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inviciousx · 3 years

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nuclear winter of our discontent

Fractured strips of moonlight shone down from the caving ceiling as Ryat started mixing several ingredients into a metal bowl he'd stolen from an old diner he'd passed on the way out here. Locals in the wastes called this the Old North Church. He called it a resurrection ground. His mind drifted as he added a bit of purified water into the mixture and pulled out his blade. Slashing it across his hand, he let a few drops of blood fall before he could feel it start healing. The demon couldn't help but replay the last twenty-four hours in his head. It had been more excitement than the last two centuries combined. Latin fell from his lips as his gaze moved over the pile of old bones laid over the debris in the floor. God he hoped he'd dug the right grave. As flesh began to form over bone, he began to hold even the tiniest bit of hope that be wouldn't be alone anymore.

She was waking. Not from a dream, but from darkness. Like Jesus saw daylight again on the third day, light was pouring in from behind her closed eyelids. She remembered, before her eyes ever opened: that awful flash, heat searing her skin, only time enough left to drop to her knees and cling to the soft grass one last time. She stirred, grunting softly, and blinked up into the sky. She inhaled softly. What she was was nothing like the fiery destruction that had knocked her out. It was silver and peaceful, quiet.

Caroline pushed an elbow under herself and began to rise, beginning to look around. The darkness surrounding her seemed to pop as her eyes adjusted from the moonlight pooling around her. There were shapes an figures, perhaps, but she could make out nothing specific. She sat up completely, wincing loudly and clutching her side in pain. Had she been knocked back into something in the blast? "Hello?" she called hoarsely.

Red eyes watched her from where Ryat sat in a dilapidating pew. It was one of few that was still being held together, probably by all the dirt and grime that covered it. Her resurrection had taken longer than most, but he supposed that had something to do with the fact that she'd been dead for 200 years. He really wasn't sure how he was going to explain that yet, but he knew he had to. She was going to be punished into a brand new world, a terrifying world... Just like he had been. It seemed like he had just traded one hell for another. At least now he had something other than his own thoughts, even before he had brought her back. Sitting there frozen, a captive to the body he had once enslaved hadn't done him any favors. "Morning sunshine. It's about time you woke the hell up," he muttered, finally getting back to his feet to move closer to her, stepping into the moonlight. "You're very.... Very late to the party."

The light in the hunter’s eyes brightened with confused realization as the demon’s voice purred through the darkness and echoed subtly off the walls. A sharp creak of wood made her head swivel, and, through the light of the moon, she found two red eyes peered back at her. Her heart slammed in her chest. “Ryat. .” she breathed, but offered nothing else, shifting slightly in the pile of rubble. She watched dumb-struck as he emerged into the circle of light. There should have been a million thoughts running through her mind, but it was empty, save for watching his face looking down at hers. She could barely read his expression, but what else was new? His eyes were shadowed but the irises glowed. He looked different, somehow, but still very much the same. Her face winced as she tried to process what he meant. It all. . . felt like a dream. “What’s going on?” she asked softly

Stooping down next to her, he sat with her in the rubble. He was already dirty, grime and filth covering his clothes. Not to mention blood.... "What do you remember?" He questioned, choosing his words uncharacteristically carefully. "I mean the very last thing you remember, because I need to know where to start explaining, and I don't have much time." Being what he was, he was able to see through the veil of death. He knew the difference between when he was dead and when he was alive, and he knew what happened in between, but he doubted that she had that luxury. Or maybe it was a curse.... He wasn't sure. A while caused crimson hues to look back at the black dog that laid guarding the door. Another whimper had him getting to his feet. "Come on. We need to move. I'll explain, but we need to get to higher ground. He wouldn't take her all the way up to the steeple yet, but he would at least hide them in the stairwell for now. Sitting here felt like being a sitting duck.

The hunter's eyes searched his face wildly for a hint of why he was asking such questions. The last thing she remembered? The last thing she remembered was everything, everything exploding and vanishing and then the sudden lack of everything. The emptiest nothing that she could conceive, and could still feel in her bones, as if she was hollow. Her hand seized on his arm like a snake."Ryat..." Caroline repeated, anxiety growing in her voice and heat swelling to her face. The urgency in his voice and the measured tone was making every hair on her body stick up like a pin prick. Ryat used her grip on him to hoist her up, but she collapsed to her knee, finding the legs underneath her shaking and uncoordinated. "Help me. Please." she asked of him, and braced herself around his middle. The black dog circled around them, but always stayed behind, unnaturally bright eyes glaring at the back of the building--if it could be called that. Half up the stairs, encased in near-darkness, and almost suffocating in dust, Caroline pushed against the demon and let herself sink to a stair. Her legs burned as if she'd been marooned in the desert. The hunter breathed heavily, dropping her hand from him to lean forward, taken by the vertigo in her brain. She looked up to what she could see in front of her face--shocking red eyes and a half-shadowed face looking down at her. "The last thing I remember. . ." Her face contorted at the memory, too painful for even tears. Her gaze searched for the words in the dust particles floating around them. "The last thing I remember is the. . ." The hunter blinked faster, as if the emotions that had been stopped where her memories ended were picking up as she remembered ten seconds over and over again in her mind. The more she remembered, the more the monstrous sounds came back to her. "Oh, God. Oh, God." she whispered. She looked back at Ryat, pleading, reaching out to a hand she couldn't see in the dark. "What's happening? Why am I here?”

The fear and fragility coming from the normally quick witted hunter only added to the gravity of the situation. Even with his superior hearing, Ryat wasn't sure what was waiting for them outside. There were things in this hellacious landscape that put the creatures of nightmares to shame. The large Shepherd Dog sat at the bottom of the stairs, ears twitching with each sound, though he wasn't sounding an alarm again yet. He knew she remembered the end. Her reaction told him at least that much. "What you remember.... That's what a lot of people called the end of the world. As you can see that isn't exactly accurate...." He still picked and chose his words, knowing that the smallest thing could be like a detonator, and right now he didn't have the luxury of having the time to help stitch her back together. At least mentally. "It was damn close though....and that was 200 years ago. The world you knew, hell the world we both knew, is gone. There are things even you can't imagine. Whole damn world went to hell in a hand basket." The air here was too thick with dust and the smell of mold from the nuclear storms that passed settling into the interior of the building. Reaching into his pack once he slipped it off his shoulder, he found a stimpack. "I don't know how much this is gonna help, but it should do something," he stated evenly before injecting her with the medicine inside.

Caroline lower lip trembled fiercely as he spoke, but he brows were set in desperate refusal. His words were gathering like a holy flood at the levies, and she bit her lip, shaking her head. The end of the world. The end of the world. The end of the world. Pictures flashed in her mind as rapidly as film ticking through a camera. Home. People. Friends. Life. Gone. . . “Please stop.” she said quietly, squeezing his hand as it released hers to shuffle inside some backpack. The pinch in her arm barely registered past the screaming her in own head. Voices, like a hundred-strong choir was screaming through their murder in her ears. “Stop!” she screamed through it, bracing her hands on the edge of the step and kicking out sharply at his leg. Something connected and she scrambled up and away, spilling onto the landing and throwing herself towards the next set of stairs. It only look another flight to reach the top, which spilled out into a windowed perch with half the wall broken out. Caroline gasped and looked around wildly. A thin layer of snow was coating the rooftops in her sights, but it all blurred together. Steps were right behind her as she made for the roof.

A hiss of pain left the demon's lips even if it wouldn't last long. "You God damn bitch!" He growled, moving after her with speed only a creature such as himself could possess. Maybe the stimpack had been a bad idea.... He'd thought it would do good to help her feel better and give her some mobility. The dog let out a bark at the sudden outburst and Ryat took off after her trying to ignore the pain in his shin. Snow glittered on the roof as it came into his view and his arm shot out, grabbing her ankle as she tried to scramble to the sloped, rotting roof. From his place on the stairs, he roughly tugged her back, not giving a single shit if he caused a few bruises on the way down. "What the fuck?" He grit, red eyes seeming to look through her as he appraised her. "I didn't spend the last twenty four hours gathering the shit to bring you back to let you toss yourself off a god damn steeple!" His grip on her ankle released only to grab her by the arm and pull her up to her feet, but this time he held her steady.

Caroline yelped and slammed to the ground hard as her feet were wrenched from beneath her. Her vision turned into a dropped snowglobe for a brief moment as he torso landed on the raised ledge were a wall should've been, half of body on the roof, half still inside the tower. All she could manage was a strangled grunt of resistance as she was pulled back over the threshold, icy flakes stinging her face. She lost herself in a flurry of kicks and palm-thrusts into Ryat's shoulders, but it was a charade for all the good it did. The young woman gasped as she was forced to stand, and, wrangled in his unquestionable grip, she looked at him wildly. His dark, hidden face from before now reflected so much silver light it was like he was glowing. His raven hair was tussled from the skirmish and blew slightly in the wind whistling through the broken windows around them. Caroline breathed hard, small fogs of hot breath crystalizing between them. Her eyes were stricken, but clearer, as if the truth was easier to see in the moonlight. "You brought me back?" She paused, forgetting to breathe. "I. . died?" The last word was barely a breath.

@a-beast-in-repose

#ryat;#nuclear winter;

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dragonologist-phd · 3 years

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Oooh "you see everyone so clearly except yourself" for pillars of Eternity would be amazing!

thank you for the prompt!

this inspired a scene with Miervaldis and Grieving Mother, which was not supposed to be sad, but then Miervaldis took it off in a different direction like he always does. Still, I hope you enjoy!

(AO3)

The Grieving Mother has a name, buried somewhere deep in her soul. But she has hidden it away, and out of courtesy Miervaldis does not pry. He understands the desire to shroud the past. He understands too the feeling of being not understood, of watching others in silence, of the desire to choose who sees the truth of oneself.

It is ironic, in a way. Miervaldis is a priest of Berath, and the Grieving Mother is a midwife. One shepherds souls into the world, and the other keeps watch as they depart. And yet for their apparent differences, the two are very similar.

The Grieving Mother has hidden her memories so deeply within herself that even she cannot reach them. Not on her own. But Miervaldis is a Watcher, and she is a powerful cipher, and between the two of them they uncover the broken pieces of her past, bit by scattered bit.

When the last piece is found and they have formed a full picture, Miervaldis wonders if he should have let them remain lost.

“I did not mean to cause pain,” the Grieving Mother says, her eyes shut tight against the memories. “It was what they wanted. I gave them comfort and guidance, as I always did. I never intended…” She shakes her head, her long dark hair rustling with the movement. “I thought I was doing right. I thought it was what they needed.”

“You may have been correct,” Miervaldis says, and the Grieving Mother halts in her self-admonition to look at him with dark, desperate eyes. “Correct in some manner, at least. You did know what they wanted of you. That’s the essence of it, I believe. The gift and curse of ciphers. Of Watchers, too, in a way. You see into them, their true thoughts, their beliefs and desires. You see everyone so clearly, except for yourself. You cannot dissect your own mind, just as I cannot resolve my own soul. But you convince yourself that you are what they think you are, and that through filling the role they wish of you, you find your purpose.”

“I thought I was doing right,” she repeats. “It was what I was supposed to give. They saw me as good, and so I was. What I did…it helped.” She sighs, a long, exhausted sound. “Until it didn’t. And then they saw me as a monster. Perhaps I was that as well.”

“Sometimes, fate can be cruel,” Miervaldis says evenly. “Sometimes doing the right thing can still wrong.” He feels the turmoil in the Grieving Mother’s soul, as glaring as the winter sun, and slowly places a hand on her shoulder. She trembles at the touch, but does not shy away. “That does not make one a monster.”

The Grieving Mother is quiet for a moment, and then says in her wind-whisper voice, “You are defined by your gifts as I am, and through them we have both found our path in this world. It was a path I was happy to walk, once, but now I find myself frozen in place. I cannot continue, knowing what I have done, and yet I cannot stray.”

