ranboo either. the point should be that tubbo is currently coping with a combination of Avoidance and anger and how that’s been negative affecting his relationships.

or that’s at least one way of going about it! catharsis through writing isn’t always meant for the reader anyways, sometimes the catharsis is for the author. and if writing the original concept for it gives You something out of it then there’s nothing I can say that would make it a bad idea to go through with it. and my taste isn’t universal anyhow.

all of That said, my absolute favorite example of catharsis-based fic in the entirety of the fandom is “take a step back.” it’s one of the most beautifully constructed fics in the fandom and I will wait as long as it takes to see the end.

[kumaradosha]

I’m seeing a whole lot of bad takes and ignorance of past/present content and lack of critical thinking or ability to understand character motives regarding this most recent Dream SMP lore. So please, allow me to lay down some facts, some sense, and also some speculation of my own. This’ll be really rambly, because I’m tired, and I want to say a lot. Rewatching ALL the streaming perspectives now, my thoughts start here:

Considering Sam doesn’t want to enter the cell to dirty his hands himself, he clearly has some aversion or moral qualms about torturing prisoners, but Quackity has convinced him to go along with it. Quackity spends a lot of time before he goes into the cell repeatedly making sure Sam won’t have a change of heart and intervene, which indicates Sam probably has some misgivings. Quackity feels he has to remind Sam that this is for the greater good and to stand back and let him do his thing and that this will probably be the last time. These are all reassurances and instructions that would not be necessary if Sam were known to be totally cool with it all already.

Sam believes the stringent measures Dream put in place for the prison are just desserts for him to suffer, but Techno doesn’t deserve the same cruelty, because Techno didn’t enact those rules. And that’s why Techno gets baked potatoes from Sam, and Dream doesn’t. Sam clearly believes this harsh treatment is justified, because Dream was going to do it to someone else. He thinks he’s being just. Of course, allowing the torture, though not his idea and not really comfortable to him, was still crossing a line, considering physical torture was not something Dream did to his victims (and besides, there’s the argument that not everything a criminal has done is morally correct to be done to the prisoner regardless). That, he was convinced, was for the greater good, to get the revive book. Quackity manipulated him; he thinks he’s doing what’s best, but no, of course that doesn’t make him right or his hands clean.

Sam wanted the dog dead because it’s a security risk, especially with Quackity entering the cell with two other people. He killed it later for the exact same reason. Y’all act like nobody else has ever killed an animal in Minecraft RP; get it together. Is Sapnap also evil? Tommy? He killed his own cat. Random animals are not treated with the gravity you guys are giving them; it makes no sense to call out this one time.

When Techno raised the point that he would be fine if Quackity killed him, because Dream could just bring him back, Dream countered with his warning that Techno doesn’t want to experience death, judging by how messed up it made Tommy. What motive would he have to argue that, aside from actually caring about Techno’s well-being? If Dream was only thinking of himself, he would benefit from Techno being willing to die and be brought back to life by him, giving him an easy reason not to give the resurrection knowledge to Quackity. I honestly can’t think of a reason he would argue other than the fact that he doesn’t want Techno to die even temporarily or experience death--that he cares. Interesting...

Dream hiding in the escape tunnel to make it look like he disappeared too was 5,000 IQ, but he didn’t do it just to be silly or smart. Quackity literally threatened to kill Dream when he came back. Dream HAD to pretend to disappear, because he was legitimately in fear for his life. You saw how terrified he was when Sam found him, how he just immediately begged him not to tell Quackity. He was afraid Quackity would come back and kill him before Techno managed to come back and break him out. He believed that would be his fate and had to make a last ditch attempt to avoid that outcome.

Phil confirmed on stream that the blueprints Techno was led to via coordinates are for the prison. Not Tubbo’s missing nuke, like I’ve seen speculated.

“Steve is your polar bear” was written on stream during the “Prison Podcast” Technoblade lore. This is not a mystery. Dream said he wrote it down when Techno started talking about Steve rescuing them.

If Sam doesn’t approve of Quackity killing Dream, why doesn’t he just tell Quackity Dream is still in the prison but not allow Quackity in anymore? Quackity needs Sam to lead him inside, to let him in. Since when did he have any power against Sam to force him to let him in? I don’t understand why Sam has to keep it a secret just to keep Dream alive. Just don’t let Quackity into the prison anymore. Clearly it was a bad idea, since all these security risks happened while Quackity was getting a free pass to not follow the rules of the prison.

Dream casually walking in the way of Sam’s pickaxe to disrupt his swing once Sam almost had the bell broken gets me every time.

The rapport between c!Dream and c!Sam in prison fascinates me. Clearly Dream is much bolder with Sam than Quackity and still seems to trust his sense of duty to a degree. Sam is also more malleable, convinceable, his fatal flaw being actually listening and talking to Dream, even after it clearly messes with him psychologically. He let Quackity manipulate him, too, and he compromises too much. That might seem weird to say, considering the harsh conditions he has Dream in, but. He does give in to a few things.

I’m wondering if Dream wanted to go to the courtyard hoping it was less secure and easier for Techno to break him out of.

Sam has no reason to lie and gaslight about Dream being the one to suggest raw potatoes and sealing up the courtyard. That’s not in his character to do. So clearly Dream suggested these things. In fact, we have proof. Search for the clip of Dream revealing a teaser for future lore, with him telling Sam the hole in the courtyard ceiling for the light is a security flaw. He straight up says that. Update yourselves. Furthermore, are the recordings we have of Dream suggesting nicer features for the prison even lore? Are they in-character, or was it cc!Dream and Sam making plans? I’m genuinely asking, because I don’t remember/am not sure. In any case, clearly the plans changed at some point, and they were Dream’s idea.

Dream said he didn’t realize how bad it was until after he experienced it. This could very well be a lie. However, it could also be a wake-up call. We just don’t know. Dream clearly possesses low empathy, and every person at some point doesn’t fully realize how poorly another being can feel in a bad situation. Sometimes it actually does take experiencing it yourself to realize how it feels. People can do cruel things to others before the empathy fully clicks. It is possible that Dream really does only now understand how harsh his plans were. Unfortunately, it’s just as likely he doesn’t care and is pretending to, because he has a history of acting, lying, and manipulating. We just do not know, and I think that’s part of the fun, the speculation. Note that none of this is excusing what he’s done; that bores me. I just like understanding characters and their psychology and motives.

Sam is ASKING if Dream had this prison built for Tommy. He is suspicious that that is the case. Dream did not TELL him this, because OBVIOUSLY Sam would have absolutely nothing to do with building a prison he knew Dream meant for Tommy. So no, Sam thought it was for something else. And guess what? It was. Back during the disc war finale stream, Dream told Tommy and Tubbo that the prison was originally intended for someone else (maybe multiple people, the number was not specified), but that he changed his mind and would now put Tommy in it (ha ha punny). Tubbo asked who it was originally intended for, and Dream wouldn’t tell him, preferred to keep it a mystery. Dream had zero reason to say this if it weren’t true. In fact, it would have been more impactful to pretend (or admit) he intended it for Tommy all along. Think of the horror, or even the betrayal finding out Sam, his friend, helped make it. So yes, there is every indication that it is the truth--Dream meant the prison for someone else at first.

And Dream didn’t argue with Sam’s accusations, because why WOULD he? If he didn’t tell Tubbo who it was for, he wouldn’t tell Sam now. Plus, he wouldn’t want to argue with Sam, make him more heated and less sympathetic, and risk him deciding to tell Quackity Dream was there after all. Dream has no reason to speak up. Let Sam think what he wants. Dream’s silence does not mean confirmation. This is not a new thing with him. He keeps things mysterious, and there is a lot about his planning and mindset he does not disclose.

Now, whether Dream made the prison harsher before or after he decided he wanted Tommy in it is up for speculation. We don’t know that timeline.

Anyway, Sam’s speech about Dream getting what he deserves is really delicious. All these people out here mocking Dream fans for Dream still being in prison (like Techno’s not imminently coming to break him out, hello?) and being told off by Sam, yet plenty of us are enjoying it, too, like?? Bruh, what kind of Mary-Sue-touting asshole likes characters who are flawless who never go through strife? Can’t be me. I love watching my favs through triumph AND despair, so this is all just a win for me, thanks.

It is possible to sympathize with a bastard who is highly flawed and wrong AND to understand his motivations without justifying his actions AND to realize he deserves punishment (though to what degree I don’t care to argue). All the black and white morality and taking one extreme stance of “this character is perfect!” OR “this character is wholly evil and only ever does things to be sadistic!” and polarizing the community is cringe, yo. You need to calm down. Enjoy the ride or like...get off?

Anyway, Dream is my favorite, Techno is my second favorite, I adore Sam, I really enjoy Quackity, and the SMP wouldn’t be the same without Tommy. So much love for all of this creative work and its creators. I’m having a blast.

[calwrites]

Fearless

Prequel to Don’t You

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader

Word count: 4.5k

————————

“Looks like it finally stopped raining.”

The murmur of the coffee shop was replaced by the sounds of the city as you followed Sebastian outside. The humidity seemed to hit you like a truck, making you miss the air conditioning you had just left.

“Finally. I thought I was going to be stuck in that coffee shop with you forever.” You laughed at the faux offended look on Sebastian’s face. “That’s what I get for not checking the weather.”

“Next time I’ll let you wait out the rain by yourself,” Sebastian threatened. His grin made the corners of his eyes crinkle a bit. Had they always done that? Had you just never noticed before?

“At least then I won’t have a bunch of teenage girls taking pictures of me the whole time. They’re scary. How do you deal with that all the time?” It had been disconcerting to have the group of girls staring at you and Sebastian as you sat and chatted. For a moment, you had thought you were crazy when you noticed them looking. The first thought you had was that you had something on your face or needed to fix your hair, but you realized why they were so focused on your table when they walked over to ask Sebastian for pictures.

Sebastian let out a sigh as he shrugged. For a second you were worried that you had said something wrong. “I just try to ignore it most of the time. I’m polite if they come up to me. I’d rather they like me than hate me.”

“I’m sure you have lots of stories. You’ll have to tell me sometime.” Your eyes widened when you realized what you’d said. What if he didn’t want to see you again? “I mean, if you’re staying in the city long. I’m sure you’re really busy.”

“I’ve got some promo to do soon, but I’m not filming again for a few months. I wanted a bit of the break.” Sebastian waved his hand. “Let’s not talk about my work. What about you? You taking the business world by storm?”

“Well I did just get a raise, so now I can almost afford my rent, groceries, and student loans.” The joys of living in New York City.

“Ah sounds like everything’s going well then. Are your parents still around?” Your parents had basically fallen in love with Sebastian when they first met him freshman year. A group of your friends had come over to your house for a movie night and Sebastian had insisted on staying to help you clean up after everyone else had left. Your mom had spent the next few weeks not so subtly dropping hints that she thought you should date him.

 “Yeah they’re still in Jersey. They tried to convince me to move in with them, but I told them I didn’t want to have to commute into the city every day. Of course, that set them off about how that’s what they’ve been doing my whole life because they didn’t want me growing up without a yard or whatever.”

“So it sounds like they haven’t changed much?” You shook your head slightly to force yourself to stop watching Sebastian as he laughed.

“No they have not.” You bumped your shoulder against Sebastian’s gently. “They’re your number one fans, you know.”

“Oh they are?” His eyebrows raised in surprise, and he was already fighting a smile, no doubt waiting to hear what embarrassing things your parents had done since high school graduation.

“They see all of your movies in theaters.” Multiple times, but you didn’t want Sebastian to think they were weirdos.

“Even the bad ones?”

“Even the bad ones. I did tell them that they aren’t allowed to buy any of the Bucky dolls.”

“They’re action figures.”

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself matching Sebastian’s smile anyway. “Whatever. It’d be weird seeing a mini version of you at my parents’ house. It’s bad enough that they still have a bunch of high school pictures hung up.”

“My mom does too. She’s going to be so excited when I tell her that I ran into you. You were always her favorite of our group.”

You stopped suddenly, grabbing Sebastian’s arm. He looked a little alarmed, but you ignored it. “Are you serious? I was always so scared of her. This is the best day of my life.” You had met Sebastian’s mom a couple of times throughout high school, but had never been able to tell whether or not she liked you.

“Scared of her? Why? Because of the accent?”

“The accent didn’t help, but really it was because she’s hot. That makes her intimidating.”

Sebastian groaned and pulled a face. “No. You can’t think my mom is hot. That’s not allowed. Take it back or I’m sending your parents all of the Bucky dolls I can find.”

“It’s not like I wanted to bang her or anything. I just think that she’s an attractive woman. Which makes sense considering how attractive you are.” Your mouth snapped shut. You weren’t sure who was blushing more, you or Sebastian. “Let’s forget about this whole conversation.” Sebastian laughed slightly and nodded.

It was silent between you two as you continued your walk through the streets. You weren’t really sure where he was going. You were heading to your car, but you couldn’t tell if Sebastian was also going somewhere or if he was just following you. If you had looked up, you would have noticed that Sebastian was watching you carefully. But you didn’t look up. Your eyes were on the pavement, watching the glow of the lights in the reflection from the rain.

“Do you remember that poster that was in our English class freshman year?” you asked suddenly. Sebastian’s brow crinkled slightly as he tried to remember, but then he followed your gaze to the glowing pavement and smiled.

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain.” The two of you laughed slightly as you remembered your slightly eccentric teacher. “We made fun of that poster so much.”

“It was a stupid poster. But remember it was raining when we were leaving the homecoming dance freshman year and we started dancing in the parking lot-”

“And all of our friends thought we were crazy,” Sebastian finished. “To be fair, we were crazy. That was probably the most fun part of the dance though.”

“Are you saying that I was a bad date?” You gasped and brought your hand up to your mouth as if Sebastian had offended you. Both of you dissolved into giggles.

“I’m saying that I was probably a bad date. I was so awkward. I had such a big crush on you.” Sebastian rubbed his neck uncomfortably. You definitely didn’t notice how the action made his arms look.

“Wait really?” This was news to you. You had always kind of assumed that Sebastian didn’t like you very much. He had always seemed to just tolerate your presence.

“Oh yeah. All the guys used to make fun of me because I got so awkward around you. That’s why I never talked when you were with us.”

“I just thought you were shy or something.” Or that he secretly hated you.

“Well that too,” Sebastian admitted with a small grin.

“You should have just told me. I had a crush on you too. I was so excited when you asked me to the dance.” You were so engrossed in conversation that you almost walked right past your car. “Oh, this is me.”

“Oh.” Was it your imagination or did Sebastian look disappointed? Before you could figure it out, he was smiling again. “It’s been nice catching up. We should hang out again. You still have the same number?”

You assured Sebastian that you did and the two of you exchanged more pleasantries. After sliding into your car, you watched Sebastian continue down the street. The memory of the two of you dancing wildly in the parking lot while the rest of your friends complained about the rain made you smile. You kind of wished you had asked him to dance again.

————————

Part of you already wished that this weekend would never end, even though it had barely even begun. You had finally made it out of the city and still had a couple hours of driving left, but you were already dreading having to go back into the office on Monday.

You and Sebastian had been hanging out more since running into each other last month. Most of the time, you got away without any pictures of the two of you getting out, but recently that had been getting harder and harder to do. Now, through what you could only assume was some sort of social media stalking witchcraft, people had managed to figure out who you were. The hundreds of notifications had freaked you out at first, but after deleting all of the social media apps from your phone, it was totally not a big deal.

Until your coworkers had found out. Some magazine had printed a picture of you and Sebastian, including your name underneath it, so now everyone at the office was either making fun of you by pretending to take paparazzi pictures whenever you walked into a room or constantly asking about Sebastian. Needless to say, you desperately needed this weekend away.

“Hungry eyes,” Sebastian sang, rather poorly though you suspected that was on purpose. You had seen him in musicals in high school. He half turned towards you, reaching out with one hand while the other stayed on the wheel, as he continued to sing along to the music. “One look at you and I can’t disguise these-”

“Keep your eyes on the road,” you scolded, though you couldn’t help but laugh at his bad attempt to hit a high note. “You know, I was worried that you would get us killed at the cabin, but now I know you’re going to get us killed before we even make it there. And stop caressing my hair.” You slapped his hand away for emphasis.

He reached out again to run a hand down your hair. “I am not caressing your hair-”

“Definitely were.”

“-and I am not going to get us killed. We are going to have a nice relaxing weekend at a cabin that I rented and am graciously letting you stay at without paying me back. And we aren’t going to worry about paparazzi or annoying coworkers or random people on the street with cell phones.” There may have been a incident earlier that week where you had almost gone up to a random person in the street to yell at them about taking pictures of you and Sebastian. It turned out they were just a lost tourist who barely spoke English. That was when Sebastian decided that you needed a vacation too.

“I think I’m paying you back by forcing myself to spend time with you. You’re very hard to get along with. Plus, I have no money for vacations. We can’t all be actors in Marvel movies.” The trees blurred by as Sebastian drove down the highway.

“You know, I could probably get you in the next Captain America movie. You might not have any lines, but you could stand in the background.” Had he ever offered any of your other friends from high school roles in his movies? No, you couldn't let yourself get caught up in these kinds of questions.

“Sebastian, thanks again-”

“Stop! I told you to stop thanking me-”

“Thanks again,” you continued loudly, “for inviting me. I know that you were looking forward to a relaxing weekend away before you have press stuff. If you want, we don’t have to talk to each other. I don’t want to ruin your relaxation.”

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in his seat at your thanks, but then shot you an incredulous look. “How would you ruin my relaxation? I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want to spend time with you.”

“Promise?”

Sebastian sent you a smile that was so full of warmth that you could have melted right there. You were definitely getting caught up now. You tried to snap yourself out of it by thinking about all of the reasons you could never date Sebastian. First, he was Sebastian. He knew what you looked like when you were young and awkward. He had seen the awful bangs you cut yourself sophomore year. Second, he was Sebastian Stan. Surely he’d never date a nobody like you. Not that he was stuck up now. He was surprisingly similar to how he had been in high school. It’s just, he could date models if he wanted to. You were definitely not a model. And you wouldn’t even want to date someone in the spotlight like him. Third, you had been on like two dates with the skeazy guy from accounting. If you ignored most of what he said, he was only a little skeazy. Barely tolerable really. You could work with that.