“What would you have me do?” Miervaldis asks, although he already knows the answer. He can see the wish pulsing through her soul.

Absolution.

“Cleanse my soul of these memories,” she says. “I tried to hide them away, but my efforts only resulted in their fracture. You…you could erase them fully, and I will be free to continue forward in peace.”

It would be an act of mercy, Miervaldis knows. Just as The Grieving Mother’s initial deceptions were an act of mercy, for both parents and children. But mercy only delayed their pain, and in the end their peace could not last.

But The Grieving Mother knows this. She is no fool, and she now remembers fully her deeds and their consequences. Yet she still asks. Peace is too tempting a promise to give up, and Miervaldis has seen the end of enough lives to know that sometimes, peace is all that can be offered. It is the Usher’s greatest gift, oft overlooked and yet deeply treasured. Surely Berath would not begrudge this request?

Perhaps these are the reasons he agrees. Perhaps he knows this is what the Grieving Mother wants of him, and does not have it within him to deny her a refuge from her harsh reality, just as she once could not deny others. They are, after all, very similar.

The Grieving Mother had a name, once. Miervaldis wipes it away, along with the remnants of a fractured memory and ruined life. He hopes his actions will help, and worries they will not. He wonders if he is allowing himself to be blinded by mercy just as she once was.

Which is more valuable, truth or mercy? He muses to himself as he carefully washes over the woman’s memories. The question stirs something within him, echoing other unanswered questions within his own soul even as he banishes the secrets of another. You always see other more clearly than you do yourself, he thinks again ruefully. The curse of ciphers and Watchers alike.

When it is done, Miervaldis can at least comfort himself with the fact that this was what the Grieving Mother wanted. Peace, of the same kind she could not resist granting to others.

They are very similar, but still he hopes the story will end differently this time around.

#pillars of eternity #ch: mievaldis #fanfic #i actually didnt make this choice in game but as i was writing #mierv said nope its more in character for me to wipe her memories #even if its the sad ending #and now here we are #heyitsharding

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squidproquoclarice · 3 years

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For the Sunrise AMA, What was it like writing the chapter where they find Susie? I remember reading that and being like whoa, it was very good.

So this developed gradually. It was another thing where I wanted to respin some of the in-game Epilogue and do my own homage to it rather than just write a totally different 1907. But I also desperately wanted to fix its huge problem of being almost entirely plot device/deus ex machina based writing rather than organic plot and character evolution like the first six Chapters. What we have in-game is nobody having any clue for the longest time Micah’s anywhere nearby so Sadie doesn’t feel obligated to go after him. Then suddenly Sadie knows Micah’s around, he’s a threat with a whole gang of his own, and gosh, conveniently, one of his men is right there in Strawberry to interrogate! And then Cleet spins some yarn about arguing with Micah about killing a little girl and that causing them to go separate ways. So: it’s fairly nonsensical that Micah could be operating a large, violent criminal gang and even be mentioned by name in the papers without Sadie as a very seasoned multi-state bounty hunter having any Goddamn clue he’s around. It’s also fairly nonsensical that a vicious sadist like Micah would just let Cleet walk away from the gang after crossing him and proving he’s “weak” in Micah’s eyes. I tried to patch some of that as best I could. Micah not being seen or identified by anyone got explained as his level of violence deliberately leaving no survivors--which is fitting with his in-game actions. I also ended up revealing he has practical reason to do so given his distinctively identifiable eye patch. I did take that one aspect from the High Honor “go for the money” ending and transport it to the fight up on the ridge, and explained it as Arthur breaking Micah’s eye socket and the bone splinters in the eye needing its removal. It felt like a selfless Arthur who rescued John deserved to leave that mark on Micah for the next eight years for Micah to think about, and not just a selfish Arthur who weirdly decided he cared most about money he didn’t expect to survive to spend. (I’m still kind of “What the fuck?” about the non-logic of the money ending.) As for Cleet, I was leaning towards that issue of killing small children being genuine for him. It could have been Cleet lying, but it did feel like it could be a genuine fracture point. You can be a monster who still has some limits. So I figured they might run across Cleet at a homestead, where that argument about killing a small girl meant Micah shot him and left him to die slowly, because that felt like Micah’s style of indiscriminate “so there, that’ll show you” violence. And Cleet could still be the one to tell Arthur and Sadie that this dangerous “Big Valley Phantom” is Micah, and where to find him. The Hagens were originally one-shot NPCs for Arthur and Sadie helping guide them to their homestead in 1901 on their way up to Adler Ranch for Sadie to say goodbye to Jake before marrying Arthur. I went for Shepherd’s Rest because it would be there on the map in 1907, and it being there in 1901 seemed possible. Then I was reminded of them being there in 1907. I think I dropped a casual mention or two of the Griffiths dropping in on the Hagens while trying to pick up the trail of “Jim Milton” since they would be in the area as an “Oh yeah, someone they knew, they’d probably say hi since they were right there, and the Hagens did say to drop by if that ever happened.” I didn’t do much with it right then given the Hagens didn’t figure into my plans yet (and therefore ended hastily patching some mention of it in later about renewing the friendship that spring when they stopped by...yeah, it’s this kind of thing I’ll probably try to smooth out a bit on the edit) Then at some point I realized it could work for the Hagens to be the ones involved. They were newlyweds in 1901, so they could have a small child. There’s unfortunately always going to be more narrative punch when events involve someone you know rather than Random Citizen #2. I’d also been having the thought that Sadie and Arthur would end up adopting kids in the future, but the survival of a little girl from a violent attack, especially the daughter of friends, would be a reason to make her part of their family. So it all seemed to work together. But a lot of the weight of it hit me only in the moment when I was writing the chapter. I like to let things largely play out as I write them, and this was no exception. So you get both of them riding up and sensing that something’s wrong that the Hagens didn’t meet them as planned, and the stillness of the homestead, and then being reminded of past traumas. Arthur’s reminder of riding up to Eliza and Isaac’s cabin and seeing the silence along with those fresh graves with two crosses. Sadie’s reminder of her own home being broken into, and Jake’s murder and her own ordeal. They’ve got their kids there too, which makes it even harder. And then Sadie deliberately saying she’ll go see about Susannah, and Arthur saying he’ll go check Nils and Margit’s bedroom, is each of them agreeing to shield the other from more direct triggers. Arthur can’t see a murdered small child, and Sadie can’t see a married couple presumably surprised while asleep in bed and then murdered, especially the husband. Finding Susie alive and hiding, and seeing Cleet’s still alive and able to tell them what they need to know sets off two different and disparate missions: taking care of this orphaned and traumatized little girl and their own kids, and hunting down Micah. And the conflict and tension between those does inform a lot of the next few chapters in trying to figure out where their responsibility lies, the nature of duty vs vengeance, etc. It was a really rough chapter to write between the emotions and the aftermath of violence, but I think it’s probably one of my better ones for all that. I knew a lot hung on this one, given the payoff of finding Micah was something that had been left pending and gathering tension for readers who knew it had to happen at some point.

#rdr2 #sunrise ama #sadie adler #arthur morgan #may the sunrise #writing #fic from the parking lot #foundynnel

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princessanneftw · 4 years

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Mike Tindall: 'Zara and I are planning to send Mia back to school in June'

By Eleanor Steafel for The Telegraph

Mike Tindall has spent much of lockdown asking himself a question by now familiar to parents up and down the country: what would a teacher do?

Over the past eight weeks the Tindalls have joined the legions of families juggling homeschooling one child while keeping a toddler occupied, supporting vulnerable loved ones from afar, and trying to get some work done in between it all. With his wife Zara still needing to put in the hours training her horses on the Gatcombe Park estate in Gloucestershire, where they live, the programme of year one classes for their eldest daughter Mia, six, has mainly been shepherded by Mike - to varying degrees of success.

“Zara still has hopes that the horses will get back, they still need training and working on, so I get to be a teacher in the mornings which is sometimes really nice, sometimes really frustrating,” he tells me over Zoom. His Zoom background, incidentally, looks like a rather impressive bookcase but in fact, he reveals with a wry smile, “It’s wallpaper, I’m not that well read.”

The homeschooling, he says, hasn’t always been a walk in the park. “I don’t think any child is a great homeschooler because they definitely listen to other people better than they listen to their parents.

“[Mia] can be brilliant one minute and then something you’ve seen her do a thousand times she’ll just go ‘I don’t know how to do that’ and then you go ‘well I know you do’, and she’ll just say ‘no I don’t’ and then you get frustrated, and you’re trying not to get frustrated.”

Doubtless a familiar scene for the millions of parents currently attempting to provide an education from their kitchen table. “She enjoyed it the first week because it was different being around Mum and Dad all the time,” he says. “But then, ultimately, it’s the same people who are telling her off or telling her what to do and I think then she gets bored of that.”

They are hoping Mia will return to school on June 1st, as per the government’s plan to allow reception, year one and year six children back in the classroom. “The plan is, at the moment, that she would go back but obviously that’s still up in the air,” he says. “Every day you read different things... we’ll just have to wait.

“There is no ideal situation,” he adds, but is encouraged by statistics suggesting children are unlikely to suffer from coronavirus or pass it on to adults. “As long as they’re doing everything they can to make it as safe as possible,” he believes reopening would be a positive step.

He’s also keen to ensure the girls maintain their independent spirits. “They definitely enjoy having that full time attention, but you also want them to have some independence. That’s the side you want them to keep developing.”

Tindall is also navigating the tricky business of supporting parents who are shielding. His mum and dad live 200-odd miles away in West Yorkshire; his dad, Phil, has lived with Parkinson’s for 17 years, and his mother, Linda, has asthma. They have just started to go for the odd dog walk, but have mainly been confined to the house since mid-March. “It’s just tough... they don’t want to be cooped up but they are very worried about going too far afield and getting too close to everyone else.”

His brother Ian lives a few miles from them, “which is reassuring,” though he worries what would happen if his dad had a fall, as he would be unable to enter their house. “It would be very difficult for my mum to move a dead weight. And if his medication wears off and he can’t move and he’s not in a place where he can sleep then mum’s got to try and get him into bed.

“It’s just very tough for her. It’s pretty much like that most of the time but at least [usually] she knows that she’s got my brother on the doorstep... If you don’t have that it just doesn’t make [for] a very nice environment.”

WhatsApp video calls have taken the place of in-person visits, enabling them to chat to their grandchildren and watch them playing. That is, when Mike can “make them understand how a phone works. Most of the time I’m talking to [Dad’s] head or up his nose. But once you get that sorted you can get the kids on and that’s what they miss.”

However good the technology, however, “you still can’t have a hug,” he says. “Everyone loves a hug.”

When they are next able to be together, he and Zara’s youngest daughter, Lena (who is about to turn two, and counts Prince Harry among her godparents) will have changed a fair amount in the time since her grandparents last saw her. “It could be six months since their last visit and a lot changes at that age in six months. All you can do is keep taking photos and videos and sending it to them.”

They are yet to see his mother-in-law Princess Anne, who lives in another house on the Gatcombe Estate, in the flesh, but she has been getting to grips with tech, too. Many royal engagements are now being carried out via video: the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge popped up on Zoom to surprise a Bingo session at a care home this week, while even the Queen, who is isolating at Windsor, has got on board, receiving a video call from baby Archie on her birthday.

“It’s busy still for them,” he says of Princess Anne, who appeared on a call with World War II veterans earlier this month to mark VE Day. “She works so hard with all her charities and she’s still got a lot to do, so they’re still in full flow.”

Disappointingly, there have been no Zoom quizzes with the Cambridges or Sussexes, or competitive sourdough action on their WhatsApp group. “Actually it hasn’t been that active,” he laughs. “I think everyone is just getting on with it.”

The former England captain has always worn his royal links lightly - in part, one imagines, thanks to his upbringing. He eschewed university, instead joining Bath Rugby at aged 18 and making his national debut against Ireland at Twickenham in 2000. He now realises that this was the same year his dad started to show the initial symptoms of Parkinson’s disease, although it would be another three years until it was diagnosed.