But then Sebastian ran his hand through his hair, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything stupid. Did he know what he was doing or was he just naturally this cool now? Either way, it was going to be a long weekend.

————————

The dance was not fun. Whoever was writing the prom scenes in all of those cheesy movies was full of crap. The decorations looked bad, your dress was uncomfortable, and you were so busy making sure everything was running smoothly that you weren’t even getting to enjoy your senior prom. You never should have agreed to head the prom committee. Surely the night would be more fun if you didn’t have any responsibilities.

Except you’d probably still be standing on the edges of the dancing watching as all of your friends danced with their boyfriends. You had thought that this would finally be the dance you had a boyfriend for, but then your boyfriend broke up with you less than two weeks before because you were spending too much time working on prom. Great. Wonderful.

It had been difficult to mentally prepare yourself to go to senior prom without a date after working so hard on it.  It had seemed almost poetic when Sebastian asked you. The two of you had gone to your first high school dance together and now you were at your last high school dance together.

Except Sebastian had barely talked to you all night. In fact, he had barely even looked at you. At least, that’s what you thought. Sebastian later confessed to you that he was scared he’d get in the way of your prom committee duties so he watched you from afar as you took care of the last minute issues. But you didn’t know that yet.

“Decided to actually acknowledge me?” you snapped when Sebastian leaned against the wall beside you.

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He was probably already regretting coming over to talk to you. “I probably deserve that. You just seemed busy.”

“There were a couple of issues that I had to take care of. I still want to enjoy the dance though.”

“So let’s enjoy it.” Sebastian held his hand out to you and nodded to the dance floor. You smiled gratefully at him and took his hand, letting him lead you out.

Neither of you were great dancers, and the dance floor was maybe a little too crowded, but you made the best of it. After bumping into another couple one too many times, you and Sebastian retired back to the wall, perfectly content to watch the others and whisper amongst yourselves.

“So have you had fun tonight?” Sebastian asked. You had, which was surprising considering how badly the night had started out. Sometimes you forgot how well you and Sebastian could get on. It was so rare to talk to him one on one. You really didn’t know how prom could have gone better. You were kind of disappointed that prom was wrapping up. Already, the dance floor had begun emptying as people left for various after parties.

“I did.” Sebastian grinned, obviously pleased with your answer. “But it wasn’t nearly as good as homecoming freshman year.”

Sebastian's smile faded as he tried to recall the dance you were talking about. “Wasn’t that dance really awkward though?”

“Sure the actual dance was,” you shrugged. “But dancing in the parking lot after was one of my favorite high school memories.”

Sebastian threw his head back to laugh, his hand resting on your shoulder to steady himself. “I’ll admit that I’m kind of glad it’s not raining tonight. My mom was not happy that I got my suit wet. But we can still dance like that tonight. There’s plenty of room on the dance floor.”

“Absolutely not,” you scoffed. “We’d look crazy.”

“Everyone here is either our friend or someone who we’ll probably never see again.” Sebastian held his hand out to you. You bit your lip as you considered before meeting his eyes. He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“Fine.” Sebastian laughed as you took his hand, once again allowing him to drag you onto the dance floor. He was truly fearless in his dancing this time. Obviously you had to follow suit and ignore the looks people were throwing you as you and Sebastian twirled and spun and jumped around. By the time it was time to leave the dance, you both were red faced and breathless with laughter. The sky was perfectly clear as you walked through the parking lot, but part of you wished it was raining so you could once again dance in a storm in your best dress with Sebastian.

————————

“I thought you weren’t talking to me because you didn’t really want to go with me.”

“What?” Sebastian took his eyes off the road quickly to look over at you. “Why would I ask you if I didn’t want to go with you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe our friends told you to since neither of us had dates.”

“You’re crazy. I was so intimidated by you that I didn’t want to get in your way.” You scoffed and started to speak but Sebastian shushed you. “You’ve always been the most impressive person in the room.”

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Sebastian Stan thought that you were impressive. But what exactly did that mean? That he thought it was neat that you managed to wrangle high school students enough to plan prom? He said ‘you’ve always’ which seemed to imply that he still felt that way. Right? But he was a successful actor. He worked with people way more impressive than you every day.

The thoughts flashed furiously through your head as Sebastian continued to drive slowly through the town. He had certainly achieved his goal to get away from the city. It was hard to believe the small town you’d spent the weekend in was so in the same state as the city. Paparazzi had certainly not been a worry for the two of you. Eventually, the car reached the end of the road. Rather than turning around and heading back into town, Sebastian put the car in park.

“I don’t want to go back,” he sighed. You had to agree with him. You wanted to stay right there. It had been so relaxing to get away from it all. No paparazzi. No fans. No coworkers. Just you and Sebastian. But it couldn’t last. You had work, and Sebastian had interviews.

“So let’s stay here,” you suggested. “We’ll stock up on food and then barricade ourselves in the cabin. We’ll obviously have to defend ourselves when Marvel comes looking for you and my company comes looking for me, but I have complete confidence that we can take them.” Not that you had reached a position in the company where they would notice you were missing. Maybe after a week or two they’d notice something was off. Marvel was sure to be quicker though.

“Ha ha you’ve made your point.” He sighed again. “This has been the best weekend I’ve had in a long time. Thanks for coming with me.”

“Thanks for inviting me.” Your voice sounded small in the sudden stillness of the car. Sebastian’s eyes flickered over your face, going from your eyes to your lips. “What did you mean earlier?”

“About what?”

“When you said that I was always the most impressive person in the room.” You were a little nervous about his answer. There was a good chance you’d made it out to be deeper than he meant. But then you remembered how fearless and free you felt when Sebastian led you out onto the dance floor at prom, and you knew you had to know the answer.

“Exactly that. I’m constantly in awe of you. The way you were the smartest person at school. I mean, I think you’re still the smartest person I know. I don’t understand anything you’re saying when you talk about work. You always knew exactly what to say to diffuse any of our friends’ drama. You’re kind and funny and always keep me on my toes.” Sebastian paused for a moment. You tried to speak, but all you could do was look at his beautiful blue eyes. “Running into you might be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Sebastian,” you murmured. Before you could think of anything else to say, Sebastian’s lips were on yours. You smiled into the kiss as you ran your fingers through Sebastian’s hair. It was the perfect length. You tried your best to capture the memory of this moment. The feel of his lips. His hand on your cheek. The faint sound of birds chirping outside. The patter of rain on the car roof. It was all perfect, and you wanted to remember every second of it.

————————

You didn’t know how life could get better than this. Sebastian’s hand was entwined with your own as you walked through the streets. You had been nervous about this at first. What would his fans think? So far they had been curious but benign when it came to you. Hopefully that wouldn’t change now.

You had almost cancelled when Sebastian showed up at your door. A night in suddenly sounded really good. He hadn’t let you though. Instead, Sebastian had grabbed your hand and pulled you out onto the street. You laughed as he twirled you, causing the skirt of your favorite dress to flow out.

“Good thing it’s not raining today,” Sebastian had laughed. “This would be much less enjoyable if we were getting rained on.”

“I don’t know about that. I think we normally have a pretty good time in the rain.”

 You had managed to walk to the restaurant without being spotted, though you had noticed some people taking pictures as you were eating. By the time the bill had been paid, you were more than happy to take Sebastian’s hand and follow him outside. A short walk later and the two of you were strolling around a park eating ice cream on the way back to your apartment.

“So did you have fun tonight?” Sebastian asked.

“I did,” you admitted with a smile. “It was a lot better than I was expecting.”

“Ouch.” Sebastian made a faux wounded expression that ended up making you both laugh. “I didn’t realize you thought I’d be a bad date.”

“It wasn’t you I was worried about. Your fans kind of terrify me. Not gonna lie. I half expected them to show up at the restaurant and start pelting me with rotten fruit or something.”

“That would certainly kill the mood, but I don’t think you have to worry about people throwing fruit at you.”

“No. I just have to worry about what people are going to be saying about me online.”

“Hey, stop.” Sebastian caught your hand and pulled you back to where he had stopped walking. His hands cupped both sides of your face as he looked seriously at you. “It’s going to be ok. Yeah, there are going to be some people who say some mean things. Just ignore it. It’s why I don’t bother with social media much. It doesn’t matter what they say.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re going to accuse of dating someone just to latch onto their fame or money.” Soon after you and Sebastian had started hanging out, the posts about you trying to use Sebastian’s game to get ahead had started. It didn’t really make much sense. Being friends with an actor wasn’t going to get you promoted any sooner. Still, they had annoyed you and sometimes made you feel weird about being around Sebastian.

“I know that you’re not using me. You know that you’re not using me. Everyone that matters will know that you’re not using me. If anything, I’m getting the better end of our relationship. I’m getting to date the most amazing woman ever.”

“Most amazing woman ever?” you repeated. “I’m not sure I have the necessary qualifications for that title.”

“Would you like to hear your qualifications?”

“Yes I would.” You giggled slightly, feeling like a kid with a crush, when Sebastian slung his arm around you and pulled you close so that he could whisper in your ear.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You are the smartest person I know. You’re kind and funny and you know all of this already because I’ve told you it before.”

“Yeah but I wanted to hear it again.” Your face was so close to Sebastian’s as you whispered back to him that your noses were almost touching. You hardly dared to breathe as your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips. 

Sebastian just barely started moving closer when you both heard “Is that Sebastian Stan?” coming from a nearby group of people. You jumped back almost immediately, blushing like a kid who was caught holding hands on the playground. Sebastian sent you a small smile before turning to face the fans who had come up to ask for pictures. Once he was finally finished with that, he took your hand again and led you back towards your apartment. Hopefully, no one had gotten a picture of you two in the park about to kiss. Despite what Sebastian had said, you were still scared of what people would say. Your hands shook slightly as you walked, so you slipped your hand out of his, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

Quicker than you would have liked, you were back outside your apartment building. “Do you want to come up?” you asked when he stopped on the sidewalk.

Sebastian shook his head. “I have to be up early tomorrow, and, if I go up, I’m never gonna want to leave.” Sebastian grabbed your hands, which were still shaking, and pulled you close before resting his hands on your hips. “I had a great time tonight.” He smiled, making you feel a bit more brave. This was just Sebastian. The same Sebastian you had known for years growing up.

Slowly, Sebastian brought a hand up to your face, giving you plenty of time to stop him. But you didn’t want to. He was making you feel a bit fearless. You grinned as he kissed you softly. Even though it wasn’t your first kiss, it certainly felt like it. Although technically, it was your first kiss as an official couple. And it was your first kiss out in public, where someone could take a picture that would make its way through the Marvel fandom.

But that didn’t matter to you now. The kiss was flawless. And despite whatever people online were probably already posting about you, you would never regret this moment. Life with Sebastian was undeniably better than life without him. 

————————

tags

@bbl32

[skekheck]

Theory: UrVa’s Arrows Were Originally Meant To Incapacitate, Not Kill, skekMal

Maybe this is common consensus, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. On the surface, it seemed like urVa had wanted to put an end to skekMal at the Circle of the Suns and the Hunter escaped before he could finish the job. But then there was this line in episode 10 that always felt odd to me:

urVa: I had a dream that I was one that became two that became one again. I looked through my dark half’s eyes and knew Aughra was right. [...] ...The Hunt must end. 

It’s just “but urVa, weren’t you doing just that a day or so prior?”. But then after rewatching their standoff again it hit me: maybe urVa’s intentions were not to kill skekMal but to incapacitate him.

Let’s look at the scene again

SkekMal was shot a total of three times: the first one through his upper arm, the second around the bottom right of his torso, and the last through his upper leg (possibly thigh?). 

(Sorry couldn’t find a better pic of his leg shot)

Weird places to aim for if urVa had wanted to kill him, right? Wouldn’t he have gone for targets that would more likely result in death, like the throat or through the eye sockets? It’s not like he would miss: urVa’s a master marksman. Instead, all three shots prevented (or at least was an attempt to stop) skekMal without taking his life.

The first shot prevented skekMal from harming Rian. The second was retaliation for ignoring the Archer’s warning. UrVa flat out told him to not approach the Gelfling but you see the Hunter take a step forward anyway, prompting him to release the second arrow. The final one was an attempt to stop skekMal from escaping with Brea. Seeing as how urVa immediately collapsed after firing that arrow, it would have worked. However, he underestimated how committed skekMal was to the Hunt, considering he pushed through the pain to get what he needed done.

Those arm and leg wounds aren’t inherently life-threatening. The arrow in his torso, though, is more concerning. It’s possible it could have had or at least be at risk of damaging his organs. Now, the Skeksis have weird-as-fuck anatomy (that goes without saying) so we have no real way of knowing if it was endangering him or not. But considering the nature of his other two wounds, I don’t think it was a kill shot. A more serious wound, but not deadly if tended to. And that’s probably what urVa intended: he aimed for that spot in the hopes skekMal would stop to take care of his wounds. 

But Weren’t Both skekMal and urVa In Critical Condition?

Oh yeah, they still were and skekMal’s partially to blame for it. It’s not a great idea to move around too much with arrows lodged in you. The arrow heads and shaft could move around and cause more internal damage. SkekMal moving made what would have been minor to moderate wounds way more serious. Not to mention, he never stopped to pull them out and heal himself: he kept those things in. 

And let’s not forget how far of a distance between the Circle of the Suns and the Castle is. There are multiple versions of maps of Thra that have some siginifcant differences, but the main point is those two locations are pretty far from each other. Even if he used Bennu to fly all the way over to the Castle, skekMal would still have to deal with Brea thrashing around on his back. And it looks like he took a detour to grab a cage for her, which he then dragged through the Castle’s corridors. Baiting Rian and his friends just so he can fulfill his Hunt was apparently more important to him than his well-being (which is ironic if you believe skekMal’s philosophy surrounding the Hunt is his own way of self-preservation).

EDIT: Wanted to add that skekMal was in a difficult position in terms of what he wanted. He would know that if he’d pull those arrows out he would have to treat them right away otherwise he’d bleed to death. At the same time, he would also had to keep Brea from escaping. I think he weighed his options and found that he’d had more success just pushing through it and keeping them in then treat them later. SkekMal might had also thought the other Skeksis would be able to treat him if it was serious enough? 

And SkekTek Made It Worse

SkekTek is no doctor. He can cut up and research on animals all he wants, but that doesn’t count as medical knowledge. It’s painfully obvious he has no idea what he’s doing: his diagnosis and treatment of skekMal’s condition is enough proof of that. And speaking of which, skekTek’s diagnosis is full of nonsense:

Skektek: Subject suffers severe exsanguination. Extreme distress to the humus. [...] Imbalance of intrinsic fluids. Manifold ruptures in corporeal morphology. [Checks for a heart beat] Ah. Ah... . Expiration... is... [dramatic pause] inevitable.

Literally he’s saying skekMal has multiple holes in his body and he’s bleeding out. You know, pointing out the obvious. Also, I tried finding out if “humus” related to anything biologically, but all I could find was it’s a term for... soil made of organic matter. I’m not sure what he was trying to refer to, I think he was just misusing it to make himself sound smart.

EDIT: I have been told by a few people that skekTek might be referring the humerus, which is a bone found in the upperarm that’s forms joints at the elbow and shoulder. This would make more sense and would mean skekTek made a proper diagnosis. However, at least to me, it still sounds like he’s saying humus. Another skeksis repeats him and they also say humus, not humerus. Turning on the captions also has it as humus. This could either be a typo or skekTek did mean humerus, but said humus instead. 

And how he actually treats skekMal is atrocious. 

He pulls the arrows out without making any attempts to stop the bleeding, clean the wounds, or apply stitches. He’s letting him bleed out and he should at least know they need blood to live. Do you know what happens when someone loses too much blood? Among other side effects, organ failure and falling into a coma. SkekTek did eventually made an effort to heal skekMal by giving him essence, but it was too little too late. SkekMal’s condition was so far gone at that point he really needed Aughra’s essence to survive.

UrVa’s Intentions

And now we’re going right back to urVa. While thinking over on urVa’s actions, I started wondering if he anticipated skekMal wouldn’t stay put and that the Hunter would do his own self in by moving around with the arrows lodged in him. I mean, urVa is a mystic, an indirect kill would make sense. But giving it more thought, I don’t think that’s the case. A lot of his actions during the series suggests otherwise. 

UrVa was very contemplative, even saddened, about having to end the Hunt for skekMal. He is not like his other half: he respected and appreciated all life on Thra. He also sees the cycle of life as well as the wilderness as something untamable. This is implied while he was talking with Aughra in episode 4:

urVa: We do not get to decide when our part in the song is finished.

While urVa is one of the more proactive Mystics, he still is... a Mystic. He doesn’t believe he should manipulate or control what goes on around him and let things be. The Bestiary book points to the fact that while urVa did keep tabs on skekMal, he never interfered with his hunts. So it was a big deal when Aughra quested him with the task of stopping skekMal. 

Also I’d like to point out urVa and Aughra’s final conversation because it’s also important for this discussion:

urVa; And where does my path lead? Aughra: Into the sands to face the Hunter. urVa: [sighing and looks away from Aughra for a moment] I cannot defeat my dark half. Aughra: You will find a way. But not without sacrifice.  urVa: And if I fail? Aughra: The heroes of Thra will be lost. urVa: Mm... [pauses and takes a deep breath] I will end the hunt. Aughra: Good. Get a move on. You Mystics are not known for your swift speed. We have much to do. [...] urVa: [pauses and looks at Aughra] Will we meet again, Aughra? Aughra: [stops walking, saddened] Hm... [faces him] Some things... even Aughra cannot see, old friend.  [urVa pauses and then groans, walks away from Aughra as they both parted ways for the final time]

He shows a lot of hesitance in completing this task. I’m sure he knew what Aughra was implying: that he may have to take skekMal’s life away but he still went and asked if they would meet each other again anyway. I think he was hoping for a positive answer, that it wouldn’t have to come to that, and seemed disheartened by her answer. But he still tried. He tried to stop skekMal in a way that, while not exactly peaceful, was not meant to be life-threatening. UrVa even pleads for him to stop... twice! The first time as skekMal was making his get-away and the second time while urVa helplessly watched him go after Rian again through the Hunter’s eyes. 