That delay is one reason he is so determined to raise awareness. His annual celebrity golf day raises around £90,000 every year for the Cure Parkinson’s Trust, and though the tournament can’t happen this year, he is running an online auction to raise funds for the Trust, the NHS and the Matt Hampson Foundation, with proceeds to be split between them.

Tindall hopes he can “raise a fair few coins for the coffers”, particularly for the charity founded by his friend Matt Hampson, who became paralysed from the neck down in a rugby accident in 2005, and is currently in the vulnerable category during lockdown. “He is already permanently on a ventilator with his fractured and dislocated neck, and he doesn’t know if he can go out until there’s a vaccine.”

Tindall seems a pretty level-headed, get on with it sort of man, but admits he has spent the last two months “up and down a little bit,” he says. “You get to spend a lot of time with the kids and family which is unbelievable.” But life is also “in a bit of limbo, and you’re trying to fill the day with positive things to keep you mentally attuned and focused.”

A day always works better, he says, “when there’s a bit of a plan around it so you don’t wallow the hours away”.

He still has “a lot of questions about how things will look after”; both for his beloved sport, and the hospitality company he is an ambassador for. “But,” he admits, “I’m ready to break out - when we’re allowed to.”

Mike Tindall has launched an online auction to raise money for the NHS, The Cure Parkinsons Trust and Matt Hampson Foundation. To bid, visit jumblebee.co.uk/thestadiumoflife

#homeschooling is taking its toll lol #aw they havent seen anne #good that he’s doing another thing to raise money #mike tindall #zara tindall #mia tindall #lena tindall #princess anne #british royal family #brf #interview

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fheythfully · 4 years

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Putting all my thoughts on the 5.3 MSQ under the cut. Beware of course of spoilers! Overall I really enjoyed the patch. There were a lot of times where I sounded like an excited dinosaur.

So first things first, the way the patch started with the kids was so cute. I was expecting more with the Ardbert-esque kid, especially when he said he wanted to adventure with friends because he felt like he was missing something... but then they didn’t? I’m not sure what the point of that line of his was then. Ardbert’s soul is inside ours, and also has been shown to have moved on, but I wonder if some fragment of it--the part that is bound to the specific world’s Lifestream--can be reborn? Anyway. A bit bummed we didn’t get more with that train of thought but it was cute nevertheless. Also, apothecary. I was going “IS THIS A HINT?” the moment the kiddo said she wanted to be one as a WoL.

Also, I am totally writing a shortfic of the twins, Satella and Ryne hanging out in the Crystarium library with Moren bringing them books of interest while they sneak in tea and snacks. Ryne falls asleep and is eventually found by Thancred. Alisaie teases him for being a doting father. When everyone leaves, Satella is left cozily snuggled up as the evening turns feeling almost like home at the Arcanist’s Guild.

I really liked the bit where Alisaie’s desire to surpass the WoL and competitive nature is shown, and that some part of it is due to insecurity. I love the character depth and growth SE gives her over the patches. I just about had a heart attack when she started getting woozy with a noise in her head.

Elidibus feeling summoned by the WoL and seeing an Amaurotine in their stead gave me feelings, because it means we are whole enough now to form some sort of connection to the Ascians. Only sundered ones are left now though, so I wonder if that will still stay true.

I did have a heart attack at hearing Thancred collapsed. I was not expecting him to be okay when we got back to see him. Dawn’s Respite scene was very sobering and set me up for something entirely different than the ending we got (thank god).

Alisaie being stubborn and sullen with the Exarch made me wonder if she’s seeing the past with Louisoux in him, and Alphinaud’s comment about how she handled their grandfather leaving all that well all but confirmed it. That’s very sweet.

I made a very loud note as I was playing at the fact that a Rejoining soul must recognize its part on the Source as itself. Not sure if that was just for the Exarch’s case (though there are comments about how we and Ardbert fused very easily too) but I have Filed This Away.

Seeing Shtola collapsed gave me another heart attack but she’s definitely possessed of nine lives. The duty with Elidibus was fantastic, though the lack of voice acting caught me off guard (covid? are duties never voiced?). Fighting the baby Scions made me full of glee and then it got even better from there. Answers playing over the city, and then the HW theme, and then SB--fantastic. I especially paused when it started snowing. I appreciate a lot what Elidibus was doing, which was trying to show to us that the people who seem so ancient and recreated only as puppets had once meant something to him and his own. The fight was a lot of fun. I took a screenshot of berserk-Ardbert for kicks.

Also, the bit where he calls you by your name, and the name is switched from Elidibus to Ardbert. My heart. I have a lot of notes about this for future writing.

Elidibus as Zodiark’s heart and primal weren’t a big surprise as it’s been confirmed before (I think?) BUT he’s basically the primal for the idea of the Warrior of Light and I think that is magnificent. I still don’t have a full grasp on Elidibus as shown in this patch: his memories are fractured, whether by age or Zodiark; he’s driven both by his own ambition and Zodiark’s influence. He’s all over the place and I’m going to have to take better measure of him as I replay everything in NG+.

I have a note that says, “Ella why are you picking up random things off the ground that your enemies have dropped???” but it all turned out even better than okay. I don’t understand how he could have dropped all those Convocation crystals other than as a plot point but whatever. It was a great sequence. “All that remains is to pray. To pray that we will one day meet again, beneath a blue sky.” Made me tear up. The twisting of the Convocation from the gentle, kind Amaurotines to what they are today is brutally heart breaking.

I made a note of how the trees in Amaurot are starting to wither--I am not sure if we’ve always had that? But if not, definitely a small sign of Hades’ magic fading?

Bear with me now but I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING ABOUT AZEM. I of course didn’t get the title right (my 14th is Altima), but I got the duty/job so almost right. My Altima is the Shepherd, though to the souls on the planet living and departing to create and live alongside the Lifestream. The entire scene with Hyth had me shaking in my chair with excitement over how perfectly it described my headcanon 14th--down to her wandering the planet when she wasn’t in the city. Granted it fits with all our WoLs and is specifically made to be so, but I am so excited. Not sure what I’ll do with this when I write, whether I will alter my canon to fit the game or plow on ahead, but we’ll see. I’m just so excited. And the new TITLE fits my OCs to a T. God, thank you, SE. I also love that we are the “sun” and can’t wait for the future connections and theories about the 14th and Azeyma and Azim.

“After all, I cannot say whether I act of my own volition or by the will of my recreator!” Made me laugh-cry.

Scions confirmed that seeing Amaurot awoke a great grief in them, which was then supported by the random Eulmore NPC crying at the sight of it. So, it’s not even reliant on how whole your soul is: everyone who sees it feels something, a soul-genetic memory, maybe? I can’t wait to use this. Also makes me wonder if this is why in the patch the Scions are more wont to encourage you to talk things out with Elidibus, as in SHB they were pretty set against Emet-Selch.

The new dungeon was okay. I need to replay it again and look around more (is there a hint of Hildibrand there??). The Necromancer and Berserker class, though the latter may be Warrior same way Arcanists are called Ink Mage, made me pout a little. I want Necromancer. Also, THIER White Mages get Protect? Pffft.

I didn’t take any notes for the trial but. It was brilliant. The run through Crystal Tower with the Exarch was a wonderful callback (there were so many callbacks, it was great) and then when he told us to go ahead I was like, you better mean it that you don’t plan to play your trump card unless we’re present! The trial itself was breathtaking. When the Amaurotine first showed up I thought it was Azem, then when they snapped their fingers I was like cool we can do that too, and then they did the Emet-Selch wave and I lost it. HOW!? Shtola has a theory that even she admits is far fetched but. Wow. I am wondering which one it may be: Emet-Selch truly somehow having his soul live (we were just in the space where Ascians’ souls go between bodies) and assisted us; or was he called by Azem’s crystal as a memory; or was it a memory entirely? Just. That cameo. I miss you, Emet-Selch. For yours is the seat of the fourteenth broke me also and I’m just all over the place. Elidibus as the Warrior of Light was great.

I don’t understand why he went Baby in the end there. I can’t imagine the Convocation recruited and sacrificed a child. My headcanon is that it’s just meant to represent his childlike devotion and drive to his goals. He wanted to help his brothers and sisters so badly he detached himself from Zodiark. Seeing him sitting there cradling the crystals and talking about how it’s a beautiful day and they’re not there to see it was heartbreaking. The Amaurotines lost so, so much--and there’s no way to bring any of it back. I am glad the Unsundered have finally a chance to rest.

The goodbye scene with Ryne was a little lacking to me. I wanted Thancred to hug her, damn it. At least he told her he’s proud of her. She’s so brave with how she tries not to cry before them. She’s coming into her own, with her own ideals, but also so like Minfilia’s that it made my heart full. I will act as her post moogle to Thancred any time, kupo.

Also the one line she has in Twine about how Gaia is her friend who will be there for her is sweet and I laugh at the idea of Gaia’s reaction.

Okay, so, the ending. Probably the thing I did not expect at all. I expected death. No one died. The animations were beautiful, and Alisaie was such a joy to watch. Just. I don’t have words for it. I was so overcome with happiness at how perfect they all were: Alisaie sinking into her chain in a sulk, the Archons fondling their weapons, Alphinaud with tea and a book. Alisaie jumping off to go find a fight and Alphinaud’s brotherly exasperation. The banter between Urianger and Y’Shtola. My heart is so, so full.

On to the topic of the Exarch, which I did not expect to have this many feelings on: first of all, I expected him to die. We all did. How can one man survive SO many death flags!? When our WoL ran out of the Stones like a wound up mammet I was there with her, heart pounding praying for it to have worked. I am bummed that we didn’t get to experience him actually waking, but that means I can write about it... which I already did, actually. Because: I came out of this with a very unexpected, slowly unfurling Ella/G’raha ship. This was a surprise because ARR G’raha was not someone I even remembered all that well, as I played CT when it came out, but I remember thinking he was a bit too immature for romantic ships; and the Exarch always felt too distant and too much. I was fond of him in SHB but in a passing way, also because I was a little bitter that he put the Scions in such danger in the first place (though I understand all the good that’s come as a result, like uncovering the true Ascian plots). Seeing him at the end there, as a fusion of G’raha and the Exarch, somehow turned my view of him on its head and in that moment, I could easily see Ella and him running off and having proper adventures together. The driving attraction to all my ships is a form of shared experience, or at least understanding of what it’s like to bear a heavy burden on your shoulders. The Exarch was again, too much in his role, and I couldn’t see Ella feeling comfortable being close with him. But now, with this ending? Watching the two of them run off together? Oh, I am excited.

I even wrote four pages of fluff on how he got those bobby pins in his hair and I never write fluff. Please look forward to it being posted soon.

Lastly: Ardbert. If you’ve been around my blog long enough, you’ll know that I’ve been an Ardbert shipper since HW. SHB was so good to me in that regard. Personally, I got closure regarding him in the scene of him offering us his axe and was happy with it. I was overjoyed to see him get closure with Seto now, too. I’m not happy with Elidibus using his body and then tearing it apart as he did, but: it made for great angst and sometimes that’s actually okay with me. The confirmation that he can talk to and through us is interesting and I imagine that he does so rarely, as his soul is finally at rest with his friends--where it truly belongs. He lets us live our life, and a part of him is always with us, now. I imagine him and Ella at one point having a conversation about her burgeoning feelings for G’raha, as in my canon she’s never felt quite a strong enough connection or level of comfort with anyone but Ardbert, and him giving her his “blessing” and encouraging her that it’s okay to chase after the comfort and happiness G’raha can bring her. Especially since all of SHB she was in a very very bad place and this ending we got gives me such a sense of respite, no matter how fleeting.

Speaking of fleeting: Zenos and Asahi/Fandaniel. I am still hoping Zenos gets more interesting because I just can’t bring myself to like him, and seeing him destroy the Garlean empire before we even step foot into it is making me a little pouty. Fandaniel is interesting on a few accounts: he’s a sundered Ascians, so what will that mean? Clearly he’s been unhappy with the Unsundereds’ plans. He’s also pretty crazy for “the bringer of order”, if we follow the FF12 Espers. We didn’t get a lot so I am hesitantly interested. But also, Asahi? I hate that kid...

My last thoughts on this are: the Ascian storyline was meant to come to an end with this patch, but clearly we’re still getting content. So I am hoping that was for the Unsundered Ascians and we’ll find out more about the summon of Hydaelyn and all that. I... have exhausted myself typing all this. Wow.

BUT I AM VERY HAPPY WITH THIS PATCH AND WILL REPLAY THAT HAPPY ENDING MANY TIMES. I can’t wait for the future.

#this is VERY VERY long #5.3 spoilers #sasha rambles

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momo-de-avis · 5 years

Text

Wordtober Day 5: Build

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘’𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕, 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟸𝟶𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟹.

I can see it through my window. Every morning, every night, every afternoon. I watch the dancing shapes between the rustling leaves and branches and every single time I am certain, I am positive, something lurks in there, watching me, taunting me. That path, that perfidious, treacherous path. The last path my brother walked.

It feels like something calls for me. It’s been calling for me every day since I last arrived here. A week. That’s how long I’ve been here—one whole week—and I can’t tell, today—for the life of me, I can’t—how the hell did I spend twenty years in this house, sleeping in this room, looking straight at that path. The first sight upon waking up, and the last thing I saw before I pulled the curtains shut. Just right outside my window, like an unwanted guest.

The house isn’t much better. The walls are painted with mementoes, and everywhere, there are memories engraved on every slab and tile of every wall. The white sheets that cover the furniture in almost every room, left abandoned for eight years, have something daunting to them. Traces of something bittersweet. Where the dust should settle, I swear—on my life, I swear—there are little marks of something I can’t understand what. As if my mind is trying to recollect happy memories that were here before he was gone, but now all my eyes see is the charred corners of a photograph that was once colourful.

And I’ve been sleeping here, right under these ceilings, for a week. Every night, I lie under the covers and I pull the sheets up to my head and sometimes, like when I was little, I glance quickly at the walls around but there’s never anything there. That’s what’s so disconcerting. I can’t see anything yet I am sure there is something, in those abstract lines of humidity and the cracks of the plaster that has chipped off with time. Something lurks, something leers at me, something mocks me, torments me, laughs at me. I can’t hear it either. The house is so silent now it feels the silence itself is the haunting.

But the house isn’t haunted. If anything is haunted in this place, it’s that path, that narrow strip of earth that zigzags through the juniper bushes up to those two pillars, those two pyramidal pillars with that rusty chain swinging between them. It’s absurd when you think about it, because they stand alone by a wall of green, a fortress of foliage barring entrance from all and any who dare cross that barrier and sneak into these parts off the limits of our house, yet it’s just a pair of pillars with one single line of chain links locked on its flanking whitewashed stone.

Perhaps that’s what enticed Sam. He saw that pathway, saw those two pillars and thought: what could be wrong? It guards nothing. Anyone who looks at them thinks they could just go around, but somehow, they never do. In truth, it’s pretty ineffective as a barrier itself. There’s even no warning, nothing fending off possible intruders or curious adventurers who need to be reminded this is private property. Nothing. Anyone can just... hop it. But no one ever does. No one ever did, except Sam and me.

Of course, I crossed it too. When Sam dared to go into the forest through that chain, I had to go with him. We always went together, and every time Sam found something worthy of some good hours of exploration, he took me with him. Except this time.

He always did take me with him. We’d wander off into the immense bald land, meandering through the golden twigs and weeds, charred by the blazing summer sun, and hop between the abandoned railroad tracks as we counted our every step. We’d steal old wooden planks and stones and wire and pipes and build our forts below an oak tree, overlooking the shepherds that wafted placidly between the bushes, the clappers on the necks of every sheep clanging loud in a hollow singing behind them, carried by the warm winds that kissed the sweat on our backs. We’d construct these corners for ourselves—shelters, havens, hideouts—for me and my brother only. Our very own corner.

We always loved building things. Just little places for us to hide, enough protection for ourselves only, and outside, an entire real world we willingly ignored.

Then one day, I caught him staring at those two pillars, and I knew he wanted to cross them. There was just a beaming desire spread about his eyes. He took one step, then another, then another, and when he was so close them temptation gripped his breath, I called him.

“Sam,” I screeched, “where are you going?”

He turned around, and in that moment, I could swear his face was different. Paler. Emptier. Dull. Like all emotion he had ever felt before in his life died, and what was left was his carcass, hollow and waiting to be filled with something else. I shuddered in dread, even as he answered my question with a slight pursing of his eyebrows and a slash of his lips I took for a smile: “You ever wondered what’s beyond this little chain?”

I wanted to say we were not supposed to go beyond it, it was the only answer my childish mind had at ready, but somehow, I didn’t speak. So when I saw his leg raise and leap across, I followed him. I couldn’t let my brother go alone. I had to go with him.

It took me fifteen years to realize crossing that chain was what set it off, but back then, it all seemed normal enough, save for the slight trepidation the action had caused in me, though I am still uncertain whether that was an omen or just my guilty conscience. We found, thirty minutes after walking between the thorny foliage and cluttered, narrow paths, a clearing. It stood beneath two trees that bent over like a rooftop, branches entwined together into a perfect pyramidal shape, casting a sombre shadow on the bare, whitewashed ground. Dried leaves and twigs cracked beneath the soles of my brother’s feet, and I watched as he started to rummage through the meshes of brambles and weeds for wood and rock to build something, moving so excitedly about he barely paid mind to the bloodied scratches on his hands.

I couldn’t understand why he suddenly seemed so eager to build something. It was an impetus I had never seen before.

“This is the perfect spot,” he said. “This is the perfect spot to build our hideout.”

I wanted to say he was wrong, that I didn’t want us to have a hideout in that place. Something felt wrong about it. The air was dense and prickled the back of my throat as I breathed in, and every shadow seemed heavier than any other I had ever seen. And something lurked there, that I know. Like a thousand pairs of eyes watching us.

Sam was focused on his job, moving so frantically he barely noticed the sun setting around us, until I tapped his shoulder hurriedly and begged him to stop. I had no idea how long had passed when I forced him to stop. When he breathed out, something new possessed him. Before him, stood a tiny hut, no higher than a meter a half, made of twigs tied together with ropes made of dried roots, just as he had taught me to do, but so perfectly constructed I had no clue how it came to be. I had stood there, the whole time, and couldn’t explain how something like that came to be, but as the years passed, I have accepted that time simply moved differently there. Not faster nor slower, just in a different rate, a different reality. Things come to life, I suppose, if you wish them so—but there is a price to pay I haven’t entirely understood just yet.

We returned home, and never mentioned our discovery. Then, for the following week, I barely set my eyes on my brother at all.

He would leave by the morning and return only as night settled. By the time the sun would cast its last rays of light over the treetops, he was irritable, restless, but most of all, furious. His hands were bruised, dried blood around his fingernails, and slender hoops of red circled his eyes, like life was slowly sucked out of him. I was, for the first time in my life, afraid of him. Sometimes, I’d hear him mumble something between gritted teeth in his bedroom and as I peered through his door ajar, I’d watch him furiously scribble something on torn pieces of paper he’d crumple into a ball and fling madly against the wall. When I finally dared to ask him where he’d been—because I had searched for him all over, because we had plans together, because I was worried for him—he simply answered: “The animals keep tearing it down.”

It took me a week to realize what he meant.

The pieces put themselves together as time passed, and I finally understood where he was spending his days. When I didn’t find him at the railroad tracks, or the several tiny huts we had built on the fields with cardboard and wooden planks, I knew there was only one place he could be in.

It made me shudder in anticipation. I stood for a long time before those two small columns and that dangling chain, watching the lurking shadows of the dancing twigs and rustling leaves, and realized, for the first time, that no sounds came from beyond. It was empty. Even the trees were silent, and no birds chirped. The wind died at that chain link, and the sun fractured about the greenery in washed-out sepia tones.

I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to cross. But beyond the calling that pulsated through the darkness, what I felt was my brother’s presence there. I had to go. So I stepped forth, and I crossed the chain a second time.

It took me a surprisingly short time to find the way, and I could swear the path I had taken was shorter than the last time. Sam was kneeling on the ground, right in the middle of the clearing, and the canopy-like foliage above him rose like a castle of his own. I could swear there was a golden ambience cast around us. Before him, something white and dull rose, so opaque I barely made it out against the background. A tiny little house made of something white, rising to the same height as Sam’s previous construction. A meter and a half only.

I asked him what he was doing; Sam jumped in fright, turned around and looked at me. His eyes were scooped, his face craggy, and shadows fell on his semblance, creating shapes I had never seen before. When he laughed, I didn’t know that laugh. That wasn’t my brother, but someone who had been completely possessed by something alien. He stood up, patted his hands together and gave two steps to his left, a hand waving at his new construction like an artist presenting his work before the audience. His fingertips were stained with white dust, and his pants were torn and ratty around the knees.

It was a house, small and humble, with nothing but a tiny door and a gable roof. It looked almost sweet and admirable, had I not given a step forth and realized what it was made of.

Bone. Sawed, scraped bone, polished almost to a shiny surface. But bone all the same. I could tell it was bone because Sam had kept the shapes in its alignment, tied together with the same scrubbed root he always made rope out of. But so many bones—piling together in order, beautifully arranged to compose walls and a roof and a door.

I stumbled back and began to cry immediately, but Sam didn’t seem to notice the tears in my eyes. “Is that bone?” I whispered, barely able to breathe at all. “Where did you find those bones?”

There was a maniac glow to his eyes. His smile disturbed me so deeply my body shuddered again, and I felt forlorn in the opened space of the clearing, the trees above engulfing me whole, ready to swallow me like a gurgling monster. But worse, I was sure, was that it was my brother they wanted to swallow whole.

“The wood didn’t last,” he said—his voice raised to an octave, high-pitched in excitement, “the animals destroyed it overnight. I had to do it again. But this was the only thing that worked.”

“How long have you been here?”

He eyes opened wide, wider than before, and a screech escaped his lips, something that would have been a laugh, but entirely different then. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been here all night.”

I looked up at the skies, but could see the sun. It was around noon when I left the house—had he been there all night and all morning, working tirelessly on his construction? The idea of my brother completely alone in that place, that horrid place, touching bone with his bare hands, horrified me. I grabbed his hand—it was dry, his fingers thickened and full of callouses—and tugged his arm.

“Let’s go home,” I begged. “Please.”

He pushed me aside, his eyes now glowing in anticipation. “No,” he said. “I have to try it.” A glimmer of madness, and another laugh—a distant, alien laugh. “I have to go inside.”

I screamed for him to stay away, but he didn’t listen; my eyes burned with tears and I watched, frozen in terror, as my brother opened the tiny door and looked inside—the darkness luring him in, cold and bristly, clawing at his existence like that same gurgling monster I had felt before, had envisioned before, only now coming to life in full as he lurched himself at that tiny door. My voice grazed my throat, my lungs collapsing as the air was sucked out of my body, but I couldn’t move—how much I have detested myself since, for watching my brother being sucked into that tiny black hole and unable to do anything if not to scream.

Then, there was a hollow thud, and the door shut. All around, there was silence—no, the absence of sound. Even my blood rushing through my veins was silent, and my heart ceased to beat; I was left to my own isolation in the woods, alone in the clearing as I watched, shaking on my knees, the door that sucked my brother away into this fortress of bone. I trudged on carefully, quivering hand reaching for the door, and pressed it slowly—a shove came then. And another, and another. I flung myself at it until my shoulder hurt and my body turned sore from pushing it with all might, but it didn’t budge. It didn’t even shake a little bit. It was rooted to the ground, firmly shut. Forever.