These two only had one scene together so we don’t really know the extent of their relationship. But if there’s one thing that’s clear was the conflict between them. I mean, during their whole duel, the characters were purposely placed on opposite sides of the room while making sure to show that skekGra and urGoh, a pair who were able to find harmony, were always side by side. It’s also in the way they address each other: while urVa does refer to him as his dark half, he also called him by his name. SkekMal, meanwhile, only ever referred to urVa as his title and nothing more. 

But I don’t think urVa had any ill-will towards his Skeksis. He seemed understanding of him and valued his life as much as he valued all living beings on Thra. I think if they both didn’t end up in a near-death situation, he’d try incapacitating skekMal again. However he understood and accepted his situation towards the end: with skekMal on an essence high, incapacitation method was no longer possible. If he allowed it to go on, all of Thra would be at risk. It was a desperate situation, but he knew Aughra was right. She gave up her life for the preservation of the world and urVa knew he had to do the same: for her and for Thra. The Hunt had to end and in order to protect the world he cherished he had to make the ultimate sacrifice. 

[ziracona]

Hello! I have always believed that Michael needed better doctors and good treatment. He was simply billed as "Evil". Sometimes I think that at that time they were unaware or ignorant of mental illness, and that is why Michael did not recover. I wish it had been treated better. I would like to know your opinion about it ;v;

Oh, absolutely. Michael is a very tragic character, and what happened to him was almost entirely Loomis’ fault, secondarily the system and his parents’, and like onyl 0.8% his own. It’s true that mental health aid has historically been really bad in most places, and even today treatment and acceptance—even in specifically medical settings—tend to be abysmal. Of course people knew less than they do now about how psychological stuff works, but bias, cruelty, and superstition as well as a system that enables and even to degrees outright encourages that is to blame for the awful treatment people woth mental illnesses and personality disorders faced and continue to face, not just a lack of knowledge, and the history is really heavy and awful to look over. : ( It’s horrific some of the things doctors have done and do to people just trying to get help.

Like, in Michael’s case, we’ve had a name and understanding of psychosis since the 1800s. Canonically, by the time the poor kid was six years old, he was hearing voices telling him to do bad things to people. He told his parents, seeking help, and they did nothing to help him—just told him it was his imagination—despite knowing hos grandfather had suffered the same symptoms. If they had only taken him seriously and given him therapy and possibly medication too, Judith never would have died. (I am not goong to say it every time, but all this information is official canon) Michael’s reason for killing his family members is wanting the vocies talking to him to be quiet, because it’s agonizing. If you’ve ever had intrusive thoughts (stuff like “pull into oncoming traffic” or “break that and see what happens” and such that don’t actually compell or force you to do it at all, and are always things you as a person deeply do not want to do, but nevertheless are really annoying or distressing to hear in your head), imagine that cranked up to 1000, endless and constant, but from voices that seem to come from around you instead of in your head. Especially as a young child, with no understanding what is happening to you, this would be incredibly scary and distressing—doubly so when dismissed by your parents, whose sole job is supposed to be to love and protect you.

The voices say they’ll be quiet if Michael kills Judith, so Halloween night, he does. Important to note here Michael is recently six years old at the time, which developmental psych literally is not old enough to have a complete understanding what death itself is, let alone complex morality. You /cannot/ be evil at six, you simply don’t have a complex enough understanding of right and wrong or of consequence to /be/ evil. Also at this age, usually kids see death as a vague concept, but one that applies to people they don’t know only, not to them and their loved ones. In Halloween 1978, immediately after stabbing Judith, Michael looks away while he keeps doing it, and his breathing speeds up in a scared way. He barely looks at the body, and immediately goes down stairs to wait for his parents—probably for them to fix it—and does nothing to flee or hide what he’s done. He looks traumatized when they take his mask off. (Lots of little notes here like that Judith when she sees him seems annoyed but not very, and when he attacks her, tries to shield herself and call to him to stop, rather than fleeing or fighting back, which [appealing instead of fight or flight] is pretty exclusively something you only would use if attcked by someone you are on good terms with—I mean, Michael is six—if Judith had /tried/ to fight back, no way she would have died—so there’s less than nothing to indicate they had anything but a loving familial sibling relationship. But if I list all these I’m gonna launch into my six page Michael Myers meta so I will speed through the rest.)

Anyway! Sorry, I have many feelings. About...everything. Including Michael for sure. So, immediately after killing Judith, Michael stops talking. He also shows other psychosis and trauma readily recognized side effects, like catatonia, slowed movement. In Halloween 1978c Dr. Loomis claims he tried to treat Michael for eight years, then spent another seven trying to keep him locked up because he realized he was evil. This is a /blatant/ lie, as in film canon Loomis, by Michael’s review hearing I believe four months in? Six or less for sure, I believe it is four. Loomis has /already/ become convinced Michael is a demon in human form, faking his symptoms, and itching to kill again. The other doctors think Loomis is crazy, as does the other doctor who examines Michael, but they’re awful people so they let him stay Michael’s doctor anyway, even though they refuse to move him to Litchfield maximum security. By this time only a few months in, Loomis is canonically also threatening the six year old in his care and constantly telling him he is an evil being who wants to get out and terrorize again. (Also, I will die enraged the sentance Michael gets for killing Judith is to remain locked in solitary in a sanitorium for /15/ years, until he turns 21, at which point he will be tried as an adult for murder??? The fuck?? You CANNOT charge a 6 year old’s crime in adult court! ‘Tried as an adult’ is meant for like, when a 17 year old dismembers their family and eats them! It’s for particularly heinous crimes, committed by someone /very/ close to being legally an adult, and that /only/. The idea of waiting fifteen years to try someone as an adult for something done at age six is laughable and sick).

Okay this is already long, I get carried away rip. Uhhh, anyway, yeah. In Smith’s Grove, Michael is visited by mom and Laurie once, then never sees any of his family again, because his dad hates him and forbids the others—finds out because Laurie is four and talks that they went /one/ time, and physically beats four year old Laurie for mentioning his name until she trauma blocks out ever having had a brother. From then on, Michael spends /fifteen/ years and all the dest of his developmental stages of childhood in a sanitorium with Dr. Loomis—a man who on wild religious superstition grounds assumes by his own admission /on sight/ that Michael is evil, and no other human contact. According to canon, Michael spends at least four hours of /every/ day with Loomis, his /only/ human contact, who threatens him, promises to stop him, and endlessly barrages him with “You’re evil, you’re not human, you want to kill again, I /will/ stop you,” and nothing else. He also canonically keeps Michael overdosed on a type of antipsychotic that, while a fine drug if used normally, if overdosed can deeply worsen symptoms, and can cause permanent brain damage.

Honestly, if a six year old is exposed yo major trauma, none of their issues are explained, legitimized, or believed, and almost all of their developmental stage is spent with endless voices they don’t know the cause of suggesting murder and violence, one human being and authority figure telling them over and over and over for fifteen years with no other constant in their life or human contact period that they are a demon in human form who wants to kill and is /going/ to do so again...? How else was that story ever going to end? I’ve said it before, but that’s beyond conditioning; it’s lab growing a human child to one day walk out and murder Laurie Strode with a large kitchen knife.

I stand by Halloween is a greek tragedy more than a slasher, and Michael and Laurie are both victims. He’s the Asterios, she’s the Ariadne. Loomis the Minos, the real villain. (Or the Poseidon choose your poison).

Anyway, I 100% agree! If he had just gotten help from his parents, Judith would have never died. If he’d had good doctors, none of the events of 1978 would have come to pass, or anything after it. Loomis single-handedly causes the deaths in 1978 himself through years of cruelty, and bigoted bias towards a small child in his care who needed his help, not his abuse, but he chose to break as much as he possibly could despite his responsibilities as a doctor, an adult, and a human.

If you’re interested, I did a canon-deep-dive character study short story on Michael on AO3! Halloween is such a sad story but it’s fascinating. God, poor Michael and Laurie deserved so much better than they got. It’s a testament to Michael’s character that even after 15 years of Dr. Loomis, he really only kills his intented target(s) in search of quiet from the voices, and anyone who sees him/would be a threat, and not other people. Makes no attempt to kill any of the kids in Halloween 2018, and only kills Bob when he literally opens the door to his hiding spot and Michael is found and Bob becomes a threat to him. In H20, after Michael has had 20 years on his own, you get arguably the least brutal Michael, who intentionally passes on killing the mother and child, and the security guard he walks right past, because they don’t see him and thus he doesn’t /have/ to. Halloween II is less intentionally avoiding, but even then he still does the same multiple times too, like with the old lady making a sandwich, or the scene in the incubator room. Anyway he desevered better fuck Loomis all my homies hate Loomis.

[vegalocity]

Hugs 16, Kisses 27 and 38 for Jasminetea, please because I need more content of this ship

Affection meme

16. ‘not wanting to let go’ hugs

27. desperate kisses

38. relieved kisses

I'd love to contribute to the jasminetea revolution Tigerseye~

--

Today was supposed to be a frightening day, yes, but not like this.

Pigsy had mocked him for his pining over Sandy for too long. And he couldn’t shut him up by mocking him over his thing for Monkey King anymore because unlike him Pigsy actually had the nerve to go for what he wanted. So once he was tired of Tang firing back about his own pining and suffering he just… went out and did it.

And Sun Wukong thought the initiative was endearing and then Tang didn’t even have a leg to stand on anymore because suddenly Pigsy wasn’t even a companion in Pining Hell anymore.

And he was getting tired of all the ‘That is NOT a good excuse! You’re a freeloader but you’re not a COWARD Tang!’ too, so he figured it was maybe time he should just grow a spine and do it too.

Today he was supposed to march over to Sandy’s boat and just.. Finally come clean. Tell him how long he’d been pining after him, whether it ended well for him or not, the emotions had all been bottled up for so long sometimes they felt like they were about to burst at the most inconvenient times.

And then Sandy would have to turn him down because Tang was man enough to acknowledge when he doesn’t really have a chance with somebody, but he’d let him down gently because Sandy was too damn good like that, and assure him a hundred times over that this didn’t have to make things weird at all and they definitely can still be friends, and that he’s super flattered and anybody would be lucky to have Tang, just… not him. And Tang would take it as well as he could and find at least some catharsis at the end of the day over it.

This was not supposed to be a day where everything went to shit so quickly. This was not supposed to be a day where some… Demon he didn’t even care enough to remember the damn name of (but he KNEW he was a Problem during the Journey to the West at SOME point) decided to raise some havoc and go absolutely batshit over the city.

Xiaotian, Xiaojiao, and surprisingly Red Son, took care of it because of course they did… But…

Sandy took a really rough hit for Xiaojiao, and… look… they were in what was essentially the superhero business in this day and age, Life risking battles were par for the course. And tanking rough hits was something Sandy would openly say he was fine with, that he was perfectly content to be the wall of muscle between his friends and danger.

That didn’t make it okay. It didn’t mean that Tang wouldn’t be absolutely devastated if something happened to him while he was protecting someone else.

That didn’t mean it wouldn’t destroy him if Sandy died without Tang ever telling him the truth because it just happened to be planned on Today of all days.

They were in what was essentially the superhero business.

They couldn’t afford to leave things unsaid anymore.

So when the battle was done, the demon (he did NOT care enough to remember which one he was- It was the Rhino King, fucking dammit) sent running, and everyone was pulling eachother from the rubble, Tang placed himself as the one to fuss over Sandy, since Pigsy was already fussing over Xiaotian and Xiaojiao whom both already had minimal injuries (and Red Son, but he kept shouting about how his assistance had been extremely conditional today and he wasn’t interested in being babied)

Though that knowing grin Pigsy shot him before doing so was certainly doing something to remind him about every single embarrassing story he had on the pig since college to threaten to indulge Sun Wukong in as what little blackmail he had left.

Sandy was a fair bit more roughed up, granted he’d been thrown through multiple buildings and every crash against the concrete that had made Tang’s gut lurch in fear and dread.

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself in these fights.” He found himself huffing quietly as he applied antiseptic to the huge gashes that had torn their way onto Sandy’s back.

He didn’t even flinch, and just laughed at the idea.

“I’ll be fine, Tang. Nothing small like this would be enough to take me down!” He forced the sterile cloth a little harder onto a certain wound right along Sandy’s spine to get the gravel out and felt the fish demon go rigid beneath his hands.

“Haha! Besides-” His voice was strained. “Rather it be me than the kids.” And the worst part was that he couldn’t even debate that! He was certain all of them would rather throw themselves into the jaws of agony than let any of the kids fall in themselves. (and by the surprisingly quick way Red submitted to Pigsy’s fretting they’d probably have another name on that list before too long)

But-

“That doesn’t make it less terrifying to have to see.” He leaned forward just a bit, feeling his forehead brush the space between Sandy’s shoulderblades, one of the few parts of his back that weren’t raw or freshly bandaged.

He felt Sandy take in a breath beneath him. “I’m sorry Tang… Musta’ looked pretty bad from the sidelines, huh?” The sidelines.

“You have no idea.”

He was always on the sidelines, huh? Long before all of this fighting and magic started coming around.

He’d only become friends with Pigsy in the first place because the history buildings and the kitchens were close to each other so they’d pass through the same pathways on their respective ways to class back in college, and he was obnoxious and curious and Pigsy was the only one from the Culinary Arts major who’d indulged him. He’d only even met Sandy at all because of their history.

He’d just always been extremely lucky to annoy the right people. Because he never took any real chances. He’d talk a lot of game back then, and even sometimes now, but he was always the real wallflower of the group.

Did he really have it in him?

It wasn't really a good hug but he didn't have to pull away, he didn't necessarily want to anyway. If he just left it there Sandy didn't have to know. He could just continue on and it never would raise any red flags.

He could.

Tang shuffled around, and though Sandy remained seated he twisted his body to face him and smiled that big, sweet, beautiful smile.

“I’ll try to be a little more careful, There is a difference between being a body shield and playing defense, I gotta remember that.”

Fuck it.

Leap of faith time.

…

He… He was supposed to say something. He was supposed to just say how he felt. But the impulse to DO something instead of just say something had for a moment driven him temporarily insane, so instead of just telling Sandy how he felt, like a normal person would have done, Tang decided to pick the stupid version of that and grab Sandy by his necklace and pull him in.

But dammit- he was TIRED of this!

And-.... it felt good. It felt really fucking good to finally kiss him. Sandy let out a muffled yelp of surprise but quieted quickly.

-But he didn’t kiss back.

Tang pulled away and willed himself not to be too upset, he knew this was coming after all.

Didn’t make it hurt any less to have the confirmation though.

Too late now. Might as well make the whole thing explicit.

“I’ve been in love with you for too damn long to watch you throw your life away like that.”

He braced himself for the vague noise of distress when it sunk in for Sandy what that meant. Braced himself for the ‘Oh… Tang I’m uh… I’m really sorry and I’m super flattered-’

And then a large, gentle hand hooked under his chin to keep him in place and-

Oh…

Well… that was a balm on his nerves. Tang responded to the second kiss as much as he could, which was admittedly a bit difficult for how chaste it actually was, but placing his hands on Sandy’s arm and leaned in, and- was this real? Was this really happening? Was he about to wake up at home halfway tangled up in bedsheets and cursing another day of being a coward?

He didn’t want it to end, but when Sandy pulled away and smiled down at him that big beautiful bashful smile, cheeks turning purple with a truly precious blush he couldn’t complain.

And then the sounds of cheering from the others broke up the moment.

“Fucking FINALLY”

--

Send me stuff

[scripttorture]

Hello! I’m a long time follower of this blog and first of all, I wanna thank you for your amazing work! I’ve learned so much from your analysis and explanations! My question is: I have a character that is kidnapped along with two partners/friends that are beaten to death in front of her. She then endures torture such as being repeatedly drowned, tased and whipped, and she spends most of the time in a stress position (hands tied above her head from the ceiling). That lasts about 2/3 days (1/2)

When they threaten her with rape, she says the information she’d been withholding in an attempt to escape it. Is this realistic, or does it go against the fact that the most you torture, the less the victim is likely to cooperate? Also, they end up raping her still, and shortly after that she is rescued by her friends. What would be the extent of her psychology damage? I don’t want her to bounce right back into work like nothing’s happened - that would be disrespectful to actual victims (2/2)

-

I find gauging/explaining the extent of psychological ‘damage’ difficult because one of the things I try to avoid here is grading people’s pain. We have a tendency to default to almost ranking these things and I don’t think that’s helpful. It’s a perfectly legitimate question (and I don’t think you are trying to rank how much this character suffers) but it’s a… cultural quirk that makes answering a bit more difficult.

 The truth is that with all of these things there’s a range of individual responses rather then one universal ‘right’ answer. So if you’re struggling remember that the target you’re trying to hit isn’t a pin, it’s a boulder.

 As you practice writing different survivors you’ll get more confident handling symptoms and long term mental health problems.

 I’ll circle back to that, let’s tackle the question of whether people ‘talk’ first. I think a lot of people get confused by this because there are a lot of factors at work and it’s difficult to picture the knock on effects of all of them at once.

 Torture does not lead to accurate information. It fundamentally can’t. And it can’t because of mixture of factors including:

how our memory works

how our nervous system works

how torturers behave

the effect torture has on organisations more broadly

the erosion of public trust torture causes

 The question of whether an individual victim ‘talks’ or not concerns the first two points. Which (putting it briefly) are: pain and trauma cause memory problems meaning that torture actively destroys the evidence it claims to seek and that we are stubborn creatures who become a lot less inclined to actively cooperate with people who hurt us.