The house looked too tiny for him to fit inside, and too frail to stand, and yet, beyond that door, there was nothing—just absolutely nothing. Not even a sound, however faint, even as I screamed his name and banged the bony structure with my bare knuckles—there was nothing coming from inside. As if he had been sucked by something hollow, a hole torn open in the ground beneath this skeletal fortress that had swallowed him. As if he simply ceased to exist.

I stumbled back, glanced around—night settled fast. The dancing shapes of shadows dashed through the corners of my vision, and that prevalent feeling of a constant absence made me quiver; holding my breath, I ran back, ran home, cut and bruised by whipping twigs and thorny branches, vision blurred by tears, until I was safely home to tell my parents what had happened.

They didn’t believe me. Nobody did. Sam was reported missing the day after. I never saw him again.

It’s been fifteen years since he was gone. I have been back at this place for a week now, watching that pathway for as long as there is sunlight, counting the times the rusty metal dangling between both columns creaks in the setting sun. There is still no life beyond it. The wind still stops at the chain link, and no birds chirp past the two stone pillars. The foliage on either side has grown thicker, the juniper bushes flanking that path unkept and wild, but past those two pillars, everything is the same, as dead as it ever was. Except for one thing different.

I swear I can har my brother calling me.

I’ve stood here for seven nights in a row, watching that hideous, horrid path, unable to shake away the sense that something keeps calling for me, just as it called my brother. I never went back to that clearing, never crossed the chain link again, even though I stared at it for ten years from my bedroom window. I used to see things moving beyond it, something dark and hungry, and sometimes, I heard the sound of bones smacking against each other, like chittering teeth, piercing my ears in the night, though I’m unsure if I wasn’t just imagining things. Now, I hear them again, but the melody is finished with the soft murmur of Sam’s voice.

Time has passed, and time has come at last. I wonder if the bone house is still there.

Yesterday afternoon, I had an impulse. I picked up my camera and walked outside, standing so close to the two pillars the creaking sound of the chains rattled inside my ears; I looked through the lens but saw nothing. Then, my eyes drew away, and I heard something—a voice, a male voice I hadn’t heard that clearly in fifteen years—my brother, calling me, saying my name, loud and clear. And in a shudder of dread, my finger pressed the shutter, and I took a picture.

I haven’t developed it yet. It’s still inside my camera. I am afraid to see what’s in it.

I think I’m at the end of my journey, now. I think this is where I’m supposed to go. I might not come back, but at least I will know. Even if the whole world finds itself with not one, but two unsolved mysteries, at least I will have answers I need.

I won’t deny that I am terrified; I don’t want to cross that chain again. But I need to find Sam, I need to know what happened to him. I need to see if he’s still inside the little bone house he built.

I need to make sure the door will open for me.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝙰𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟷𝟿𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟹. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟽𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟼𝟾. 𝙱𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝟷𝟿𝟽𝟸 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟸, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝙼𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙼𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍.

𝙼𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚘’𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚔, 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎. 𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍.

_________

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #I WENT FULL AUTHORSHIP AND CREATED EVERY PIECE OF SHIT HERE FROM SCRATCH #EVERY PIECE OF SHIT HERE IS MINE LMAO #IM A REAL BITCH #my wordtober

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salmonthestoryteller · 5 years

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Friendships - Roswell New Mexico

I've been meaning to write this for awhile. Friendships are an important part of the Roswell universe, regardless of the version. I will admit that, in some ways, RNM disappointed me on the friendship front in Season One. Partly because everyone was kept so separated during the season. 1x11 has the biggest gathering of characters in one place. But, in the Crashdown group gathering we're still missing Kyle, Cam, and Alex - despite them being in on the alien secret. (We're missing Maria too - but she's not in on aliens.). And while a lot of characters gather again at the UFO Emporium Gala, there is still only a few scenes with more than two characters interacting directly. The lack of group dynamics during the season, and that in the finale they still weren’t brought together but separated once again, is a disappointment of mine that I hope we get to finally see change in s2.

I feel the lack of large group dynamics was in part because most of the friendships we are given in RNM start out fractured rather than the type of Ride or Die friendships the other two Roswell versions have. In both Roswell High and OG Roswell, we start with both the Pod Squad and Human Squad as groups of three who would pretty much do anything for each other. However, while RNM sets it up that these characters were like that ten years ago, we are introduced to them with these friendships mostly broken.

The Pod Squad - This is the story we get the most of through season one. The breaks in the trio’s friendship spawn from a few points (Their separation when they were seven, and the Drifter when they were fourteen), but the main one that really broke them was the murders ten years ago. When it comes to who's going to bury a body with you type of friendship, The Pod Squad quite literally does this twice so there’s the answer. However, the murders also destroy the relationship the trio once had. As we learn as the season progresses there’s other reasons, because on top of mysterious murders the trio compound two sets of lies. Michael and Max hide from Isobel that she blacked out and murdered the three girls (to their knowledge at the time), followed by Isobel and Michael using Isobel’s powers to send Liz away from Max when he seems likely to tell her the truth and hiding that from him.

When everything is over all their relationships suffer. Max and Michael’s suffer the most - with the close friendship we witness in the flashbacks completely destroyed. Max and Michael are not even really talking to each other at the start of the season and their interactions are mainly antagonistic. While we see that slowly change as the story progresses, culmination in their talk in 01x11 - their friendship is still not completely healed by the end of s1.

While Isobel and Max are still close, several comments between them hint that their relationship has suffered as well. Max’s “Will you stay out of my life for once?” to Isobel is one. Obviously Isobel has ended up mother henning Max after what happened, and it has not always been welcome. I also feel several comments he makes about her marriage and Noah (before the reveal) hint at a jealousy or bitterness over the fact that hiding the truth from her has led to her being able to get married and settle down while he was left alone. (But maybe that’s just my interpretation.) After the full truth is known, their relationship is badly damaged. However, once Isobel places herself under watch, and especially after her nearly dying, they come back together - in many ways better than before. I feel they are more open with each other in the end of the series. More willing to honestly support, rely on, and protect each other rather than the sort of bitter or overwhelming version of these things we are first shown.

Isobel and Michael’s relationship seems to have actually suffered the least. Perhaps because they both felt they were protecting one another. (Isobel thinks Michael killed the girls on accident, Michael thinks something went crazy with Isobel’s powers and she murdered the three girls when not herself.) Isobel has no problem running to Michael when Max shuts her out about Liz, Noah mentions Michael’s names among the reason Isobel disappears on him which shows that Michael does rely on her as well; Isobel is the one to first verbally protest when Michael suggests turning himself into Liz; when Max shuts them both out after finding out the truth Isobel holes up in Michael’s trailer; etc. The end of the series is full of more of this relationship, with Michael being the first person Isobel goes to when she thinks the flashbacks are telling her she was in love with Rosa, and Isobel being the first person Michael speaks openly about his relationship with Alex to. (He speaks about Alex to Max, but both times reluctantly and after being prodded, multiple times in the case of 01x11. With Isobel, Michael brings it up of his own free will.)

To be honest, I think Isobel and Michael are the best friendship we are given in RNM, and I adore them. However, I hope that after Max’s resurrection we will get to see more of the three always being there for each other - and not just Michael and Isobel.

The Human Squad - I’m going to start with Liz, Maria, and Alex. I do have a very different opinion on their relationship than most people. Because while I feel that, much like the Pod Squad, we are given this friendship that ten years ago was this deep, known each other all our lives, I will dump my boyfriend on prom night if he is a jerk to you, type of friendship, I also feel - like the Pod Squad - we are presented with a completely broken version of that in present time.

I see a lot of people referencing this notion about how they grew up together and how much that means, but… that isn’t my experience in the world. Especially among those who left small towns behind. Their best friend is the person they met in college. Or the person they met once they entered their chosen field. Many of them never even speak to their childhood friends again, or have a very distant relationship with them. (I feel like I am ruining someone’s childhood right now saying this.) It’s a different story if you don’t leave where you grew up, especially in small towns, and people who still live in the same place; work in the same place - those childhood friendships can mature with them and stay strong friendships. But, honestly, for the most part, the people I have met over the years who left their towns behind end up leaving childhood friendships behind as well.

I think that is very much the take we are given in RNM. We know Liz basically cuts all contact with Maria. They say so in their first interaction. And while it is not said distinctly, Alex and Liz’s first interaction hints at the same. Alex and Maria are more complicated, given that Alex does know what is happening with Mimi. Maria also comments that the Wild Pony is not Alex’s usual place to hang out in their early interactions. Clearly there’s been some contact. However, I don’t feel it was a lot. Even Alex’s comment to Mimi of “I’ve come out to you, like seven times” really still isn’t a lot. Given that one would have been the actual first time he told her when they were teens, that’s referencing six interactions. In ten years. Mimi calls Liz “Rosa” multiple times in a single day’s interactions. There’s also the fact that given Alex’s life there was no way for him to be spending a lot of time with Maria and Mimi. He went to training, he’s been on three tours, and after he lost his leg he probably spent months elsewhere with recovery and rehab before returning to Roswell. It just isn’t believable for him to have actually been in Roswell for any length. Whatever future Maria was planning she gave up for her mother. So, just like they haven’t been in Roswell while she deals with her mother's illness and giving up her future, she was completely incapable of being the type of friend who would hop a bus or plane and go to them if they needed her. Their lives pulled them apart, and along the way that friendship would have suffered by default. And it did.

The thing with these three is that we see no hint anybody ever filled that void in their lives that was left by that friendship. They never trusted another person to that length again. Not romantically, not friendship wise. Nobody. So when circumstances bring them together again - they sort of regroup and automatically begin to act like friends again. However, if you really think about it - it’s a very superficial healing. On a deeper level, the three do not reconnect.

This is obvious because of the secrets kept between them. In both previous versions of RNM, Maria is the first person Liz goes to with Max being an alien. Admittedly, both times Maria is there for the shooting, but it’s more than that. Liz goes to Maria because she trusts her deeply. In OG Roswell there’s a period of time before Alex is brought in, but in RH Maria runs to Alex with the secret almost immediately after Liz tells her. Once again, the trust level is there. The trust isn’t there with the Human Squad in RNM.

Liz never tells Maria about Max. Alex, even after Mimi discusses things with him that are a reference to Project Shepherd and the Alien Spaceship, doesn’t go to Maria. Nor does he go to Liz, despite discovering tech that looks partially organic and she is - oh, yah - a biochemical engineer. Maria doesn’t tell Liz what is happening with her mother until Alex forces her hand. None of that speaks of deep trust.

While what’s happening with Mimi brings them closer, it still doesn’t heal them. Maria still ends up crying alone over it at the end of the day - Liz fails to return and she doesn’t even ask Alex to stay with her. (She ends up crying on Michael but that was chance and not choice.) Maria and Liz grow closer, and she does ask her to go to the faith healer with her. But Maria is drugged and controlled by Noah, and Liz sees the flower in her necklace, the one that was used by Noah, and she still doesn’t even contemplate for one second telling Maria the truth. By the end of the season, Liz and Maria have grown the closest of the three, and I love their interactions. But this is not a fully repaired friendship, or one where the three trust and rely on each other. Definitely nothing like their past incarnations in RH and the OG series.

By comparison, Kyle sort of slides in and takes over where the friendship between the three fails - at least where Liz and Alex are concerned. Kyle and Alex’s friendship fractured in high school, while Liz and Kyle are exes who hook up when she returns to town. And, yes, you could say that Kyle was already involved with everything alien already so that set them both up to rely on him - but you can also question: why did they? Alex, as he tells Kyle, is well past worrying about Kyle’s “locker room taunts”, but that doesn’t mean he should place anymore faith in him - knowledge about aliens or not - then he does Liz and Maria. He purposefully does not look into his suspicions of the cabin wall until after Kyle leaves, yet when Cam approaches him he calls Kyle rather than Liz to find out about Dr Holden - even though she works at the same hospital.

Liz is kind of the same. Yes, she’s always had more faith in Kyle than anyone else did in the past, and he’s the one who saw the handprint and is a doctor. But he’s been out of her life just as long as Maria and Alex. Yet when she is questioning Rosa’s death, she doesn’t go to Maria - who was definitely a good friend of her sister’s and would want to help her discover the truth if she was murdered - or Alex, who’s in the damn military and a hacker - she goes back to Kyle.

I love Kyle, but he pretty much takes Maria’s place. By the end of season one, the human friendships are centered more around Kyle than the original trio. And, frankly, while I love the result, it's because of plot. He takes over as the most trusted person for both Liz and Alex because the writers wanted to tell the story of what happened to Jim Valenti. However, as a result, when you actually focus on character interaction and not plot - it lends itself to the telling that Liz, Maria, and Alex are no longer that close or trust in one another.

Kyle and Alex’s friendship, I’d say is probably the second best of the series next to isobel and Michael’s. They overcome their past - they’re there for each other as secrets about their families, and especially their fathers, come to light. They rely on one another, and each take turns talking the other down when they begin to question if their father’s were right. That is a friendship built on trust.

Kyle and Liz have a deep relationship by the end of the season. They rely on each other as well, and they care deeply for each other. Whether this is leading them towards just a friendship, or - with Max’s absence - a relationship we’ll have to see in s2.

Human-Alien Interactions - While we are given lots of positive interactions that could lead to friendships - Kyle and Isobel when she's sick, Max and Maria in Texas and again at her bar, Liz supporting Isobel when the truth about Noah comes out - the only friendship that actually forms in season one between the aliens and humans is Liz and Michael.

Liz and Michael's friendship isn't limited to just 01x09, either. While we see them working together, her making him dance with her, and her reluctantly admitting she likes him to Max in 01x09, it's 01x10 that Michael - equally reluctant - admits to Isobel he does like Liz (which is one of the only humans we ever hear him say that about), and their interactions in 01x11 continue the trend. Liz teases him about how he spends his time, Michael flat out tells her he and Max aren't doing well when she saves them, he teases them about Max about her flirting, and the look they exchange when he promises to protect Maria is gold. These are two people, both who have trust issues, who are building a friendship and putting their faith in one another.

Personally, I think Liz and Michael are the third best friendship RNM gives us - even above Liz and Maria due to the secrets Liz keeps from her. It's definitely among the top friendships of s1.

Hopefully with s2, we'll get a chance for these friendships to grow and this group to finally begin trusting one another, especially in regards to alien-human interactions pls, and more group scenes. Where are my group scenes?

#roswell new mexico #meta #friendships #character thoughts #character interactions #pod squad #human squad #writing this made me realize we desperately need more human-alien interaction

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starcunning · 5 years

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3. Lost

Why should you worship her? Her you surpass

For @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast‘s FFXIVWrite 2019. [Title] [AO3 mirror]

There was a city once—a jewel amongst jewels, every facet gleaming. It was made lovely by order and shone with promise, and though all the cities of the world were beautiful, this one, at the world’s heart, was fairer still.

It had a name, of course, though none used it in those times. After all, what other city could you mean?

Men lived in peace in those days—in the days before need, before suffering, they were happy. They spent their time exploring the potential of ideas—giving them form or voice, exchanging concepts freely that all might benefit from wisdom and discovery. There was disagreement, of course; only from differentiation could new growth come forth. But even those that disagreed with one another enjoyed a mutual respect—for even in that ageless time where time meant nothing, who had a moment to waste on disdain?

At the heart of the city at the heart of the world there were ten and four luminaries, and it was they who were responsible for guiding the people. They were shepherds of the city, and of the world, and of the very star upon which they dwelt. Their offices were not hereditary, nor granted at a whim like some tyrant parcels out scraps of power to legitimize the retention of his own rule. Instead their appointments were a recognition of certain talents, granted to those who were most capable with the arts of creation, that their wills might be yoked to the purpose of serving their people. It was a pleasure and an honor to serve, and their servitude did not go unrecognized. Such was the esteem they were held in that soon the titles of their office served to identify them better than their names.

They were called the Convocation of Fourteen, as only befitted their number and their purpose.

Though there was no higher calling than to serve on that illustrious council, those so appointed did not usually stay for life. They offered up the best of themselves and their talents, and then when the time came would cede the office to another best equipped for the strictures of its duties. There was sorrow in this, but more than that there was joy, for all knew that the council member that was leaving them had done their utmost, and the one they would appoint in their place would honor that legacy even as they brought a fresh perspective. But always there were fourteen, and always did they meet as equals.

When the Emissary returned from the cities across the sea with dire news, the city spoke of nothing else. There were those who felt aid must be sent—but the people of the world were the same in all the world, and there were few tools to be granted that they did not already have. Horrors begat horrors, and men learned to fear. Fear begat pain, and men learned to suffer. It was whispered that beneath the earth were hells full of beasts and violence and that this was the source of the trouble, while the sky could only look on in sorrow.

Hells opened; heavens wept. The Convocation debated. What else could we do?

This was not the way of the world—the laws of the star should not have permitted this, but there was little to be gained by staring death in the face and declaring it an impossibility. The city was safe, but it would not always be so.

A multitude of plans were put forth. In the end, it was Lahabrea’s support that decided matters—a master of creation and a skilled orator besides, it was he that urged us to create an entity capable of enforcing the strictures of reality. For all we had created and all we had built, we had never conceived of anything greater than ourselves. We had seen no need. But Lahabrea’s impassioned speeches and meticulous concepts inculcated the idea, and soon we came to quorum: we would pool our powers with those of the people and give voice to creation itself. We would create a Keeper of Precepts, who, when he spoke to Death, would make it listen. On this we were nearly all agreed. Nearly, I say, for as news of beasts and horrors crept into the city, nearer with each passing day, there was one who yet protested. So strident were their convictions that they announced that, should we put this plan into action, they would abdicate their office.

It was unthinkable. None of the Convocation had ever left with matters unsettled; with work undone. Certainly none had vacated their duties while a crisis loomed. We pled—I pled—with them to stay, and they pled with me to reconsider. But they had no plan so complete as Lahabrea’s. Had they, I would have thrown the weight of my support behind it.

Then Doom came to the city.

We were not ready for it. How could we ever be ready for it? We were not agreed; we were not prepared. In purpose and action were we resolved, however, and the fourteen of us went forth in defense of the city we loved. But we, who had never conceived of anything greater than ourselves, found ourselves outmatched. Fire rained from the skies, and the gleaming streets became abattoirs of blood and ash. Those we could save, we saved; those we could shelter, we sheltered. But even when the beasts laid still and our beloved city was a charnel ruin, we knew no peace. We had gone out fourteen, and come back thirteen.

Thus, before the world was sundered, we were broken.

There was no time to find a replacement. They had made no suggestions on the subject—they had intended to leave their office vacant, and though we did not wish it, we ceded to that demand out of need. The sun blazed over the land, scorching earth and burning seas. Discord rang throughout the city. Time was not with us. We had but one plan—the one my friend had rejected.

You know what happens next, of course. Your Mother will have told you.

Has She told you what it cost us? Perhaps She thinks that because we did not pay with our own lives, we counted our salvation cheap. We were the architects of this plan, but we were not its agents—we had to live, to see the work done. We had the ability, and the cost to us was to demand the lives of those we served—and to survive them; to know them as lost to us as all those that the Doom had claimed.

Thus it was that we created Zodiark, and thus it was we became His servants. He did all that we asked of Him—he rewrote the laws of the star itself to save those that still dwelt in it. He could not undo the damage already wrought; not how we had made Him. But the denizens of our dying world came forth unto us and offered themselves up to restore the grass upon the earth; the fish of the seas; the breeze in the air. It was perverse; it was contradictory to the order of things we had clung to all our lives. But the precepts had changed, in their keeping, and we accepted. But it was not right. It was not just. Suffering was ash and blood in our mouths, and we developed no taste for it. I do not recall who it was who proposed the third plan. Perhaps it was Fandaniel, wracked with guilt over her failure to protect her people. Perhaps it was Deudalaphon, who had loved the city more than his own life. Whatever the case, we all knew it was not meet that we should live without those who died in our place. When the star came into its full again, we decided, we would offer up a portion of the life upon it. In return, Zodiark would restore to us all those we had lost. I would be glad to see my friend again, and they would see that we had done the right thing—that we had saved the star, and the people, and them.

There were those who did not agree with me. Not about the plan, and not about my friend. They rallied to their name—not their title but their very name—and opposed us. It was what my friend would want, these people claimed. It was the first time in years that anyone but myself had spoken that name. They called them Hero.

It was the first time we had ever fought in such a way. They would not give way to our plans; they would not give the future over to this star to those who had once been its shepherds. Were they any better than us? We have been called peddlers of chaos, but one must have chaos in his heart to give birth to a dancing star.

Them as much as us. Your Mother was their creation, did you know? She was born after Zodiark to contain Him, and though He should have prevailed, She was created with one purpose and thereby was granted the power to enervate Him. Her blinding light reigned over the star, and the conflict between what should be and what must be splintered reality itself.

The world, and every life on it, fractured, and its pieces were set adrift.

The sundering of the star was not gentle; beyond those who gave their lives for Hydaelyn, countless more died. Ten of our number were among them, and we three that yet lived despaired. Zodiark, in His weakened state, could not undo what had been wrought in Hero’s name—a final Doom that they would never have wanted.

We held onto hope that some scrap of our colleagues’ souls had survived. Perhaps on some dim reflection …

And so we went in search, to find them and restore them to their office. It was a lonely time, when there were but three of us and fourteen worlds between, the lights of mens’ lives on each dim and fading. I was alone. I was impatient. The star would need to be made whole first, and then we would have to tend it with the selfsame care that absent Halmarult had once tended his gardens. For the first time I knew need—and I did what we had always done when faced with a need. I created something to meet it. Perhaps none could have done it but me; with all my art and half my soul I gave myself the one thing Zodiark could not grant me.

I gave myself my friend back.

That the cost was half of me is only meet. Half of me had been missing in any case, and at least this sacrifice was mine to make. I kept it from the others—though perhaps they knew, when I returned with you walking at my side, remembering nothing.

You never do remember.

Not until you do. Not until it destroys you. But the work is half done now, and with every quake and every flood and every falling star I exult, because the hand of the infernal clock ticks backward. Because among these shattered shards there awaits a world made whole. An I made whole. A you made whole.

We have done this half a dozen times, Hero. Must we do it a half-dozen more? I have told you all—I swear upon the duties of my office, which have always been to speak the truth. Do you understand now? Do you remember?

Will you survive?

I am waiting, Hero.

#ff14 #FFXIVWrite2019 #emet selch #emet selch/WOL #you know #if you want to read it that way #a slender volume of poetry #original content #starcunning writes #a sort of faerie tale AU i guess #ff14 spoilers #5.0 spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers

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amortm · 5 years

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* 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐔𝐏 , pretty kitties ! i'm terribly sorry abt my absence on the dash alongside you angels , & trust that i’m fully embarrassed of my slow ass , but i finally typed this baby out , & i can’t wait for y’all to meet my love , 𝒋𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔 !

* ╰ it’s an absolute dishonour to meet you , julianna / jules . at twenty - one , you’ve disgraced the peralta family name & failed to carry on their legacy as an elite . as a result , they’ve requested that we at the academy do our best to rid you of your venality , & seeing as though they’re worth 86m , we dutifully obliged . while your pleonastic & inexorable attributes have always promised failure , it’s your spar with pride & ghosting your breakout acting role after you found out your daddy secured it for you that got you committed . before we take possession of you , it’s imperative that we know that you are a cisfem who prefers she & her pronouns , & you resemble diana silvers . your birthday is on april 26th , making you a recalcitrant taurus , & you were transported to us all the way from vail , co . at the present time , you work off campus at seaside florist . go ahead & purchase that extra large suitcase , disgrace . you’re going to need it .

your name / age / pronouns / timezone / etc .

hiya loves ! i go by blue & she / her pronouns , i’m 9teen , & i’m a pst baby ! i’m one of the six lovely admins @ #unholy , & they’re all superstars , so imagine my daily awe ! anyway , i’m beyond excited to finally get the ball rolling , & share the dash with you babes !

muse inspo .

noora sætre , the goldfinch , ella of frell , neil perry , charlie dalton , claire saffitz , monica geller , carla lalli music , mia thermopolis , adam parrish , blue sargent , anna ou !

character details :

💐 : sweetly judgmental , adoringly vindictive / vindictively adoring , witty ‘n gritty , bitingly tender , expressively stubborn , softly feral !