 However the issue is bigger then the victim here.

 When an organisation uses torture they lose the public trust, people stop volunteering information. And volunteered information is the main source of accurate information for any organisation.

 This means that the majority of people arrested by these organisations typically know nothing. They are then tortured and given a big incentive to lie.

 This creates a cycle of increasing misinformation. I talk about this effect in more detail here.

 On top of all this torturers… how to put this… They don’t give a fuck about genuine investigation.

 They claim that they do. But their actions tell a different story.

 Torturers don’t record what their victims say. They do not fact check what their victims say. There are multiple recorded incidents of torturers continuing to ‘interrogate’ prisoners who did not speak the same language and of torturers continuing to torture when victims were clearly physically incapable of responding.

 There have also been cases where victims have reported trying to give up information only to have torturers completely ignore it and carry on.

 And torturers are no better at telling the difference between lies and truth then anyone else. They often believe lies told by victims who know nothing. And they are equally likely to dismiss the truth.

 The main point to understand here is: there’s a difference between a character giving up information and a torturer/organisation that tortures obtaining accurate information.

 Personally? I think it is easier from a writing perspective to have the character lie, especially if this is your first time writing something like this.

 Writing torture is hard. It will be a lot easier to avoid falling into the common torture apologia trope that ‘torture works’ if the character lies. Especially if you don’t think the narrative has the time and space to explore the knock on effects of torture on the villainous organisation.

 So this isn’t so much an issue of realism as what you feel you can take on in this story.

 A small number of people do try to tell torturers the truth or give up information. But the scale of misinformation that torture produces is so vast that any small truths get lost among the lies.

 Conversely readers expect that if they see a character telling torturers something true, there are going to be narrative consequences. They expect this to mean the Bad Guys ‘know everything’ and will act on it.

 Realistically… torture can’t produce that sort of coordinated, thought through response. Because for everything this character says there are twelve others in separate cells contradicting that information. Because her torturers may not actually want to hear the truth, because they’ve probably sunk a lot of time, effort and personal prestige into a lie they heard a month ago being ‘true’ instead.

 But that’s not a leap most readers will make. It isn’t a context you can expect the average reader to understand. That isn’t me disparaging your readers it’s just… accurate information on torture is hard to find or access, so most people believe the apologia they see everyday. It’s another kind of trope and we’re all used to tropes playing out a particular way.

 Question whether your story has the space to explain this context and whether it can be done in a way that’s narratively satisfying.

 If the answer is ‘no’, or if you just feel like it’s a lot to tackle, then I think you’re a lot better off with the character lying to her torturers.

 Looking over the torture scenario itself I think you do have a survivable scenario here.

 I would say that it’s uncommon for victims to be put in stress positions for a few hours: generally the typical time frame is around 24-48 hours. Using a stress position in this scenario would still be painful but you don’t need to use it. You already have a lot going on with five separate tortures (six if this character is beaten as well.)

 I don’t see anything wrong with keeping it in here if you feel it adds something to the story. But if you want to drop one of these abuses the stress position seems like the odd one out.

 Circling back to the beginning and the psychological problems torture causes, I think a definition of ‘disability’* is helpful here. Disability is any impairment, mental or physical, that has a substantial, long term, negative effect on daily life.

 That’s what we’re talking about with torture survivors.

 Recovery is possible. Life for survivors can get better. Every common psychological condition torture causes can improve with time, treatment and life style adaptions.

 But we are talking about disability. Improvement and a happy life doesn’t mean that someone goes back to the way they were before.

 Let’s take a few examples from the list of common symptoms which you can find here.

 An ‘easy’ example to think through would be something like chronic pain. I think most of us can imagine how being in pain every day would have a negative impact on your ability to do things.

 It can make it harder to perform normal, daily tasks. People with pain in their knees might struggle climbing stairs and walking long distances for instance. People with pain in their arms or shoulders might struggle to get dressed, hang washing on a line and access things on shelves above chest height.

 Chronic pain can also make it harder to interact positively with people and socialise. We’re rarely at are best when we’re in pain.

 A harder example to think through might be the kinds of long term memory problems torture commonly causes. You can read more about them here.

 One possible type of memory problem is a sort of general forgetfulness that a lot of survivors experience. It is not dementia, it isn’t a progressive loss of memory. But some survivors find it a lot harder to remember information and that can have a huge impact on a person’s daily life.

 Typical examples are things like:

forgetting medical appointments, which can lead to people being denied treatment

being consistently late for work, which can lead to loss of employment

difficulty managing money

forgetting to pay bills, leading to essential services being cut

forgetting meetings with friends, leading to reduced social life and isolation

 That’s not a complete list but hopefully it gives you an idea of some of the ways this particular symptom impacts daily life.

 This thought process that I’ve outlined is what you’re aiming for when you’re trying to think through symptom severity. It imagining the knock on effects on daily life and ensuring they’re at a level where the character is disabled.

 That will look different depending on the combination of symptoms you pick.

 Survivors don’t typically experience every possible symptom. As I said there’s variety; survivors of the same traumatic event can come out with completely different sets of symptoms and we’re not always sure why.

 Given that I think the best thing a writer can do is pick 3-5 symptoms from the list for their character and show those symptoms consistently over the course of the story.

 Remember that symptoms can improve. A person’s mental health problems can get better; but this means ‘easier to deal with’ rather then ‘no longer there.’

 It’s also worth keeping in mind that the same mental health problem can look different in different people. It’s common for people with depression to experience insomnia but it’s also common for people with depression to feel tired constantly, sleep excessively and find it impossible to get out of bed.

 Decide on the symptoms you want to write then take a moment to think about how they should manifest in this particular character.

 I find it helpful to consider what it will add to the story. If a symptom works well with a theme in the story or creates interesting narrative opportunities then it’s usually a good pick. When thinking through the severity of the symptom consider whether this particular disability would create interesting challenges for the character as the story progresses.

 Recovery and learning to live with disability takes months or years. It’s not linear and there are some people who will require regular assistance.

 Essentially because symptoms are so varied between survivors and because they can manifest is different ways I can’t give you a perfect road map to writing trauma. There isn’t one ‘correct’ way to do it because there isn’t one way it manifests in life.

 But it isn’t necessarily as hard as it sounds. Writing this stuff well takes practice, trial and error. That shouldn’t stop you from trying.

 If you can I’d recommend finding a beta reader or writing group. Having other people reading over your stuff and giving feedback can really help. It’s a good way to make sure your scenes are coming across as you intend them to.

 I’d also recommend taking a look through ScriptTraumaSurvivor’s archived blog here.

 I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*I’m quoting from UK anti discrimination law here mostly because I think it’s a clear, helpful way of picturing what we’re talking about.

[s5anyu]

Inuyashiki: Explorations of human nature

Inuyashiki: Last hero explores the impact on two characters, Hiro Shishigami and Ichirō Inuyashiki, of a supernatural event that grants them superhuman bodies. Their lives are irreversibly altered and inevitably intertwined as they both navigate the worlds in their new bodies. 

This essay will consider the question of whether people, both as individuals and as a collective, are inherently and absolutely good or bad, and how this theme presents itself throughout Inuyashiki: Last Hero.

We first get an insight into Inuyashiki’s inability to fulfil his desires due to his health, when he provokes a youth on the train into threatening him. The camera pans to his clenched fist. This suggests that he wishes to retaliate, however - most likely because of his poor health, he doesn’t. Therefore, he is unable to fulfil his desire at the time simply because it is physically impossible for him. However, this scene is a juxtaposition to what we see of Ichirō Inuyashiki before this scene – and immediately after, before the alien attack. He is shown to be a passive and lonely man, stuck in routine and unable to make those he cares about happy. The first 5 minutes of the show solidify the audience’s view of Inuyashiki as a man who simply wants the best for his family and wishes for his love for them to be reciprocated. If one takes views Inuyashiki: Last Hero as an exploration of human nature, it can be argued that this scene is intended to show that Inuyashiki, and therefore man, is not bound to the confines of his supposed nature – he is not absolutely good natured and caring.

When Inuyashiki first becomes aware of his new body, he recalls the incident and immediately decides that he must meet with Shishigami in order to get a better understanding of what has happened to him. As he takes a walk, he becomes aware of his newly enhanced sense of hearing, which draws him to the scene of a rough sleeper, eager to turn over a new leaf, being violently assaulted by a gang of youths. This is the first time in the show that we see an act that can be considered as an absolute evil. Inuyashiki is decisive about approaching this scene despite his lack of combat experience, which speaks to his kind-hearted nature, which we are initially exposed to at the beginning of the episode. With no combat ability or definitive understanding of what his body will be able to do to help him, he steps in. 

When his body intervenes and ends the assault, he cries tears of joy at the idea that he saved someone’s life, proclaiming “I am a person. I am still a person capable of feeling. I feel alive. I am Inuyashiki Ichirō.” Inuyashiki’s definition of what makes him a person – and himself – is the ability to do good by others and to feel emotion. This also shows that in losing his human body, Inuyashiki was forced for the first time to introspect on himself in order to come to this conclusion. However, it could also be argued that he was aware of what made him human, and what made him feel alive, and simply did not feel like he was living. The first interpretation would reflect the notion that our understanding of the self is defined for us by society, rather than through an assessment of ourselves, and what we believe to be right and wrong. The second interpretation would be the beginning of the juxtaposition of Shishigami and Inuyashiki, which will be discussed in the next paragraph.

The second episode shows Shishigami as already having done this introspection to himself. Having had his cyborg body for the same amount of time as Inuyashiki, Shishigami has come to an entirely different conclusion – that he is no longer human. Striking up a conversation during a visit to his friend Ando who has been absent from school for a while, he declares “I basically am empty. I’m not really Hiro Shishigami anymore.” He shows Ando his various cyborg abilities, each gradually escalating in intensity, until he causes a mass car accident at a busy intersection, leading Ando to realise that Hiro is in fact, not using magic tricks. 

However, before we paint Hiro as an antagonist and as an evil person we should return to his declaration that he is empty and no longer Hiro Shishigami. Hiro Shishigami is later revealed to be a young boy who found pleasure in the loss of other people’s lives, as shown when he recollects a suicide he witnessed. Before the incident, he did not take other people’s lives, nor did he participate in the physical harm of others. However, he found pleasure in the idea of doing such a thing, and in this, he demonstrates the will to harm others, long before he has the ability to do so. Through this revelation, we are shown that a person’s morals and ethics cannot be determined through their actions, and often what somebody thinks is right and evil is not the moral code by which they govern themselves. Throughout the life he lived in his human body, Shishigami was aware that his feelings and desires were abnormal to what is deemed right and acceptable in society around us, and so governed himself by society and humanity’s principles instead. 

When he undergoes his metamorphosis, he believes that he is no longer human, and so governs himself by the principle of what gratifies him, and what he deems “acceptable” within his own ideals. Shishigami lives a life that is satisfying to him, taking care of his mother and offering a means of vengeance to his friend Ando. He has achieved gratification for himself, and so introspectively he is a good person. Now, let us return to Inuyashiki. If we interpret his declaration of feeling alive as meaning that him not truly living was defined by his inability to do good by others and make them happy, we see immediately that he and Shishigami are antitheses of each other. Both characters were bound by different things – Inuyashiki by his health and appearance, Shishigami by society’s expectations. Inasmuch that they were bound by different things, they were bound in different ways. Shishigami who wished to do as he pleased, regardless of and for the sake of harm caused to others; Inuyashiki who wanted to do good by others wherever he could. The metamorphosis allows both of them to fulfil their desires, but the opposing nature of their wishes brings them into direct conflict which becomes the centre of the show’s narrative.

The show continues like this, with Shishigami causing chaos on larger and larger scales. His final act of chaos is the crashing of multiple passenger planes into the city of Tokyo. Upon diverting this emergency, Inuyashiki is prevented from saving his daughter Mari from a burning building by Shishigami who finally confronts Inuyashiki.  Shishigami comes to the realisation that he is the villain and as Inuyashiki pleads for him to stop killing people and makes to depart, Shishigami attacks and they begin to fight – but not before Shishigami asserts that he and Inuyashiki are one and the same; that they are selfish and do only what pleases them. This is not an unfamiliar idea to Inuyashiki, as seen after his attack on the Koudankai syndicate. He reprimands the syndicate after his cyborg body takes away their vision and damages their spinal cord, taking the role of an arbiter of justice – a hero. However, when described as such by Ando, he sadly reveals that he is afraid that he is just a killing machine. Inuyashiki recognises that even if he is helping people, he is hurting others in turn.

What sets Inuyashiki apart from the seemingly evil Shishigami?

Though it was his body that undertook the attack on the Koudankai syndicate, Inuyashiki takes responsibility for what happened and implicitly views it as a part of what he needed to do in order to save the life of an innocent victim. Shishigami and Inuyashiki both bring people to harm (though Inuyashiki doesn’t kill people in the way Shishigami does) in order to fulfil a goal that benefits them. However, because Inuyashiki’s goal also benefits others, we do not perceive him to be selfish in the same way that we perceive Shishigami. It is only when we make each man’s actions relative to something else that we are able to determine whether or not something is good or bad. Inuyashiki seriously injuring dozens of men in order to save Inoue is a morally questionable act, one that we can only determine to be good if we compare it to something else or observe the net benefit. Do bad people deserve bad things to happen to them? Perhaps the end goal of saving Inoue was a large enough benefit and therefore a justification for Inuyashiki’s actions. However, some of Shishigami’s actions were for the benefit of someone else too.

Under the influence of Shion Watanabe, Shishigami seeks out some form of atonement in the form of healing others in the same way as Inuyashiki. In order to quell Shion’s distress he says, “I’ll save the lives of people who are about to die. I’ll save as many lives as I’ve taken. That’ll work right?” He makes this proposition as a form retribution for what he has done, and yet the language he uses suggests that he feels no guilt – only that he wants to do the right thing in order to make Watanabe happy.

He stole money from ATMs to provide for his ill single mother with whom he lived in poor conditions. This was a selfish action, but it benefitted somebody else too. And yet this is seen as a bad thing by others, including Naoyuki who most likely knew how Shishigami and his mother lived. When his mother was driven to suicide by shame and pressure from the media, in vengeance he killed people who were harassing his father’s family, and people who spoke ill about his mother on internet forums. Both Inuyashiki and Shishigami brought harm to others as arguably equal retribution for the suffering of others, but only one of them is regarded as a hero for their actions.

When Shion and her grandmother die during the raid on the Watanabe household, Shishigami is consumed by guilt and resurrects them, apologising tearfully before flying away. Shishigami still has the potential to be empathetic and guilty, things that are associated with being human, despite Shishigami separating himself from humanity. Shishigami’s rejection of his humanity is perhaps only a way for him to justify his pursuit of his twisted desires. In the final episode when Inuyashiki and Shishigami are on the asteroid attempting to stop it from reaching earth, Shishigami says “even I have people I care about. I don’t want Shion or Chokko [Ando Naoyuki] to die.” He reveals that he intends to sacrifice his life to save their lives, listening regretfully as Shion weeps for him. He appears to be at peace as his body detonates. In the process of saving people who he loves, 

Shishigami has sacrificed his life to save the entire world; he has done a good thing, thus proving that he is not absolutely evil. The surprise that Inuyashiki expresses towards Shishigami ending his life to save the world suggests that he doesn't believe this to be possible - he is of the view that in order to do evil things, one must be inherently and entirely evil, and in doing good things, one proves that they are inherently and entirely evil. What is Inuyashiki's supposed world view shaped by? 

Perhaps in seeing the evils of the world first hand and feeling as though the people he encountered could never be redeemed, Inuyashiki despaired and viewed the evil of humankind as irredeemable, an idea that is all too common in our own society. We see the state of the world, our leaders, the people, and we too despair. But the story leaves us with hopes of redemption; in seeing Shishigami as sad, vulnerable and peaceful as he sacrifices his life to save the entire planet; in seeing the once helpless and sickly Inuyashiki become a hero who heals and protects, we are shown that man is not and will not be confined to his nature – regardless of what that nature is.

[sillytorch]

I’ve seen multiple, if not so many different takes on Roman Torchwick’s canon backstory that I might as well say my take on it (No he’s not the Brunswick Farms kid. The artist for it confirmed it was just a random character design, check the notes for the source):

I like to think that Roman was always a little shit, even as a kid. Maybe not as horrible as he became during his adulthood, but he was definitely a delinquent. And he definitely did not have a good relationship with his parents... he might have not even grown up with siblings. Speaking of his parents, they were most likely just abusive (of the mental and emotional kind).

I don’t think he was dirt poor but I don’t think he was rich either. He most likely grew up in a middle class home (you can decide which spectrum of middle class he was on).

Even though he was a delinquent, he still attended school but he most likely dropped out b/c well... he seems like the type of person who was expelled at least one time in school. On top of that, Roman most likely either grew up in an urban area or a suburban area.

I feel like with what I said and the fact that the show implied that he himself was a streetrat based on Mercury’s comment to Cinder (“My dad once said if you want to get to know a city, ask the rats.”) so I’m just gonna say that Roman most likely ran away from home at a young age (13-14 y/o).

Speaking of his childhood, I do think Roman at one point, wanted to be a huntsman. It may sound very crazy considering his last words, but his last words are what made me think about it:

“You wanna be a HERO?? THEN PLAY THE PART AND DIE LIKE EVERY OTHER HUNTSMAN IN HISTORY!!!!”

The tone of voice he has as he’s screaming that to Ruby, he doesn’t just sound like an asshole, he sounds bitter. And before that, he starts talking about “THE REAL WORLD” being “COLD” and “NOT CARING ABOUT SPIRIT”

(and keep in mind, he says all of that after losing Neo, someone he trusted and was probably the only true friend and family he had. Before losing Neo, he was very confident about his position, that he was on the winning side. But once she gets thrown off, he suddenly becomes so negative and flies off into a rage that we’ve never seen of him before)

Those last words he screams during his emotional breakdown, it wasn’t just to break Ruby’s spirit before he (unsuccessfully) kills her, he was most likely venting about how he feels about huntsmen because he probably feels betrayed by his idealized version of huntsmen when he was a kid versus the reality of huntsmen.

Think about it: being a huntsmen to a kid seems really cool. You fight monsters, you get the glory as the hero, legends and tales are written about you... seems like a really cool thing to basically any boy. But we all know the reality of huntsmen as we’ve seen in the show, which... is pretty Grimm (*rimshot*). They don’t exactly have the best living conditions, they die relatively young, training is brutal, some huntsmen turn out to be corrupt or militarized into super soldiers, may I go on?

My point is, Roman during his teen years as a streetrat most likely knew a huntsman, possibly was even friends with them at one point. Maybe said huntsman straight up took him after awhile. MAYBE, said huntsman tried to help clean up Roman by properly training him to become a huntsman and applying to a huntsman academy. Probably b/c a huntsman academy has a lot of resources, like food, shelter, training, which would have helped out Roman. And well... it could have worked... but it didn’t...

Because something HORRIBLE happened to that huntsman friend, and Roman was there to witness it. Something so shocking that pretty much gave Roman the idea of the reality of a huntsman‘s life... and that lead to him becoming this jaded man who doesn’t care about anybody or anything. Why care about a world if no one’s gonna care about or respect you no matter who you are? The real world is cold... lonely... and doesn’t care about spirit... so why care at all? So, he went back to becoming a streetrat and eventually started his growth as a serious criminal.

Now how did he met Neo? Well... according to One Thing, Roman took her in during a hard point in her life:

Gone's the life That he gave

I was nowhere I had no one I felt nothing Lost without a voice and on my own Then a candle's flame Brought a brand new name

I had one thing And you've taken it from me A single light A single friend But you made that end There was one thing To help escape the misery And now it's all disarrayed You took my whole life away You sent me back to nothing Now you'll pay

This man took Neo in. I’m not sure EXACTLY when in his life he took her in and they became partners, but he took her in. And while this song is from Neo’s perspective, it kind of says a lot about Roman too, especially if you take how he treats her in the show in context:

V2 Ch 4: “Neo if you would!” (Roman proudly says after smiling at Neo for coming to his rescue)

V3 Ch 10: He takes the scroll from Neo’s hand and looks very happy and remarks at her as he takes it, “Now this one? This one’s gonna be fun!”

Also V3 Ch 10: “Go see what’s out there.” (Roman says even though he’s annoyed, he calmly tells her to check outside the ship. Keep in mind, this is the same man who insults his grunts, threatens his allies, and has even attempted to talk back to Cinder a few times)

V3 Ch 11: Literally their entire fight makes it clear that these two have fought together before based on their teamwork. For example: note how when Roman enters, he waits for Neo’s illusion to get hit by Ruby’s bullet, and once the bullet shatters it, Roman shoots right afterwards. He knows Neo’s semblance so he could have just shot through her illusion the moment he saw Ruby right? But he didn’t because, it’s Neo. If he shoots through the illusion (or what he thinks is the illusion), he risks hurting Neo in the process. And THAT is just one of the many examples of how much he cares about her during this fight, including his famous “NEO!!!” cry.

This man cares about Neo. She might have been the One Thing, Roman cared about. Probably the one thing that mattered to him in the world, a friend, a family member... she was probably the only thing left in this cold, cruel, spiritless world he cared about. And once a certain little red started foiling his plans to keep him and Neo afloat from whatever doomsday Cinder and Salem are planning on Remnant, and said little red threw Neo into a sky thousands of feet up in the air full of Grimm where for all he knew, Neo was dead.

This might actually be what led Roman into that rant about the world as he LITERALLY beat it into Ruby’s head: that the world is cold and cruel, and he ends up proving that right to her, because not only did he lose his only friend, he died at the moment he was about to kill Ruby. It didn’t matter what side he was on, he never got what he wanted. Basically it seems like his entire life, the world basically yanked the chain on him and his entire life, leading up to his death proved it.

Now does that excuse all of the horrific acts he’s done in the series? NO! It doesn’t!! He became a horrible person! Yes he did one nice thing by taking in Neo during a hard point in her life, but this man’s legacy was being a high profile criminal and he felt no remorse for that!

But this analysis and theory... if the theory is true that is, may explain why he did what he did. Explanation =/= Excuse.

[soheila-1996]

Wake up, Rookie- Part two

Paring: Ethan x MC

Warnings: Traumatic brain injury/ coma, mention of car accident and drink driving. 

Word count: 2,113

Catch up here

Tags:  @dulceghernandez​   @rookie-ramsey​ @choicesandanimeruleme​ @aylamwrites​ @ethansmommyissues​ @schnitzelbutterfingers @therookie​ @lilyvalentine​ @sitihania @cordoniaqueensworld​ @eramsey28​​

Any feedback is always super appreciated! :) All characters belong to Pixelberry

(Ethan’s POV)

Who knew that one phone call could change everything?

One call could change your entire world? 

It’s now the next evening. Time passes so slowly in here. A minute feels like an eternity in this place. It’s hardly any wonder why people become so antsy after being here for sometime. 

This entire situation is making me see this place differently. I now understand why people hate this place. I’d never thought that I would come to hate it but I guess I was wrong. 

If I could turn back time and make her stay, I would. I’d do anything to change it so we’re not in the situation we’re now in. 

Casey’s friends have all stopped by; they’re just as equally concerned as I am. I wish I could change it but I can’t. Everyone is being so kind and empathetic because they don’t know that it’s my fault. 

Her parents are on the way and they’ve contacted her brother. Calling her parents was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do because I can’t tell them with full certainty that she’s going to be okay. I wish I could but I can’t. 

The driver that crashed into her car was drunk, he got away completely unscathed. The audacity that man had to get drunk, crash into her then just drive off is unbelievable. The police pulled him over shortly after the accident for running multiple red lights- at least they got him. That’s something but means very little to me right now. 

I wish it was him. 

The hard thing is that I’m not even sure she’d want me here. 

My mind keeps wandering to the worst case scenarios. A traumatic brain injury isn’t something people quickly recover from; if they recover at all. When- if she wakes up she’ll have possibly months of rehabilitation in front of her. Apparently, the car had rolled a couple times before stopping, that’s pretty obvious by the state the rest of her body is in. 

I turn to the door when I hear a knock. Soon Abigail, Casey’s mother, strolls in. I'm surprised that her dad isn’t behind her. I gently place Casey’s hand down onto the bed and then stand to greet her mother. Abigail pulls me into a hug that I soon return. 

“How’s she doing?” she asks as she pulls away. 

“She’s er…” I turn around to briefly look at her lying unmoving. “She’s doing well considering. Harper operated on her last night to relieve some of the pressure on her brain-” 

“Brain surgery?” She interrupts. I simply nod. From my point of view it's terrifying even though I know why it needed to be done but I can't imagine what it’s like for her. I can’t imagine how I would feel If it was my child. “But she’s okay?” 

“Yeah. Like I said, she’s doing really well. She’s stable.”  Abigail nods and walks over to Casey’s bed- Again, I can’t begin to imagine how this feels for her. Her hand hovers over Casey’s hand laying lifeless. She goes to touch her but decides against it. 

“You can touch her,” I tell her, “Just be careful that you don’t move anything.” I moved to stand beside her as she picked up her daughter’s hand. We both stay in silence for a little while as she continues to examine her daughter’s battered appearance. 

“I didn’t think she was going to look like this,” she whispers. She turns around to face me, still gripping Casey’s hand. “When you told me- I didn’t think-” 

“I know,” I nod and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“Anthony is at the hotel,” she tells me. I was wondering where he was. I know that Casey and her dad are as thick as thieves. 

“I know. You don’t have to stay at a hotel. You and Anthony can come and stay at our house, Casey would want you to.” 

“He couldn’t...He just couldn’t come and see her like this,” She explains.  I understand how she’s feeling. I understand Anthony's hesitation to come and see her; I had the same feeling when I arrived at the hospital the other day after speaking to Harper. 

*** 

After the phone call from Harper, I rushed to the hospital. Going 20 over the required speed limit but I just need to get to her and the roads are like a ghost town anyway. As soon as I reached Edenbrook, I quickly parked my car, then burst through the ER doors. Tears are streaming down my cheeks but I don’t care- there are far more important things to be worrying about than whoever sees me crying.  

My eyes are wandering frantically around the ER; Harper had told me that she would meet me here but I don’t see her anywhere. 

I feel sick. 

“Dr Ramsey.” I turn around at the sound of my name being called. I’m faced with a young, nervous looking woman- a nurse I’m able to tell by her scrubs. “Come with me.” She walks towards the elevator and so I follow, assuming that she’s taking me to wherever Harper is. As soon as we leave the elevator- I soon realise we’re on the floor where the ICU is located, we round a corner and bump into Harper. 

“Thank you, Jen,” Harper said, smiling warmly at the woman. “I can take it from here.” With that Jen takes her leave. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, cutting to the chase. 

“Come with me.” Harper leads me down a hallway and into a small, unoccupied meeting room that contains a small table and a few chairs. Harper gestures to a chair but I continue to stand. Harper turns around to face me, leaning back against the table. 

“Harper...please just tell me what’s going on. Is she okay?” I plead. I’ve already figured out that she’s not based on the fact we’re in an ICU meeting room and Harper has never been someone to exaggerate. I know If it wasn’t bad, Harper would’ve just told me on the phone but she didn't and now I’m panicking. 

“She’s critical, Ethan,” Harper tells me. My heart sinks right down into my stomach. It’s what I expected if I’m being honest but… “ She was taken immediately to CT when she arrived, there is considerable swelling on her brain. Ortho is coming down shortly to make sure all the broken bones have been set correctly. As you can probably imagine, she’s  got quite a few of them. She has a compound fracture in her right leg, a few hairline fractures in her right foot and the left leg is  basically in the same state, she’s  also broken her left femur, she’s  broken her right wrist too and has a fair few cuts and bursaries all of  and has a seat belt burn across her chest. None of the breaks have caused any problem with circulation so that’s something. Obviously the head injury is the one we're most concerned about. She is unresponsive and so far has had no response to any stimuli. We’ve intubated her and she is on a ventilator now.” 

My heart just continues to sink as Harper lists off her injuries. My knees threaten to buckle from beneath me but I hold myself up. “Just...Just tell me she’s going to be okay,” I beg her. I know that she can’t tell me that but I just...I need her to. I need a little smidge of hope that everything is going to be okay. 

 Harper looks down at the floor then back up to me. She gives me a sad smile, “Ethan, I wish I could but you know I can’t.” 

A tear slips down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. I let out shaky a breath, sniffling. “What do I- Harper, what do I do now? I don’t know what to do.” 

Harper steps forward and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You just wait. She’s a fighter; give her a chance. Do you want to go and see her?” 

My eyes begin to tear up again. “I can’t,” I say shaking my head. “I can’t I- I can’t see her like that, Harper.” 

Harper gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze, “You can. You have to.” 

I hesitantly nod. Harper leads me out of the room and down another hallway until we reach her room. I go to open the door but then I think back over what Harper just told me about her condition and then I let go of the door handle; shaking my head. 

I can’t.

 I just can’t. 

“She needs you.” If only she knew that the reason she’s laying in that bed to begin with is my fault. I shake my head; she doesn’t need me. “She really needs you right now. 

Against my better judgement, I push the door open. I stand frozen in the doorway and let out a loud, uncontrolled sob. Even my imagination hadn’t managed to conjure up something this bad. 

Even my nightmares aren’t in any way shape or form this bad. 

*** 

The room is otherwise silent except for the machines surrounding Casey’s bed and the clock ticking on the far wall; Abigail is sitting beside me silently. Neither of us know what to say to each other. Is there anything we can say? 

It’s been nearly two days and I don’t think I’m ever going to be okay or get used to seeing her like this. I’ve had moments when I’ve wanted to walk away and not come back because it’s hard. It’s too hard to see her this way. It's frightening how she was okay one minute and then she’s like this the next. It’s terrifying how quickly things can go wrong. 

The silence with the exception of the machines is deafening. How anyone else in my position is able to keep their sanity intact is beyond me right now. Considering the circumstances it’s probably not completely unacceptable to lose my shit but I don’t really want my breakdown to be hospital gossip; which without a shadow of a doubt, it would certainly become. 

I choose to close my eyes for a second but I immediately open them again once her heart rate monitor begins to incessant beep as if it’s a truck reversing. I get to my feet, accidentally causing the chair to topple over in the process. 

“What’s happening?!” Casey’s mother asks me as the room is filled with an ear piercing long string of sound as Casey goes into cardiac arrest. 

Shit! 

I know what I need to do but I’m frozen in place. I can’t move, i can’t think, I can’t act in an attempt to save her life. My girlfriend's life. 

Soon the crash team rush into the room in a flurry of colours, sounds and strategic, practised movements. 

In the distance I vaguely hear Abigail arguing with someone that’s telling her to leave. I don’t move; I just watch in horror as one of them is pushing down on her chest as the team continues their resuscitation efforts, another is standing at the head of Casey’s bed with a bag valve mask connected to the end of the already placed intubation tube. From where I’m standing I’m able to hear a crack as one of her ribs snaps. I wince and look away to see Harper and Naveen standing in front of me, both trying to get my attention. 

“Ethan, leave. Now,” Harper tells me. I shake my head in defiance, I don’t want to leave, I need to be in here. I want to know what they’re doing to her. I need to know if their attempts work. I don’t want to hear it from somebody else if, god forbid, they don’t manage to bring her back. 

I turn away from Harper and Naveen and back to Casey. I flinch when her body arches off the bed as they shock her. I feel  someone, Naveen probably, place a hand on my shoulder. “Ethan, come on. You don’t need to see this.” 

I still make no attempt to move; I’m still frozen in place. Naveen and Harper essentially drag me out of the room. They both move to stand in front of Casey’s room to prevent me going back in. I move away from them when I realise that they’re not going to move. I move to the wall beside the door and slide down it and buried my face into my hands. I don’t care who sees this. I just need her to be okay. If she’s not; I’m not sure I will survive it. 

[mellow-em]

Bedlam (Sam Drake)

CHAPTER 1: LEFT BEHIND

The life she had built in only a year had disintegrated, and she was set on her stubborn mindset of finding her purpose away from Jackson.

I DO NOT OWN ANY TLOU OR UNCHARTED CHARACTERS! ALL RIGHTS GO TO NAUGHTY DOG!

(This is a tlou x uncharted crossover. It’s set in tlou universe, but its a fic between an oc of mine, and Sam! I’m not sure how this is gonna turn out so please bear with me)

Prologue

_________________________________

-ABOUT 3/4 YEARS LATER-

Nevada, U.S.

_________________________________

The green inferno of the forest surrounding me was almost suffocating at this point, not to mention my lungs burning from the treacherous run I had to commit to in the boiling temperatures of Nevada not even a few moments ago.  

This trip was supposed to be a simple one to retrieve food, scope out the area, and return to the base I developed overtime. Though, I guess it was my fault to even consider it a non-lengthy adventure, with the infected still coursing through the entirety of the world.

It almost felt like my backpack was weighing on my entire body as I lazily slid myself down against the base of a tree to sit myself onto the foliage. As my  momentary vitality wore away, my limbs weakened with every passing second.

Running aimlessly for your life was the only thing that annoyed the hell out of me, mainly because it happens so often now.

It was mainly caused by the wide ranges of infected that have been circulating this area for weeks, all while trapping me within their circulation as I ventured further into the forest.

Since then, there had been little to no escape from their confinement in the middle of the woods. I would need to break for it sooner or later.

While I knew it was a huge risk, I couldn’t also risk dying from famine or another natural circumstance. Joel had always told me it was ridiculous of me to perceive death as a triumphant experience that needed to be commemorated and memorable.

But to me, if I died from a natural cause, I would feel as though it could be added to the list of wasted opportunities for something all the more grand.

The mind fog slowly engulfing me was blown away by a branch cracking not too far from where I was sitting.

My ears, along with my attention, perked up by the sudden noise.

Shit.

My hand slowly glided across the side of my hip, reaching for what I pray could be a good defense. I felt the slightest bit of relief when I grazed the handle of my switchblade.

The wooden handle was carved smoothly to encase the sharpened metal end; it was something beautifully valuable to me, as it was one of the things that I had left that reminded me of Jackson, and of my surrogate family.

The family I left behind.

There was another small detonation of what now sounded to be leaves crunched on the dirt. Whomever or whatever it was, it wasn’t moving quickly.

My mind first created the image of a clicker, though its grotesque voice wasn’t echoing throughout the trees. My thoughts began to charge as I began contemplating my next move.

As the noises got closer towards the trunk I hid myself behind, my breathing became ragged and unsteady. Growing more frantic, I discarded the knife idea, and reached for my revolver that was wedged into its holster.

Slowly pulling the gun out, my hands gripped it with a force that turned my knuckles into flaming snow. The heartbeat I carried within me scorched in my throat, creating a lump I very much needed to swallow.

I gulped down the blockage harshly, reverberating a sound too loud considering the condition of my surroundings. I cursed myself out in my head for it, knowing I’d have to turn the safety of the gun off not too long after.

I hoped intelligence of what was traveling closer to me was slim to none, mainly because anyone with an average IQ could probably recognise the sounds and cause a scene.

I suck in a cavernous breath, only to release it with a shaken state packaged alongside.

I close my eyes, and prepare for the worst, before raising from my stance on the ground.

My gun was firmly held in front of me, as if it were a barrier from all evil. I only took the time to stare at the culprit of the echoing commotions for a second, before pressing my fingers down on the trigger. 

A low pitched grunt reverberated through my ears, along with the blare of a gunshot. The figure jerked slightly from it’s position while doing so, creating a brief stumble. 