😈 : hershey’s chocolate , brooklyn pizza , baguettes , collector edition copies of wuthering heights , selfies , her mom , richard siken anthologies , twilight ( #teamedward ) , crowded movie theaters , english gardens , the air in new york , the air in vail , snowboarding , her hair , hot chocolate ( no whipped cream , half a bag of mini marshmallows dumped atop ) , andrew garfield , her discover weekly playlist , german shepherds , harry potter , lord of the rings , comedies , horror movies , nude lipstick , chocolate chip toffee cookies with sea salt drizzled on top , mamma mia franchise , dissertations , driving , any typa jacket / coat , being the big spoon , her father , coca cola , lilies , disney t - shirts , her father’s films , take out , farms , italy ( every single crevice of it ) , the plaza hotel , mint chip ice cream , hats , trains , monthly horoscopes , ancient history , greenwich village , maggie rogers , mating ritual , vampire weekend , mitski , the wombats , magic bronson , jade bird , hockey , pretending to be a fairy / witch / mermaid as a child , naruto , avatar the last airbender , stepping over state / country lines , hot water with honey , amazon prime !

👿 : the marvel franchise except for the captain america & thor trilogies , coffee & tea , shorts , sweet potatoes , layovers of any length , socks , soy milk , her arms , chihuahuas , a song of fire & ice novels , super fudgy / rich cake & brownies , cooking for herself , being told what to do , being wrong & having everyone know it , people who are rude to employees , bad tipping , margaret atwood , her first grade teacher , plastic coke bottles , too much pepper in a dish !

upbringing & family life , life before the academy , etc .

julianna rachel peralta was born to a beauty - charmed family of three , with a new yorker mother & italian father birthing the healthiest & happiest girl parents can dream for . her mother , susanna ‘ susie ’ peters , was coined the model that pioneered 90′s fashion , a la kate moss , & met julianna’s father , elio peralta ( think the francis ford coppola of this verse ) , whilst she was briefly on set for jack to see friend fran drescher . their love stemmed from there , after she made a mocking comment & he overhead & mocked her in return for it , & the whirlwind romance that captivated their world for the next few years led to miss jules being born . neither of her parents desired marriage from each other , rather believing that their love knew no bounds , even those of matrimony , but never did it dim the bond held between the small family of three . once jules was in their arms , they relocated from new york to colorado , into the quaint town of vail , surrounded by pristine mountains & crystalline air , where susie & elio found a pocket of indisputable peace after a small winter trip in their first year of romance .

it was there that jules grew up , & there that the love of her parents faltered . her mother missed the world of fashion , the rhythms & rhymes of the space she knew as well as in maintaining the fame that spotlighted her so , while elio’s passions for turning out film after film dwindled . & when the offer from vogue came in , waxing poetic about a fresh position as a fashion editor , both she & elio knew that their paths would veer . their love was no less , but integral factors of their relationship were now fractured , & they each desired after different things . this was all said to julianna , in soft tones & with assuring words . yet , never was it promised that everything would be the same as it was , for the truth was in something unsaid . susie moved to new york , while elio & jules stayed in that mansion in the mountains , & all was as fair & well as it could be , with julianna staying with her mom during the fall season & discovering every little piece of italy in the summers . christmases & hanukkahs were always shared in vail , & susie tagged along european dives when her schedule allowed for it . it was as if their relationship & subsequent uncoupling were trivial details no one could bother to account for , until , in the worst spot she’s ever seen her mother , it came out that elio peralta found a new woman to share a life with , & that their new life together would be housed in the same home that susie & elio specially chose & , in emotional terms , truly built themselves & carved their family in its foundations . it was a betrayal of the deepest caliber , & from there the small peace that still was at the core of their little family was forever severed , & it became obvious to jules that those few years were lucky .

she was thirteen when famed actress lily taylor ( aka jennifer connely lmao ) moved into her family home , bringing her adopted eleven - year - old twins with her . in a sense of loyalty to her mother & her own hurt over the despair that her father caused their original trio , jules was heartily & positively prepared to hate the new additions to her family with a vindictive fidelity . her plan was promptly overturned , however , when she spent day upon day with her new fam & steadily allowed them into her heart . this , of course , was paired with doubtless guilt , spurred on by her own mind whenever she flew to nyc to see her mother , but soon enough this was caught by each of her parents , & susie was insistent in her assurance that whatever frigidness she still held for elio & his new beau ( which julianna didn’t bother to correct with wife ) , it in no way extends nor should be mimicked by her . elio , in turn , was quick to promise to jules that his love for her mother flamed in his heart to this day , but each of them are happier living their lives in the lifestyles they’ve chosen , with the people they’ve chosen .

there really wasn’t anything to do but swallow their words , & live by the sentiments they expressed . jules was both a mama’s & daddy’s girl in one , so to take their words as fact was an ignorance she allowed herself , even when the hurt look on her mother’s faced inevitably shone through in hidden moments .

but when jules turned seventeen , susie fell in love with a musician / designer named tommy lever she met while interviewing his collection for vogue , & the two fell deep , far enough to sway susie into moving to brazil during the spring season , away from her beloved manhattan loft , to be with him in his home ( the link is crucial to his characterization lmao , as lenny kravitz is essentially tommy lever ) . when she can , jules visits as often as she’s allowed ( always ) & has gained a room herself .

after that , however , the cycle between her various homes continued , well into her slipping teendom , & when the prospect of college crunched down on her , the choice seemed inevitable . nyu gained a classics & theater major for its class of 2019 ( she skipped the third grade , a fact she didn’t stop bragging about at that age ) , but in her senior year of university , the walls came crashing down .

what sin are they categorized under ? why ?

jules belongs to the sin of #pride through & through . after all , if there was one damning trait to send her straight into the pits of burning infernos , her prideful sense of self would be it . that’s not to say she’s arrogant ( nor am i saying she isn’t ) , but it’s more that she can’t take being undermined or allow the supposed undermining to go unpunished . she has a great deal of #pride in her own self worth & capabilities , though she’s usually loathe to make it known in plain terms , & if she feels attacked in that manner , she’ll completely close up . this often , as you’ll surely be able to tell , beckons problematic shit .

what got them sent to the academy ?

during jules’ senior year at nyu , she was contacted by her agent ( shared with her father ) & offered an audition for a leading role in a major hollywood studio film . throughout the years , she dabbled in theater & attracted a starring role or two along the way , especially in school productions , but the plan for success was always envisioned after college . when she got the call , however , she handled it with a happy - go - lucky fuck it sort of approach , & a week later , when she received the good - bearing call , there was no backing out , or so she thought . tentatively dropping out of the semester in which she would graduate , jules modeled the next few months of her life around the film , happily doing so .

yet , the first week into rehearsals brought down a cloud so dark she thought she’d choke under it . she overheard a few producers on their lunch break , talking about this - & - that - esque bullshit , but just as she was passing , one of them made a comment about the peralta girl , & how hollywood legacies are the roaches of the industry . how directors from the middle ages should just stick to ruining things behind the camera , not forcing a disaster in front of it .

that day , jules walked out of set & never took a step back in . effectively ruining her future career in the process , she ghosted all contact from the production & even went as far to jet off to brazil to regenerate with her mom as an escape . she couldn’t even pick up where she left off during the semester , & simply had to sit back & witness her classmates of four years graduate without her . her parents were furious , but the only thing she gave in return was a steely silence , refusing even turn a glare to her father . now , she’s been shoved into the hands of the academy , biding the days until she could return to nyu in the fall .

what do you think they’ll struggle with the most at the academy ?

tbh , the biggest issue for jules is the resentment curling at her core . at her father , the film , the academy , herself . right now she’s just in a foul mood & sick at being forced into glitterati rehab , but her #pride won’t allow her to fail , even if she wishes to do it just to spite everyone . she is a people person , however , & will almost definitely warm up , even if it’s just for appearances sake .

extra details : links you’d like to incorporate , wanted connections , literally anything else you want to include , etc .

wanted connections will be coming soon ! for now , please enjoy this authentic video of jules chillin in her fav corner of the world , aka italia , taken by her bff eli 😔✌️

#unholyintro #icb how LATE my ass is w this gd intro #cue y'all throwing the torches and pitchforks @ me JDJKSDJSKDJDSKJDSDS #⋆ ╰ ` 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓂ℴ𝓃𝒹 ╱ 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 ╱ 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 . : dev .

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dogmapod · 5 years

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02 The Branch Davidians and David Koresh

Hey folks, welcome to the show Dogma: A Podcast About Cults I’m your host Denis Ricardo.

This show is about cults. The origins, practices and abuses of cults. So, if you are uncomfortable with descriptions of sexual, physical and mental violence and abuse, this is not the show for you.

I’m gonna try to keep it light and fun, but this stuff can get kind of dark… so you’ve been warned.

Our story begins in 1929 with a one Mr. Victor Houteff, president and prophet of The Shepherd’s Rob, an offshoot of the Seventh-Day Adventists, who could be the subject of their own episode.

Houteff did not see eye-to-eye with the church’s interpretation of Isaiah 54-66, which are a collection of oracles unknown to prophets after the Hebrews returned to Judea from Babylon.

Houteff believed that the church was not doing all it could, becoming relaxed in their teachings and becoming secular. He shared this with his Sunday school classes and was disfellowshipped by his local Seventh-day Adventist congregation just before publishing his book, The Shepherd’s Rod.

The Shepherd’s Rod is a 172-page manuscript that called for worldwide reform.

He listed twelve areas that he felt the church was not addressing, named “Partial List of Abominations.” It included information attempting to define the identity of the 144,000 of the book of Revelation and his interpretation of Isaiah 54-66.

Despite being disfellowshipped, he did not want to start a new movement. He told his followers

“in case some one’s name is take off the church books for carrying on the message, do not be discouraged in any way but to press onward as though nothing happened. Pay your honest tithe and offering to your church and feel like IT IS your Father’s house.”

In the transcript, you’re going to notice Houteff’s spelling is a little… off.

In 1932 he published the second volume of The Shepherd’s Rod, clocking in at 304 pages. Two more booklets filled with tracts published the following year would be volume three. It was reported that Houteff’s followers were being physically removed from their churches and that Houteff himself was attacked for trying to enter a church in LA.

His followers saw no other option but to organize the Universal Publish Association (UPA) in 1934 in LA. They were dedicated to publishing Rod’s message which they believed were God’s fulfillment of Micah 6:9 and 7:14

9 The Lord's voice crieth unto the city, and the man of wisdom shall see thy name: hear ye the rod, and who hath appointed it

Feed thy people with thy rod, the flock of thine heritage, which dwell solitarily in the wood, in the midst of Carmel: let them feed in Bashan and Gilead, as in the days of old.

“Bashan” is the northernmost region of the Transjordan and Gilead is the company that overcharges people for PrEP.

I’m joking. Gilead is an area between Jordan, Syria and Israel, or at least it is believed to be. It was part of a Hebrew conquest that was called the Golan Heights, and again, this is at least believed to be correct. But because of its significance to the Jewish religion, it’s lead to some contention between these countries.

Houteff’s teachings were officially labeled heresy in the Seveth-day Adventist church between 1934 and 1936 by hearings in Fullerton and Los Angeles. In March of 1934 the Shepherd’s Rod was officially organized. Both the Seventh-day Adventists and Shepherd’s Rod believed that they were living in the end times with evidence in the Bible as prophecy.