As I lowered the gun from it’s stern position in my hands, an overwhelming wave of tension froze my body in place. 

My thin eyebrows retracted from being furrowed from anger to worry, as did the slight wrinkles present on my features from years of age and affliction. 

The menace responsible for my frightened, yet threatening state wasn’t any form of the fungal infested beings that surrounded this forest.

It was a man.

His back was slightly turned, though I was able to take in a few of his features. His hair was a lighter brown, with the sun brightening its shade by a ton. It was fairly short, though it looked as though it had been neglected.

He held a navy blue long sleeve on his back, with dirt particles, along with sweat coating it altogether. It was fairly warm where we were, so it was apparent that he either wasn’t from here, or he didn’t know how to properly succumb to the weather. 

My eyes then traveled down to his lower back. It was drenched in a hauntingly beautiful shade of crimson. I could clearly hear the rapid breaths fuming from his mouth, almost in the form of a wheeze too. God what have I done.

As soon as I finally had the strength to take a step towards him, his breath hitches. He whips around to face me, giving me an opportunity to take in his face.

I noticed his shrewd blue eyes that were almost a shade of sapphire. Though, I was able to pinpoint multiple blotches of green and lighter hues of turquoise.

Overall though, his eyes were glossed over with sheer pain along with an obvious smudge of exhaustion. 

He held a small amount of stubble along the lines of his sharp jawline and chin. But again, it looked to be just as unkempt as the rest of him. He was a mess of course. But, courtesy of me, he was an even bigger disaster. 

 His face continued to contort in pain, much to my guilt and dismay. The unknown state of his physical trauma unnerved me to no end; I needed to look at the damage I’ve caused for myself. 

“Lift your shirt,” I simply croaked, with me then earning a look of defiance with a hint of panic.

“Why should I-”

“Christ do you wanna die out here?,” I questioned rhetorically, which surprisingly shut him up swiftly.

I knelt down towards the covered wound, though a strong tear was visible on his shirt. 

“Fuck, it shot straight through.” I mumbled to myself, with a string of curse words following after. 

I inspected the shredded fabric for a little longer before remembering the constraint that potential death was forcing him to endure. The pads of my fingertips grazed the shirt gently.

His eyes travel to my hands, watching my fingers place themselves on the hem of his shirt to lift it. 

My eyes widened slightly as I notice his shirt was snug on the wound, most likely making it impossible to lift it without more pain than normal. 

And with that action, a wave of anxiety visibly washes over him, “what is it?”

“Your shirt is stuck to it-.. this is gonna hurt”

“It’s okay I've had wors- oh crap,” his voice crumbled as he hissed the words out, his speech faltering due the pain. 

“Sorry- shit” I stop for a moment to gently life the shirt from the bloodstained skin of his lower abdomen before continuing to raise it any further. Once the shirt was detached from clinging to him, my fingers hoist the shirt upwards delicately, as the man still continues to wince in distress.

The whole mess on his stomach was the scene of a bloodbath; revealing the reason for the floods of ichor that canceled out the tones of his tanned skin.

It was something that definitely can create a burden, or even a grim fate for the poor bastard. A gaping hole surged through his abdomen, with blood now circling the gash.

“Holy fuck,” I breathed out. I rushed to turn away from his injury, with my gag reflex threatening me with my inspections continuing.

He was losing a lot of blood, and at this rate his injury would become infectious if nothing is done quickly. Or he could die right in front of me, and I couldn’t let my carelessness with a gun jeopardize someones life. 

I’m such a fucking idiot.

I let my backpack fall off my shoulders and onto the ground behind me, giving off minimal sound.

A few strands of short hair fell from behind my ears, eventually sticking to my face that happened to be drenched in sweat.

I unzipped my bag, and with no hesitation, I dove my hands in to reach for what I hoped would be exactly what I was looking for.

I felt around the entirety of the pack’s interior, with that sliver of hope deteriorating each time I touched an item. After a few moments of searching through, I could hear the man stumble slightly behind me.

As if on cue, I felt a roll of soft fabric brush the surface of my fingers, and I released a sigh of pure relief. I pull the roll of firm gauze from its original place in my bag, and turn to face the now whimpering man.

I could see tears threatening to form in his eyes as I looked at him, and my lips flatlined; he was in so much pain but he still attempted to hide it. 

His skin was getting to be dangerously pale, with his warm complexion draining with his blood.

I stand from the ground, carefully placing my free hand onto his broad shoulder. He jumped suddenly as I did so, but visibly relaxed as much as he could after a few moments.

“I need you to try and sit on this.” I bob my head towards the direction of a larger rock protruding from the ground beneath. It was covered in mud along with various patches of carpet-like moss, but it would have to do.

He hesitates, pushing me away from him slightly, “I’m gonna be fine I don’t need you to-”

“Not to be rude but shut the fuck up and sit, please” I gave him a pleading stare, hoping he would stop being so damn stubborn.

After taking the deepest of inhales to secure his oxygen, he maneuvers himself to sit on the rock. He remained stiff, still choking on his own projectile yelps of anguish, but he managed to get himself down onto the rock. 

“I’m gonna wrap this around you, alright?” I lean back down onto the ground, closer to his wounded midriff, with the medical wrapping clenched within both of my palms.

The man exchanged a look between my hands that held the gauze, and the expression draped across my face. He looked even more unsure of me now than when he glanced at me the first time after me shooting him, but in all honesty I wasn’t going to judge.

I continued to let him contemplate whether to bail or remain in my care for now, as frustrating as it was getting. I wasn’t usually the type of person to let my impatience tower over my empathy unless necessary, even though I had snapped at him once already.

It wasn’t until I heard the gruesome sounds of the undead not too far from us, that I didn’t wait for a single ounce of approval. No matter what, I wasn’t going to let him die in my sights if I have this chance to save him in front of me.

As I begin to hastily wrap the bandage around his injury, he unintentionally cries out in pain, unknowingly triggering the numbers of infected surrounding the forest.

Their moans of displeasure and sickening thirst for the suffering such as us grew closer, and I began to panic for the crippled human before me.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“What is it-,” his confusion snapped into worry as soon as a whale of a runner erupts towards the east, “Oh crap.”

“They must've heard the commotion,” I muttered under my breath.

Once I finally wrap the injury to my satisfaction, I bring the roll to my mouth and tear the wrapping away from the roll itself as quickly as I could. While holding the gauze protection in place, I turn around to face my backpack once more.

With another minute passing by, the intense roars of clickers catches my attention now. My rapid breathing began to shake my body, and wrestle with my stomach. I needed to move much faster.

I drop the gauze from my hands in, and replace it with a roll of duct tape. With my mouth, I rip off a large strand of the structured adhesive, placing it over the bandage to hold it in place.

I unravel his now crinkled shirt, covering the work I had just done with one swift motion.

“We have to go. NOW.” I gesture for him to get up with urgency, in which he does so with minimal grace; stumbling slightly with a pained expression drenched on his entire being.

I grab my backpack, and throw it over my shoulders before allowing his arm to swing over my shoulders for support.

I did my best to solely sustain my focus on him as he got situated, annihilating the thoughts of dying in the hands of the infected.

“Get ready to haul ass, come on!”

He grunted in response as I began to trudge through the woodland forest with him fitted at my side.

This ominous feeling of anxiousness while pleading to save another created a sense of deja vu. I’ve been in this situation before, but with someone I once knew. Joel.

History was beginning to replicate, leaving my mind clouded with the thought of each event running its course fully with new people.

I let out an exasperated sigh, annoyed with my unfortunate timing for such conceptions. I needed to focus, not reminisce.

Another groan from behind me resulted in a complete snap back into reality.

While carrying the man’s force, heaves of air continued enter and escape his lips as he began to stumble on his feet slightly. The feeling of his weight was growing heavier, as he became much weaker.

“Shit, stay with me. We got this.” my attempts at reassurance did not prevail however, with his hyperventilation slowly progressing into drawn out sighs.

My grip onto his shoulder tightened, producing a sharpened soreness within my arm. My hold on him was overwhelming my strength, testing my limits as I pulled for him to move more quickly.

Wavering uncertainty of whether or not either of us were going to make it to my base camp alive, sat in the lap of my head. 

There wasn’t anything I could do about it until this heart-racing moment in time subsided; which seemed to not be ending soon enough.

No matter how much effort I put in, getting him to travel at a faster pace was absolutely no use.

He continued to fall in and out of his rush. I knew the swarm was inches from us at this point.

My blood ran cold as I felt a tug on my flesh. I swatted my arm away from the offender, succeeding as I place my arm at my side again. The pain electrified my system.

I felt the frigid sense of my own blood as it drew lines of red down my arm.

I didn’t bother to show any signs of torment, however; my face remained expressionless to keep the man attached to me from dismay.

While looking into the distance, I could see base camp in all its glory; a small, wooden dwelling that looked to be abandoned for years upon years.

To the naked eye, it wasn’t visible. A barricade held its own, as it was tall enough to keep unwanted guests away from the premises. It did its job well.

I look over to the man that unintentionally put his life in my hands. His eyelids were practically shut at this point.

He looked lifeless as he tripped over his own feet, trying to pry himself awake every few seconds.

The words ‘he's gonna die’ circled my brain, shoving me into a further state of panic. 

I shook my head to pin those inquiries to the back of my mind, however, knowing that we just needed to keep pushing. 

“Not much further now.” I mumble.

My heart was racing. My energy was running out, and so was his. But I couldn’t let either of us collapse. My urge for constant heroics weren’t going to fail me now.

An image of Ellie came into my mind.

Her youthful being appeared in the form of a mental photograph.

It felt idiotic, and possibly regrettable, but I needed to save this man, knowing the promise I made to her, and myself.

Find answers. Save who I can.

We were only a few feet from the gates now. We had gained some form of speed to rush ahead of the army of the infected, but I have no idea how.

Pure luck was gonna be my answer to that.

I rearranged our position so that he was now leaning against the barricade walls, as I rushed to open the gates.

“Okay come on big guy.”

He moaned back, reassuring me that he wasn’t quite dead yet. He returned to his place with his arm wrapped around my shoulders, as my other arm was around his.

It wasn’t long before I closed the gates, leaving the both of us alone within the partitions of my own property.  

All while the diseased few left in defeat, scouring within the depths of the forest to ignite another hunt for prey.

[reliciron]

Eternal Empire After Effects

In addition to that post I made a while back about how your characters deal with either the boost in Force sensitivity or the brand new sensitivity for your smugglers/troopers/agents/bounty hunters. I want to talk about the general fucked up-ness that the Commander has to deal with post-KotET.

Like DAMN. Bare minimum, they’ve had to deal with carbonite poisoning, the general mind games of Valkorian, and then they had their mind literally broken in the last chapter. At worst, they get all that, plus taking a lightsaber to the gut. To say nothing of having to fight an impossible war for a little over a year straight with everyone’s hopes and dreams riding around on their shoulders.

A lot of the posts I’ve seen about other people’s ocs has some form of lingering effects from everything. And I just want to talk about it for a minute, cause I live for filling in the scenes we don’t see. [Take this with a grain of salt, as I’ve never played a dark side character, so my perspective will be skewed.]

Long term physical effects:

They were poisoned slowly over the course of 5 years, you can’t tell me that one little dart thing can fix that, at least not right away. This could take the form of lingering nausea, migraines, dizziness. The symptoms of heavy metal poisoning would fit well here. And I hc my consular as having some permanent nerve pain from it.

The stab on Asylum is absolute bullshit in the game. Valkorian or no, there’s no way they’d be walking out. I think I posted a pic I took before, but the stab is easily close enough for the heat transfer to damage the spine. Bone cracks and warps with heat, so you can see the problem there. The wound is almost dead on for where the stomach sits and the lungs, liver, kidney, and intestines are all in range to get badly burnt (yeah I know, alien anatomy might be different, but we’re assuming its mostly the same).

We’ve seen what a lightsaber can do to a blast door in The Phantom Menace, take that and apply it to a person, and Arcann held that blade there a loooong time.

Yes, Valkorian saves them, but I think of it more as he kept them from dying, and not, he completely stopped the blade from cooking them from the inside out. So the three days Lana mentioned are horseshit. The Gravestone’s tiny ass med-bay is absolutely not equipped to handle an injury like this.

I always figured a better way was Valkorian kept them alive long enough for Lana to threaten her way onto an appropriate station and made the doctors fix them. Even so, getting what amounts to several organ transplants, implants to bypass possible spinal chord damage, replacement ribs and vertebra, and a whole lot of skin and muscle grafts will leave your Commander pretty messed up, even with magical Star Wars tech and Force magic. And their allotted recovery time seems to be the length of the base’s construction on Odessen, so there’s no way in hell they’re really done healing by the time they have to go back out into battle.

Specific injuries aside, a year is a long time to fight more or less constantly. At least during the base game you sort of had rests between chapters. They’re gonna rack up an impressive list of injuries, alongside wear and tear like their knees and feet having trouble from the constant running and jumping. And their elbows and shoulders will break down from hours upon hours of absorbing the recoil of a gun or the constant flurry and clash of a lightsaber.

Long term mental effects:

As ugly as the physical stuff is, the mental effects are just as bad. Depending on what class they are, having the goddamn Sith Emperor riding shotgun in their head will fuck them up big time.

Classes who faced off with him more-or-less directly, like the Knight, Consular, and Warrior, are going to have the worst time of it because they KNOW what this sort of thing leads to. The warrior has seen the dead eyed puppet on Voss and knows that could be them soon. The consular had to deal with the emperors children and the First Son. They’ve seen a prominent and powerful Jedi master absolutely crumple under the power of the emperor and he wasn’t even IN there. And Knights have already experienced the emperor’s control first hand.

Not to say the others won’t have trouble with it, it’s just that the reasons will be a little less direct. The smuggler and bounty hunter are used to being their own people, not tied down to anything or accountable to anyone, and now there’s the threat that everything they have will be taken from them and there’s no amount of sneaking or shooting that will save them. Troopers built up their command from basically nothing and now they’re Republic heroes, but Valkorian now threatens the lives of everyone they’ve sworn to protect. The agent is easy, they’ve suffered mind control before, they’ve been slaves in their own body, and they’re terrified of it happening again. And inquisitors were literal slaves who clawed their way to the top, and they’d sooner die than be a slave again.

So just having that asshole there means constant stress for the whole of KotFE and KotET. Insomnia must be a given. How do you know you’ll wake up as YOU? That Valkorian won’t hollow you out in your sleep and walk around in your skin the next day? And for the Knight, Agent, and Inquisitor, I’d think panic attacks are probably a thing, even if they don’t let anyone see it.

The stab will definitely cause some trauma. Pretty sure any wound that gruesome would. And if they didn’t have nightmares before, they sure do now and I’m willing to bet that they might shy away from lightsabers for a while, which leaves an interesting dilemma considering they’re in a war with Force-users, and some of them are Force-users themselves.

Fighting a guerrilla war with an absurdly powerful adversary has to be incredibly taxing, especially for classes who’ve never had to command anything. Smugglers and Bounty Hunters are very screwed here, assuming they care about running the Alliance well. And the burden of saving the galaxy is a heavy one. I can definitely see classes who have saved the galaxy multiple times to be getting increasing bitter about always having to be the one to clean up the messes. Why are THEY the ones who always have to suffer? Why isn’t there ever a hero to save THEM when they need it?!

Agents get their own little special bit here with the bullshit that is Vaylin’s conditioning. They know exactly the kind of misery she’s going through, the powerlessness that one single phrase or word causes. I can understand that the writers couldn’t figure out or bother with a whole separate scene of the agent refusing to use the conditioning, cause then they’d have to figure out how to not have Vaylin murder them on the spot. But goddamn we could’ve at least seen them struggle with it! Maybe an extra few lines of them pleading with Vaylin because they desperately don’t want to use her control phrase. Ugh, at least behind the scenes an agent can have a break down about how they’ve become exactly like the intelligence officers who’d decided that they were too much of a liability to go without a leash they could pull. And now they’ve pulled an identical leash on Vaylin.

And then we have their mind being broken. That could be a post in and of itself. Valkorian came within a hair’s breadth of destroying them entirely, and they were so broken that they didn’t even know their own name. And in the space of 10 or so minutes, they scrape themselves together and fight a god. It’s very impressive (and I’ve got my own issues with that fight) but I don’t think you can pull yourself together that fast after being that messed up without some lingering issues.

Chronic insomnia and night terrors, full blown PTSD, panic disorders, severe anxiety; something THAT traumatic will absolutely leave marks.

And after that? They just keep going. Yeah, things calm down, but they’re still at the head of a very powerful faction now (if not ruling Zakuul), there’s no going back after this. And they’ve got a massive restoration project ahead of them as tensions continue to simmer between the Republic and Empire. The more dutiful characters must be near the end of their rope. There’s no rest, just the next fire to put out, and they continue to run themselves into the ground. And the more flighty characters are now forever shackled by the Alliance. There’s no flying off into the sunset for them. No more anonymity as a bounty hunter or smuggler. Their old life is over, whether the wanted it or not. And how can they really relax when there’s this many people looking at them for direction. They’ve become just like those asshole military leaders who they used to mock.

And for just about all of my characters, they hide it. No one can know that they’re falling apart at the seams. Either it’s about personal pride and acting unphased cause they’re just THAT good, or because they’re trying to be the leader the Alliance deserves and don’t want to disappoint or frighten them by showing just how badly they’re coping. Either way there will be a breaking point.

And even after it all comes out in the open, and they (hopefully) get the help they need. It’s never completely over. Chronic pain and fatigue, depression and anxiety, persistent insomnia; these things don’t just disappear, they’re an ongoing struggle that helps color their future actions.

I just… I really like considering things like this because it hits close to home. Seeing them struggle with some of the things I deal with makes them feel more like people. Cause god knows the writers aren’t gonna put this kind of stuff in there.

[aardvaark]

dead to me s2 spoilers possibly ahead —

i love the character development in this show, it’s seriously amazing, but omg stop making poor judy suffer!! my god. like yes she did commit manslaughter and she’s practically a compulsive liar (especially in s1 it’s like one after another) and she helped clean up a murder but she’s somehow still such a purely nice, sweet person. which like, once again, wow the characterisation is awesome bc somehow she’s done all that and i still just want to protect her.

and on that note, steve is just... jesus. such a little shit. emotionally abusive and extremely manipulative - i mean we already know he’s the one who made her keep driving after the hit and run - and it’s horrible! he was cheating on her and he called her nuts, crazy, stupid, etc. threatened to kill her. and was controlling and taking her money. like jfc his abusive behaviour was quite extensive. and then abandons her after her miscarriages and of course the hit and run. as soon as he wants her back in s1 he’s suddenly nice again, then there’s quite a dramatic turn in his behaviour when he doesn’t, again.

her mother (s2) is also using her and manipulated her and neglected her as a kid. which really sort of shows she learnt early on that everyone was going to treat her like shit, and the way she coped was to basically forgive anything so that she still got whatever small amount of love that was possibly available. it’s also clear that’s occurring with steve in s1 when he says something shitty and she says “don’t” and he makes a small apology and she just says “it’s okay”. love hasn’t been available to her very often in her life and so she allows people to walk all over her because basically her mother taught her that was what she SHOULD do. i even sometimes get a little pissed at jen for being very short with her or treating her like a child but in a very negative way.

but just the construction of just hale? damn. you can see how she’s developed her nature from her childhood and how that’s been enforced by an abusive relationship even after childhood. and when she says that thing about how she thinks maybe she deserves the treatment she got... that just broke my heart. into a million pieces. cause no, no one ever deserves literally emotional ABUSE, and violent threats, and you can see how that thought path stems from the lack of affection and care she received as a child, as if that’s her fault. it’s just extremely upsetting and also relatable how she feels a lack of love and abusive, toxic relationships were her fault.

it’s hard to stick up for yourself, or get out of toxic relationships, especially when that began as a kid and you’ve never known any different. she’s never known that she could be appreciated and that she deserves to be loved without all these conditions... loved properly.

also, when judy got distressed enough to need to physically take her anger out on something, and jen assumes - even asks - that she will get violent with jen. but instead, judy starts punching herself. we already saw this behaviour in s1 when she slapped her face multiple times in the bathroom in the episode with teds birthday (may have been multiple examples elsewhere, that’s the only one i remember). it’s not necessarily what you think of with self harm, cause no, it’s not cutting, but it’s definitely hurting herself intentionally and at least borderline self harm, or a form of it. we can see that jen is quite horrified seeing judy start to hurt herself like that, it wasn’t her intention and she’s extremely concerned.

i did like how that was shown, that she’s - sadly - learnt she’s always to blame or that there’s something wrong enough with her that she must deserve abuse and neglect and now she must deserve pain in this form too. i’ve never seen self harming behaviours in any form, in any show. ever. and honestly, it’s kind of an important thing to show in relation to mental health and the way some people process intense emotions, but a clearly very, very unhealthy coping mechanism. she doesn’t get angry easily, but when she does, she still would never intentionally hurt anyone else.

also, we saw her almost try to kill herself towards the end of s1, so we got that other insight into some obvious mental health struggles. when jen finds out about that, she’s also very worried and upset by it. it was kind of painful to see her react to judy’s admission and then again to seeing judy hit herself, which i had forgotten that she had never seen before (i’m pretty sure). you can see how guilty she is feeling about it, how concerned she is about her best friend, how shocked she is and how she really doesn’t even know what to say but of course still comforts her as much as she can.

considering it still somehow is centrally a comedy, yet the dark themes extend from crime to trauma to grief to abuse to depression to self harm and suicide... that’s just exactly why this is such an incredible show. heart wrenching yet at so many points it makes me laugh sooo hard. plus, lgbt rep and well developed, strong female leads. and every part of the plot is intricately developed.

anyway, in summary, i’m just really liking how much the psychological aspects of judy have been consistently developed, especially in the most recent season.

[cecilspeaks]

168 - Secret Blotter

Life is 10 per cent what happens to you And 90 per cent false memories of what you think happened to you. Welcome to Night Vale.

In an effort to bring more transparency to the Sheriff’s Secret Police, a chronicle of one night’s dispatches will be released to the public. This action comes at the behest of the City Council, who voted unanimously on a resolution to ban plastic bags.

Now, OK, while those two things may not seem related, Sheriff Sam misunderstood the vote as a rallying cry against tyrannical surveillance and a personal threat, involving being thrown to the pit of vipers behind the bowling alley. Sheriff Sam, who has a paralyzing fear of vipers, proposed a compromise in which Secret Police dispatches would be temporarily divulged, so the public can get a better idea of what agency does and how tax dollars are being spent. A plan which was readily accepted by the Council, though they continued to roll their eyes and gnash their teeth and chant softly: [creepy voice] “Viper pit! Viper pit! Blessed be the viper pit!” Which is just how they express a “yay” vote on procedural issues.

As a result, Night Vale has its first ever police blotter. Let’s dig in. 9 o’clock PM. Missing person reported inside the Ralphs. Night manager on duty says employee went to stock some cases of Lime-A-Ritas in the new walk-in beer cave and never came out. Reporting officer thoroughly checked beer cave and confirmed it was deserted. Three cases of the beverage were left haphazardly in the middle of the floor, and a loading dolly had tipped over onto its side. Manager states employee originally brought in four cases. Manager added one missing case of Lime-A-Ritas to the report. When asked if this kind of thing has happened before, manager changed subject and asked if officer would like to look at some of the children’s drawing contest submissions. Officer was amenable to this request.

9:16 PM. Noise complaint. Dog barking in an unknown language annoying residents. Dirty white fur, human face. Gone when officer arrived on scene.

9:25 PM. Two underage residents attempted to sneak into an R-rated movie by pretending to be one tall person in a trench coat. When confronted by officer, they turned into a swarm of flies and dispersed.

10:01 PM. Noise complaint. A sound resembling television static was being emitted from a shower drain out in the Hefty Sycamore trailer park. When recorded and played backwards, it turned out to be a broadcast from a 1952 episode of the game show “Beat the Clock”, where contestants competed to see how many pieces they could smash a clock into. A plumber was called.

10:15 PM. A resident of Desert Creek searched for “easy tortellini recipes”, but none of them were easy enough. It was so late already, and they needed to get to bed soon, but they were also very hungry and needed to eat dinner first. They wanted something quick, but they also wanted a real dinner, not a false dinner like… cereal? They became hyperaware that the more they deliberated on what to make, the longer it was all taking. And factoring in the decision-making time on top of the meal prep time was becoming additionally stressful in relation to the desire to get to bed soon.

11:30 PM. A Coyote Corner’s swimming pool filled with blood and began swirling furiously in a counter-clockwise direction. Home owner appeared distressed. Officer advised home owner to drain pool.

11:31 PM. Multiple residents awoke in a cold sweat from the same dream. It wasn’t necessarily a nightmare, but it was definitely not pleasant. The only thing they could recall afterwards was that it was showing, and that there was a tree with seven limbs.

12:00 AM. Witches.

2:00 AM. That time of night when everything starts getting hazy. Were you headed to a crime? Checking a surveillance station? Listening to a wiretap? Going home? Returning to headquarters? Signalling an invisible helicopter? Sometimes you lose track. An old local legend comes into your mind, and you try to recall the details. It’s been so long since you heard it. You watch the headlights bounce along the dirt road ahead, and your eyes begin to play tricks on you, sensing movement in the dark margins where the light doesn’t penetrate. You turn off the lights and slow the vehicle. They weren’t tricks after all. There is movement here, a dark writhing mass entering the roadway. You are forced to stop the car. Eyes flesh open in the dark. Many sets of eyes. This isn’t part of a half-remembered legend. This is something very, very real.

More of the blotter soon. But first, let’s have a look at traffic. You’re hunting in a pack near the Old Highway. The smell of blood is in the air. Headlights bounce over the rise and your stomachs rumble. The moon flees behind the clouds and you fan out, along both sides of the road, moving parallel to it like a lazy river. The car approaches and slows. It shuts off its headlights, as you knew it would. Some of you push ahead to the car, blocking its path. Others move to the rear and others remain at the sides boxing it in. You converge, surrounding it more tightly the door opens, then closes again, the fleshy creature inside cursing softly. You hear a crackle of radio static, but you know it is inconsequential to you. You consume the metal shell first. There are explosions of air and the hiss of leaking fluids. Then the glass, crunchy and cool in your collective gullet. And finally, the screaming delicacy in the center, the cloth-wrapped package of meat and bone. There are other things afterward, less enjoyable, but consumable nonetheless. Papers and electronics, and the pleather, and cold French fries in the back. Nothing must remain. By the time the moon emerges from the clouds, the old highway will be deserted once more. This has been traffic.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s show is brought to you by TickTock. The only app that tells you exactly how long you have left to live. The sleek countdown display synchs easily with all of your devices, so that you can check your mortality at a glance. The premium edition provides additional details, such as manner and location of death, and updates to the minute, as you make different choices throughout your day. You’ll find yourself asking questions like, why did returning a library book just subtract 4 years from my life? How did leaving late for work change my final outcome from drowning in gulch to birds of prey? Why does it say “tomorrow” all of a sudden? [panicking] It must be some kind of glitch, right? OK, OK, I’ve updated the app but it still hasn’t changed. It still says “tomorrow”. I just got checked out by a doctor and they said I’m in great shape, I’m staying home from work, I’m not answering the door, I’ve closed the blinds and I’m sitting on the couch, surrounded by pillows, not moving, not even blinking, I’ve done everything dammit, EVERYTHING!!! WHY DOES IT STILL SAY “TOMORROW”???!! Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. This has been a word from our sponsors.

Back to the Sheriff’s Secret Police blotter. 2:30 AM. Responded to an officer distress call on the Old Highway. No sign of officer or vehicle found. Must have been a false alarm.

3:15 AM. Nude man ranting in middle of old highway, carrying a case of alcoholic beverages. Identified as the night shift stocker at the Ralphs. Claims he entered the walk-in refrigerator at work, reached up to place the case of beverages on the shelf, and abruptly found himself in a network of ice caves. He eventually climbed up a snowy mountain where he met a robed figure he refers to as “The Oracle”. “The Oracle” foretold of a hungry darkness with a thousand eyes and urged that the portal must be cloooosed. The Ralphs employee also reported that “The Oracle” had slurred speech and seemed unsteady on its feet, and may have been inebriated. After this exchange, he then found himself standing in the Sand Wastes nude. He does not know where his clothes are. Officer escorted man back to the Ralphs to finish out his shift.

3:35 AM. Domestic disturbance. “He won’t stop practicing the flute!” a Cactus Bloom resident reported, indicating his dopplegänger who stood in the corner of the bedroom, staring unblinkingly at the wall and playing the same halting scale on a wooden flute. Officer advised resident to take a melatonin and try to get some sleep. “If he doesn’t stop, I can’t be held responsible!” the sleep-deprived resident threatened. “Sounds fair,” the officer agreed and left the premises.

4:00 AM. An alarm clock went off in Old Town. A woman attempted to get out of bed, but her cat walked sleepily onto her person and began purring, preventing her from rising. Her cat is elderly and the woman knows its number of purrs are finite and must be honored. Eventually, she put on coffee and took a shower. She used Herbal Solution shampoo for a lifelong dandruff condition, though she has not seen any improvement after years of using the products. She continues using it, because she likes the way it smells. It smells medicinal, like it’s helping, and it does tingle, like the label promises. The tingle means it’s working, the label says. So it must be working.

And now a break form the police blotter for some sports news. Night Vale High School – go Scorpions! – has added a concession stand to be used during sporting events. The parent-teacher association proudly unveiled the new stand at last week’s baseball game, dedicating the plywood structure to the memory of favorite AP auto shop teacher, Nick Teller. Teller reacted with confusion at this news, as he is still alive. “Oh, of co-, no, of course you are,” the PTA responded awkwardly, “but we just wanted to honor – your memory, as in what a great memory you have. You-you know how you’re really good at remembering stuff? We just wanted to, yeah uh, honor that,” the PTA went on, seemingly unable to stop explaining themselves, whilst standing in front of the dedication plaque, which featured several doves, a Celtic cross, and an image of clasped hands. Teller admitted he does have an excellent memory and is very honored. The following concessions are available at the Teller memorial stand: Special allowances, the granting of rights, the acceptance of certain things as truth, the yielding of certain other things as untruth. Also, RC Cola and popcorn.

Oh, which reminds me, we actually have another word from our sponsor, Royal Crown Cola. Invented by Ferdinand the 1st, king of Naples, who built a museum of mummies inside his palace to house the bodies of his slain enemies. “I am parched from building this museum of mummies,” he famously said, and the rest is history. RC Cola – the drink of ruthless monarchs.

In local news, I have the results of the Ralphs drawing contest. Local school children were encouraged to submit a drawing to the store this week, depicting their favorite Ralphs product. I’ll start with the runners up. The third place drawing comes to us from Ella Snider, a student from Night Vale Elementary, and it shows a large black scribbled mass with a lot of eyes on it, with the Ralphs building on fire in the background. Very creative, Ella!

The second place drawing comes from Jace McCoy, also from Night Vale Elementary, and this one also shows a black mass with many eyes and a big bright red splatter of blood across the page. Nice use of color, Jace!

And the grand price winner comes to us from Heather (Fathusam) [0:16:52] of Daggers Plunge Charter School. Her drawing features a beautiful black mass with lots of lovely eyes, and it’s holding a box of store brand frozen pizza rolls. Congratulations, Heather!

Back to the blotter. 4:01 AM. Distress call from the Ralphs. Upon arrival, officer was pulled into the manager’s office. The employee from the earlier incident was also present, huddled under a desk. Manager frantically indicated the surveillance window that looks out into the store, which he normally uses to spy on shoppers and report on what they are wearing for his Customer Fashion newsletter. Shelves of products were being knocked over and consumed by a vast dark nothingness. The back of the store then burst into flames. The manager implored the officer to quote, “Do something, please, or we’ll all be killed!” Officer used the intercom system to tell the nothingness to vacate the store immediately, and advised it of trespass and vandalism laws. The nothingness took the form of many dark shapes with many eyes. A tank of fresh seafood exploded and numerous shellfish were damaged. Officer advised the shapes that they were all under arrest. “Stop talking to it!” the manager cried and knocked the intercom mic out of the officer’s hand. Approximately 1000 eyes turned to look at the office window. Interesting. Well.

Let’s have a look at that weather.

[“Best Friends” by Curtains: https://curtains.bandcamp.com/]

4:35 AM. Situation escalated at the Ralphs. Officer, manager and employee embraced one another under the office desk amid the shattered glass of the surveillance window. The building trembled around them, products flew through the air, half the inventory was sucked into oblivion, and a great fire blazed, spreading to the bakery section. After doing an estimated 200,000 dollars worth of damage, the darkness and its many eyes entered the beer cave and did not come back out. Officer investigated the beer cave and found it to be empty. “You have to shut down the cave!” the Ralphs employee implored the manager. “That’s its doorway to our world!” The manager hedged and responded that a big heat wave was coming and if they hoped to recoup any of their losses, keeping the beer cave open was going to be instrumental to the store’s survival. “People will spend big on frosty cold beverages,” the manager responded. “Not to mention they’re gonna like standing around in there for a nice cool-down.” The employee wrapped his robe tightly around himself. Oh, the manager had lent him the robe, one of the many fashion items the manager kept in his collection, since the employee still didn’t know where his clothes had gone. “OK,” the employee said. He picked up a Lime-A-Rita and guzzled it down in one continuous gulp. Then he said, his voice already a little slurred: “I’ll have to try to shhhhtop it myself.” He ran into the beer cave and promptly vanished.

5:40 AM. Tree with seven limbs seen growing out of a hole in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. Snow observed on the branches, which melted off quickly as the sun rose.

5:45 AM. Real pretty sunrise.

Well, that concludes our Secret Police blotter. I dunno about the rest of you, but I personally feel a lot more safe and secure getting a closer look at what our Secret Police do. On behalf of Night Vale Community Radio, thank you for your service. I’m sure we will all rest a lot easier knowing that our fate is in your hands. Our sleeping bodies are under your watchful eye, and our every thought and action is being monitored for the greater good. As Secret Police mascot Barks Ennui always says: Stay tuned, stay, vigilant, report your neighbors. Woof. Woof.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Six out of seven dentists have no idea where that seventh one disappeared to. Honest, they all have rock solid alibis and that blood could have belonged to anyone.

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #11)

(cw: drugs, assault, graphic violence) <-Previous | Next-> ----------

12/28/87     11:30 PM

Hey.

I’ve put this off for long enough. 

I’ve been stuck over how to write this part pretty much since my first entry. Now that it’s come to it, there seems no point in tip-toeing. It already happened. Recording it on a scrap of paper isn’t going to make a difference either way. 

So I’ll skip the sugar coating and euphemisms. I’ll just tell you what happened, exactly as I remember it.

I was almost done my sweep of the arcade, and I was really freakin’ tired. In every sense of the word, really. Still couldn’t sleep, still had no appetite. Boosts still had me high-strung and aggressive, but I was on the losing end of most brawls by that point. Too unhealthy, too distracted.

We both know I’m basically unstoppable, but you still had me almost at the end of my rope. Coming up empty just became more infuriating the longer I looked. It felt insulting, at that point, like multiple slaps to the face, like big ol’ reminders that you didn’t want me to find you. And I freakin’ hated you for it. I hated the crappy vengeful sprites you’d left me with, I hated how everything sucked and nothing was fun anymore, and I hated how I’d put so much freakin’ time and effort into looking for such a jackass. But I wasn’t about to let you beat me. I was ready to turn over every pixel of this place if I had to.

All that was left was Dragon’s Lair.

Before I go on, I feel the need to say. A good portion of the arcade took what you did as a threat to their very way of life. Sprites don’t very much like feeling threatened. They’ll do any number of stupid things to stop feeling that way, up to and including tearing the threat apart bit by bit. But you were already dead. How could they neutralize a dead threat? 

The little cowards needed someone living to act as a stand-in. They needed to delude themselves into thinking they weren’t powerless, that they could effectively block an attack that had already landed.

Guess who they picked.

Before I went to Dragon’s Lair, I made sure to snag a Boost. That castle is a glitch and a half. I knew I’d have to be on my game in there or I’d get lost or possibly chopped to pieces. 

I still got lost. I swear, all the rooms look the same. 

I don’t remember most of the endeavor, other than a blur of blades and armor and a big pissy dragon shooing me from its hoard. It ended up taking almost all night -- I wanted to be thorough, because there were so many places to hide, and it was the last game, so if I didn’t find you there, well… I just couldn’t come out empty-handed.

I ended up taking too long, and my Boost wore off. Crashing in that castle could easily be a death trap, so I was relieved to make it out before the crash fully hit. But that was really the only thing worth celebrating. I still hadn’t found you, and I had nowhere left to look. I was at a loss. I was pissed. I was miserable. For once, I was in no mood for flying. So I just walked along the path through the woods. Slowly. Dull, lethargic, and off my guard. I might as well have painted a huge target on my back.

And damn if they didn’t hit bullseye. 

I was tackled face down on the ground and blindfolded. I thrashed as hard as I could, but the tackler was too big and sturdy. I think she said some crap while she twisted my arms back, but it got drowned out by screaming and shouting and growling and barking -- she brought canine friends with her. Three of them.

I managed to hear her rasp an order to take my tools away. I felt a drooly mouth hook the handle of my paint can and hold it somewhere close by. I took offense to that. I hit her with a dozen colorful threats, all of which I meant fully, but she stuffed my hat in my mouth. 

She started to drag me by my hair while the dogs followed closely with my bucket and brush in their mouths. She grumbled nonsense to herself the whole way, when she wasn’t yanking my hair and demanding I stop struggling. As if I could just go limp and let her take me. I just knew we were going away from the path, into the woods. I also knew that once we went in, I’d likely never come out. 

If the sprite pulling my hair wanted to kill me, she would get away with it in there. No one would know. No one would ask.

Hardly anyone would even care, I thought.

When she finally ended up dropping me, she began to speak clearly enough for me to hear. I’m going to be paraphrasing a bit here. Hearing her out wasn’t really my priority at the time, and her voice and words were erratic and rushed -- she was definitely hopped up on something. But I can give the gist of what I remember, which is actually a lot. Unfortunately.

The first things I remember her saying were along the lines of:

“Surge Protector should’ve just let you burn. If the SP won’t protect us, we’ll protect ourselves. Should’ve done this a long time ago. A long time ago.” Then she just kept hissing under her breath, “Should’ve let you burn.” 

I’d been writhing like my life depended on it, because it probably did. I’d been screaming against my gag as hard as I could, hoping that maybe someone in the castle would hear, or anyone at all. But my lungs still weren’t in great condition, and I went into a coughing fit, face down on the ground with my mouth blocked up. I thought I was going to suffocate until she kicked me onto my back. I could breathe just enough if I kept still and quiet.

So I tried to just listen. Take a deep breath and feel where my tools were. Try to map the scene out as best as I could. 

I felt one of the dogs carry my brush over to her. She flipped it around in her hand -- and I use the word ‘hand’ generously, because whatever it was, it was hard, clammy, and prickly -- as she obviously tried to figure out how it worked.

I wanted to puke. Having any of them touch my brush was disgusting and humiliating and violating. I couldn’t stand being so helpless to it. But I also knew that if she was stupid enough to try to use it, I might glitch out of the ropes. Then I could hand her ass to her and get the heck out of there.

She did try to use the brush, of course. No dumbass can resist. But, naturally, the one time I actually wanted that full-body glitch response, it didn’t happen. When she pulled a stroke through the air, my legs flickered free, but that was it. 

All I had time to do was kick her shin hard enough to knock her off her feet. 

In any other situation, I could have worked with that. I’d have been upright in a second, you know I would have. That could have been my ticket out of there. But those freakin’ dog things. They were on me before she even hit the ground.

This is normally my favorite part of telling a story, you know. This would be the start of that real gross, juicy scene that’s so good at hooking the audience. But there’s no audience for quietly writing in a notebook. There’s just me, and I already know how it ends. This isn’t fun.

Better just get it over with.

They tore my legs apart. All three dogs at once. 

I fought hard, I really did. Even managed to kick out a couple yelps at first. But I was completely prone. Practically laid out on a platter. They clamped down on my thighs and calves with their steel-trap teeth and just… ripped. Whipped their heads around. Twisted and pulled. Tried to strip me to the bone.

At the time, I was absolutely certain that was how I’d die. Eaten alive.

It wasn’t until I received a swift kick in the ribs that the assault on my legs ended and the dogs backed off. I could only imagine the damage that had been done. In my mind, I could see my legs strewn across the dirt in bloody ribbons, with chunks hanging off my bones like an unfinished dinner. But all I could really make out down there was a mess of feverish throbbing. They were hot, they were quivering, and they were limp. Useless. 

The ring leader just kept kicking and stomping with her freakishly pointy feet, screaming about something or other that I couldn’t pay attention to. I felt things pop and crack, and she hit me in the gut so hard that I dry-heaved a few times. But the pain just didn’t register on the level that it was probably meant to. It seemed like my legs had burned through so much pain, there wasn’t any left for the rest of my body.

And then, her disgusting, bizarre, jagged mouth closed on my brush, and those creepy, hard hands grabbed onto my ankles and yanked me forwards. I didn’t enjoy that. 

But at least there was any leg left to grab onto, right?

She was dragging me again. I don’t know why, or if there was a reason at all, beyond messing with me. I mean, it worked. I wasn’t too thrilled about it. Then, along the way, my head hit some wicked knot in the ground, and… I guess I was knocked loopy, briefly. I blacked out.

Next thing I remember was being briskly smacked on the cheek a few times. The ring leader told me not to fall asleep, that I wasn’t off the hook just yet.

I still had no idea where we were, but they had sat me up enough to tie my torso back against a tree. They left my legs untied, but why bother? They took the kick out of me already.

Just to be especially cruel, the ring leader painfully sat in my lap. My brush was in her hand again at that point, and she was gripping it hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make her arm shake. Then she started talking so close to my face that I could feel her rancid garbage breath on my cheeks.

I remember something like, “We were all there, at the memorial. We saw the fireworks. We all saw you proclaim your loyalty to that murderer. You and your little boyfriend cooked up this plan together, didn’t you? And the only reason you’re still alive,” she grabbed my nose and shook it, “is ‘cause it’s not done yet. Ain’t that right? You’re gonna take another game down if no one deals with you. So we will. We’re just here to do the arcade a favor.”

She paused for a long time. I kind of get the impression, looking back, that she finished the speech she had practiced in the mirror that morning, and had to move off-script.

Eventually, she said, “We know. We know you knew. There’s no way you didn’t know he was gonna do this.” 

And then, she cracked. Struck me hard across the face with my brush. Started screaming:

“YOU KNEW! YOU KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN! YOU COULD’VE DONE SOMETHING! BUT YOU DIDN’T! YOU LET THIS HAPPEN!” 

She hit me again. And again, and again.

“SPRITES DIED! HE KILLED DOZENS OF SPRITES, AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE! YOU DON’T EVEN CARE! YOU WERE IN ON IT! YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED IT! BUT YOU JUST LET HIM DO IT! YOU LET THEM ALL DIE! YOU EVEN LET HIM DIE! YOU LET YOUR PRECIOUS HOMICIDAL MANIAC DIE! HE’S DEAD! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?! IT MEANS GONE FOR GOOD! FOREVER! HE’S DEAD! THEY’RE ALL DEAD! AND THAT’S ON YOU! IT’S ON YOU!!”

And she just went on like that. Screaming and hitting.

There was a nasty, sharp sting to every hit, which I recognized immediately. You might have noticed, at some point, that the metal cuff on my brush has kind of a sharp ridge at its seam. It’s enough to break the skin if you use it right, and apparently, she did. I could feel wetness on my cheeks. She grabbed my face and took a closer look, the rusty gears in her head creaking.

Then she tried to pry off the cuff. Just with her nails, or claws, or… whatever she had that was small, pointy, and painful.

I was too overwhelmed to even hear my own thoughts anymore. I was blind, tied up, probably about to die, with a crazed stranger trying to pry off what might as well have been my fingernail. I should have kept quiet, should have never let on how much it hurt, but I just… couldn’t. I screamed, I struggled. Offered up a dead giveaway. And that freakin’ low-life sadist, she figured it out. Those rusty gears clicked together. Hard.

Next thing I knew, one of the dogs had my brush. She told me that if I did what she said, she’d call off her friends, and “make this quick.” She basically wanted me to ‘confess’, I guess for her own sick satisfaction. High-as-balls dumbass forgot she gagged me. Started slamming my head back against the tree, screaming “SPEAK UP!” 

I’d never been so completely vulnerable as I was then. The majority of my code was completely at their mercy. My paint can was knocked over somewhere, with cold noses sniffing at it, and dull claws scratching at it. The mouth holding my brush just kept rocking up and down, chattering its teeth against it like it was some freakin’ chew toy. Just squeezing tighter and tighter.

I could see what was coming. I could feel it deep in my gut. But there was nothing I could do.

And, well… I was scared.

So much that something inside me broke. I didn’t cave and do what she said, no. That wouldn’t have stopped her, not when she so clearly enjoyed making me suffer. I did the unthinkable. When she finally pulled my hat from my mouth, screaming, 

“IT’S YOUR FAULT! YOU DESERVE THIS! SAY IT!” 

I just… started begging.

I apologized. Swore that I didn’t know, and apologized again. Begged them to do literally anything else, even just kill me right then and there. I pleaded like a pathetic weakling, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the answer they were looking for.

And then... I hate this. I hate this. Why am I doing this? Why’d you leave all this behind for me to deal with? Why aren’t you here right now? Why am I pretending you can hear any of this stuff that I don’t even want to say? 

Why am I making a half-assed attempt at stalling myself? What does any of it matter anymore?

They broke my brush. 

Snapped the handle in half.

I thought having my legs torn apart was the worst pain I’d ever experienced. This? This made that seem loving. It was like a sledgehammer, like a massive impact that split a deep, spiderwebbed, searing hot fracture in my code, and I felt the very breath of my life blow out through the cracks. My eyes just gushed with water, and an iron vice around my lungs and throat nearly strangled me. But out of nowhere, it let go, and I could breathe, and I could scream. I think Litwak himself must have been able to hear my blood-curdling shriek. 

With one word from the ring leader, those flea-bitten mongrels finished the job. Tore the rest of my brush to complete shreds. And I felt every last pixel of it. They ripped out the bristles, they crunched the wood to splinters, they wrenched off the cuff and mangled it. My sprite could barely keep it together -- I felt my code bending a dozen ways it was never supposed to, and I felt my body flickering like crazy, but, still, it wasn’t enough to free me. All I could do was take it.

Once she finally called them off, I’d screamed myself into another coughing fit. I was drenched in sweat. My whole body felt broken. It felt like my code was bleeding. But, hey, wouldn’t y’know it, she wasn’t freakin’ done.

She had one of her lackeys bring her the cuff. Against the shape of her hand, I could feel just how crushed and warped it was. It was raw as an open wound. Just having her hold it was painful. But then she bent it open, which basically felt like breaking my fingers over backwards, so that was nice. She sort of straightened it into a strip and got that serrated edge that she had been after before.

At that point, she was quiet for a minute. I had no idea what she was doing, but I have to wonder if she was just sitting back and enjoying… you know, being in her position. Like it was fun to just make me wait in fear of what else might be done to me. Or listen to whatever pathetic noises I might have been making. Eventually, she tut-tutted. Then, in a sweet and crooning and disgusting voice, she said, “Aw, baby girl, what’s the matter? Did we make you sad? Well, I’m sorry. But you don’t need your little rainbow toys anymore. You showed your true colors already. Sorry -- true color. Loud n’ proud.”

Then she pushed the edge of that mangled cuff against my cheek, slashed, and smeared my blood with her creepy fingers. After doing it once more, she said, “And you know what? I’ll help you wear that color to your grave. It’s what he would’ve wanted, don’t you think?” 

Then she just… you know, sliced up my face. Smeared my blood around like she was finger painting. It didn’t hurt that much, not relatively, but that was kind of the worst part. It was too gentle. All it said to me was that something worse was coming. The anticipation was torture, and she knew it -- she took her sweet-ass time, like she was carving a sculpture. There came a point that she cut so low, I was sure she was on her way to slitting my throat. Honestly? Part of me hoped she would. Everything would be over.

What actually happened was far less kind.

She instructed her friends to tend to my paint bucket. The feeling of their feet shuffling around it made my blood run cold. But once again, what could I have done to stop them? The ring leader wasn’t even trying to tease me with mercy anymore. She just told me I had one last chance to die an honest sprite.

Even if I wanted to tell the lie that she called the truth, I couldn’t have. I couldn’t muster any words that weren’t pleas for her to stop. The creep just sat and listened, and that drove me crazy. I totally lost control. The pleading turned to screaming. I thrashed hard, too, put up some semblance of a fight with the strength I had left. Didn’t matter, though. Once she got bored of the show, that was it.

She grabbed the clothes on my chest, and growled, “You’re just as bad as he was,” while she cut and ripped them away -- I assume because she was a high whack-job dumbass who didn’t realize I have freakin’ buttons. Then she put the sharp edge against my chest, told me to stay still for her, and called out,

“Game on, boys!”

Then... Well. It’s hard to find the words here. Everything just kind of… erupted.

My paint can was destroyed. Split open. Crunched, scratched, bent, punctured, everything you’d expect from a team of junkyard dogs. For the first few seconds, the pain was indescribable. But it transformed into something worse. My system was overloaded, or something -- like my code was not written to process that much damage. It felt like my insides turned to acid. My body twisted and jerked against my will. My head pounded against the tree. My arms fought the rope, every joint threatening to pop out. My legs jumped and kicked at the dirt. I just... convulsed. 

It felt like my code was being peeled out line by line. I glitched so widely and rapidly that I didn’t know what pixel of me was where. My senses cut in and out, kind of like I was struggling to keep my head above water. Whatever I could hear quickly cut into static and distorted audio. And then my vision flooded with threads of binary, until all I could see was blue.

I don’t know if I screamed. I don’t know if I could even breathe. It’s really hard to remember from here. The world just stopped making sense.

I remember emotions, but like... every possible emotion at once. Kind of like they were all pushing and shoving to get through the same door, and… I don’t know, like screaming, laughing, wailing, singing, swearing, crying, all layered into one sound.

I remember seeing images. Like, split-second frames of memory, as if all my code’s worth of data was firing at once. There must have been hundreds. As far as I can remember… I saw a moment from an Excitebike ride. I saw half-eaten Burger Time from Devs know when. I saw one of the drones from that old unplugged space game with the robot birds. I saw your game’s bleachers. I saw your fridge. I saw your garage. I saw you driving. So many times, I saw you laughing.

Really, the recurring theme was you.

Everything fell away into blinding, pulsing blocks of color, ones I could hear and smell and taste and feel, penetrating everything in this endless loop of red-orange-yellow, red-orange-yellow, over and over and over, until…

Nothing.

That’s as far as I can remember. I don’t know when I passed out.

But I do remember waking up. 

Somehow, after all that, I woke up. Maybe you saw it coming, given I’m here to write to you now, but I survived. I survived all that.

I’d love to brush that off and say “Takes more than that to kill Make-it Mavis,” but, the thing is, they could have. They had me right there, in the palms of their creepy hand things. They could have gotten their revenge and deleted me for good, with no consequences. Why they didn’t, I tried not to question too terribly. Though it would come back to gnaw at me on quiet nights.

When I came to, I didn’t realize I was awake at first, or that I was even alive. I just saw little sparks of binary behind my eyelids. Then, slowly, the rest of my senses came back. Every pixel of my sprite was pulsing. I was freezing cold. My head felt split, my ribs ached, my chest burned, my legs were ravaged, my tools were destroyed and strewn around me -- I must have had barely a decimal of HP left, but it was enough. 

I was lying on the ground. Maybe they untied me, or I finally glitched out of the ropes, but either way, I was free when I woke up. But it still felt like I couldn’t move. There was this rock in the pit of my stomach telling me that this was all a trick, that they would be on me again if I so much as opened my eyes. I listened for so long, but all I heard was the pounding in my ears and distant clanging coming from the castle. They were gone, and the arcade was open. Had been for some time, as it turned out. So I opened my eyes and tried to make sense of my situation.

I saw the cuff of my brush first. It was lying right next to my face, all twisted and chewed, one end covered in dried up blood. The rest of my brush was scattered over the dirt, bristles and all, and my paint can was warped and split and gnawed up nearby. There was no paint in it anymore, just buzzing and flickering sheets of binary.

My hat was close by, all crumpled up and caked in dry spit. My smock had been completely removed and torn to pieces. I still had my tank top, but it was a little worse for wear. Of course, my pants were ripped too, to say the least.

Contrary to what I thought, my legs didn’t end up looking like chicken dinner. But they still looked like a horror game. Under better circumstances, it would have been pretty wicked to see -- they were all flushed and swollen in parts, and there were these nasty-looking bloody wounds on deep purple welts, some still weeping. 

My chest, too, was covered in dry and fresh blood, but I couldn’t see enough of the wound to understand what it was, in the state I was in. So, when I figured out how to move, first thing I did was drag myself enough to reach my bucket. Touching it felt like punching a bruise, but it was still just reflective enough to be a makeshift mirror. So I saw, all skewed and backwards, what that scummy sadist freak saw fit to brand me with.

There, carved shoulder-to-shoulder, in big, glistening, deep red letters, was your name.