In 1935 leaders in the Shepherd’s Rod saw that they needed a headquarters for their growing number of followers. They purchased 189 acres just outside of Waco, Texas. This facility would later be known as the Mount Carmel Center, named after the quote in the Bible they base their beliefs in.

By 1942 the group had renamed themselves “Davidian Seventh-day Adventists.”

Houteff died unexpectedly in 1955, he was 69 years old (nice). Florence Houteff, Victor’s wife, intervened in a meeting to appoint herself vice-president of the church and remove E.T. Wilson, the standing VP who was appointed by Victor. She asserted that booting Wilson and picking her

“were in harmony with recommendations made by Brother Houteff prior to his death.”

This kicked off a flurry of fractures in the organization, with several congregants deciding to follow basically anyone who said God appointed them the new leader.

The organization broke in 6 splinter groups, and the Mount Carmel Center was taken by EE Ranches, a commercial horse breeding company. But the core part of the property with the main building was retained by one of the splinter groups, the Branch Davidians.

The Branch Davidians also believed themselves to be in the end times.

The Branch Davidians formed after a failed apocalypse prophecy by Florence Houteff was made in 1959. After being disappointed to not all just die at once, follower Benjamin Roden splintered from the group.

Roden died in 1978 and was succeeded by his wife Lois Roden. But even in this group, there was splintering, as some followers felt their son George Roden should be the new president. However, when Lois died George succeeded her, so it wasn’t that big of deal in the end.

But, things weren’t that great because there was yet more splintering and a man by the name Vernon Howell rose to power and had a few followers of his own.

Howell arrived at the Waco compound in 1981, when he quickly had an affair with Lois Roden, he in his late 20s and she in her late 60s. But I’m not here to yuck any yums, so get yours, I guess.

George Roden and Howell fought for power in the group, with more members favoring Howell.

Now, this is where it gets really weird.

In order to challenge his spiritual prowess, Roden exhumed a corpse for Howell to resurrect. This is illegal in Texas, and Howell filed charges against Roden. The files were dropped because Howell was told he needed evidence. So, this lead to a raid on the compound by Howell and seven of his followers equipped with five .223 caliber semiautomatic rifles, two .22 caliber rifles and two 12-gauge shotguns with 400 rounds of ammunition.

It is assumed that Howell wanted to take the place over, but he claims that they were gathering evidence on Roden. However, they didn’t have a camera with them, so it is not know how they would document evidence.

The case was dropped yet again, but the jury found Howell’s followers not guilty and no agreement on Howell. Howell invited the prosecutors out to ice cream after the trial.

In 1990 Howell is considered the de facto leader of the Shepard’s Rod.

He took the name David Koresh.

“David Koresh” comes from King David and Koresh from Cyrus the Great (Koresh is the Hebrew pronunciation of Cyrus). Cyrus the great was a Messiah who brought the Jews out of captivity from Babylon

I’m going to go over some the stranger religious practices of the Branch Davidians.

The Branch Davidians group had dietary restrictions, abstaining from sugar, processed flour and dairy.

Former follower David Bunds said,

“His reasoning was, well, dairy products are made from milk which is baby food. Milk is what you drink when you’re a baby and we’re adults now.”

This is actually a pretty common dietary restriction among Seventh-day Adventists and as a vegan I’m not totally against this philosophy. But, it’s still really not that good… and it gets worse.

Unsurprisingly, they were also very restrictive standards for women. Women could only wear long blouses and were forbidden to wear makeup or jewelry. They also couldn’t have sex with any man other than Koresh and their husbands were expected to remain celibate. Age was also not a factor and Koresh took “spiritual wives” as young as ten. This young ten-year-old woman later testified in court that Koresh molested her at a motel. In all, Koresh had 20 wives by 1993.

Former member Shelia Martin said,

“If we weren’t being obedient in the sense of like, [I] went to the store and bought something, you know, it was being selfish […] He always would let us know it wasn’t right and we should’ve done [it] differently, and many times it was in front of everyone.”

Children who misbehaved were regularly beat,

“…as a kid, being disciplined was like a 24/7 thing,”

Joann Vaega who was 6 when she was on the compound.

Koresh’s own children did not escape his abuse. When Koresh’s son Sky Okimoto was a child, his mother Dana Okimoto would beat him with a wooden paddle until he bled for even the most minor infractions such as spilling milk. In an interview with ABC News, she said that she was so deep under Koresh’s control that she couldn’t stop herself from beating her child.

“I felt like the most evil person in the world to be beating my baby this way. But this is what God wanted and needed from me.”

In an interview on Good Morning America in 2008, Sky Okimoto said of being the son of someone so infamous,

“Being the son of David Koresh, yes it was pretty hard […] I’m pretty much at peace with the fact that he existed. Sometimes I look up to him because of his charisma. Other times I think he was crazy.”

Dana Okimoto left the church with Sky and their other son Scooter shortly before shit hit the fan.

Aside from feeling the need to be huge creep and monster to prove his leadership, he also preached that they the Branch Davidians would someday be under attack by the US government and so the group began to stockpile arms and food.

A little bit of foreshadowing there…

Around on February 28, 1993, at 9:30am agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms arrive at the Waco compound after hearing reports of the group stockpiling arms. Gunfire erupts between the two groups and 4 ATF agents were killed, 16 wounded. An unknown number of Branch Davidians were also killed or wounded. The FBI comes in hours later, taking over for the investigation.

This will begin what became a 51-day standoff between the US government and the Branch Davidians.

(“Battle Hymn of the Republic” performed by Thomas Chalmers fades in. It is a scratchy recording from 1927)

I’m not going to go exhaustively through every single day, but there are quite a few sources online if you wanted to go in-depth.

On Monday, April 19, 1993, after 51 days of standing off and several people being shot at or leaving the compound the FBI had enough.

At 5:59am the Branch Davidians are given a message over the loudspeaker that they are under arrest.

By 6:02 two FBI combat vehicles began to pump tear gas into the compound and ferret rounds were shot at the building. Shortly thereafter the Davidians began shooting.

Former Attorney General Janet Reno is on the scene and meets with the FBI in the situation room.

By 7:30am the combat vehicles break through the front side of the building and pump more gas into the first and second floor of the compound.

At 9:20am the FBI calls for more gas to be pumped and more ferret rounds arrive at this time.

By 9:30 one of the combat vehicles is failing, the supply of ferret rounds is dwindling and a strong wind is blowing away the tear gas. Two other combat vehicles approach the building, one to widen the hole already made “from which the Davidians could escape,” and the other makes a new hole at the rear end of the building near its gymnasium. Attorney General Reno contacts President Clinton and reports that everything seems to be going well and that she will be leaving for a conference in Baltimore in 30 minutes.

Things don’t go very well.

At 12:07 the Davidians started 3 fires simultaneously in different parts of the compound.

At 12:12 Koresh is asked to lead the Davidians out of the compound. Nine of them flee and are arrested.

At 12:25pm the FBI reported hearing “systematic gunfire” coming from the compound, making many of the agents suspecting that the Davidians are committing suicide or are attacking one another.

At 12:41 fire-fighting efforts begin and HRT members enter the building looking for survivors.

More than 70 Davidians died in the compound, including at least 17 children. It was determined that Koresh was killed by a close-range gunshot.

So ends the life of the would-be messiah David Koresh.

However, that is not the end of the Branch Davidians.

Now here comes the fun part, where I beg you for money. I come to you hat in hand, asking you to go to patreon.com/dogmapod and throw a few bucks my way to help support the podcast. I can’t offer much for tier rewards, but no matter what level you donate at, I will get the episodes out to you early and you can have access to the joke/pop culture cult podcasts and non-cult related articles and podcasts that don’t quite fit with the format. At higher donations, I will take suggestions for cults and do an episode on those. Thank you so much if you decide to be ever so gracious. OK, now back to the show.

A single surviving offshoot from the original Roden-lead Branch Davidians is lead by a man Charles Pace. He is the leader of The Branch (comma) The Lord Our Righteousness. Yes, there is a comma in that.

It is a legally recognized denomination with 12 members. He has condemned Koresh’s teachings and said that the Lord has appointed him to be a leader but not a prophet. The Branch, The Lord Our Righteousness is also a doomsday cult.

The current-day Adventists also condemned the Branch Davidians, and it seems as though they all condemn any of Houteff’s splinter groups.

Thanks again so much for listening. That was our episode about the Branch Davidians and David Koresh. I’m going to put all of my sources in the description. Some of them are from Wikipedia, but I checked to make sure those sources were legit, so lay off me.

Be sure to check out the Instagram to see photos relevant to today’s investigation and the Patreon to throw a few dollars my way. Thank you very much!

Next time we’re going to be investigating a group that you may not have heard of. It was quite popular and it raised in popularity quite a few times, at least six or seven times at this point since 2004. So I can’t wait for you to hear that.

Until then, take care and goodbye.

Citations:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victor_Houteff

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shepherd%27s_Rod

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Branch_Davidians

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Koresh

https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/waco/timeline.html

https://abc13.com/the-siege-timeline-of-the-branch-davidian-compounds-fiery-end/1892261/

https://www.atf.gov/our-history/remembering-waco

https://www.nytimes.com/1993/05/04/us/growing-up-under-koresh-cult-children-tell-of-abuses.html

https://www.ranker.com/list/kids-of-famous-cult-leaders-where-are-they-now/jacob-shelton?page=2

Song Credits:

“Frozen Jungle” by Monplaisir under the name Komiku (http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Komiku/)

“Amazing Grace” performed by Original Sacred Harp (https://www.loc.gov/item/ihas.200049050/)

“At the Cross” performed by Fiddlin’ John Carson (https://www.loc.gov/item/ihas.200149072/)

“Battle Hymn of the Republic” performed by Thomas Chalmers (https://www.loc.gov/item/ihas.100010455/)

Consider joining the Patreon!

#Branch Davidians #Waco #David Koresh #Koresh #cults #cult #fbi #religion #spirituality #podcast #seventh day adventists

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brokehorrorfan · 6 years

Video

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The final teaser for The Walking Dead’s return chronicles Carl Grimes’ journey, which is seemingly coming to an end. The extended mid-season premiere airs on this Sunday, February 25, on AMC. Watch the trailer here.

Andrew Lincoln, Norman Reedus, Lauren Cohan, Danai Gurira, Melissa McBride, Alanna Masterson, Josh McDermitt, Christian Serratos, Seth Gilliam, Ross Marquand, Khary Payton, Chandler Riggs, and Jeffrey Dean Morgan star.

Read on to see clip from the premiere, in which King Ezekiel comes to terms with his fate after standing up against Negan.

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All out war has had a devastating impact on every person involved. The communities themselves are fractured. Alexandria has been destroyed, the Hilltop finds themselves pinned, and the Kingdom is shattered – half of them dead, the other half controlled by the Saviors.

At the very center – Rick, having been distracted by the conflict, has just returned home to learn that Carl, who heroically shepherded the Alexandrians to safety during Negan’s attack, has been bitten by a walker. Once his sole motivation in this otherwise stark existence, Rick is forced to deal with this reality. Carl has always been a beacon of hope, a symbol for the remaining thread of humanity – lessons that the survivors around him would be wise to take with them as this war surges onward.

But Rick isn’t the only person who’s living in peril. Aaron and Enid are in a dire situation at Oceanside – unclear if they’re in friendly territory, or if they’ve just made new enemies. Father Gabriel will do his part in attempting to smuggle Dr. Carson safely back to the Hilltop and a pregnant Maggie is wrestling with the many moral gray areas that come with leadership during war. In a standoff with the Saviors, she must decide how to proceed with the dozens of POW lives she’s currently in control of, as well as new complications that come with being a leader.

In addition to the war, Negan continues to deal with struggles within his ranks as workers, traitors, and others’ thirst for power cause conflict at the Sanctuary. Having gifted the Saviors a major victory, Eugene’s loyalty is repeatedly tested as new obstacles present themselves.

As all-out-war consumes us, the line between good and evil continues to blur. People fighting for what they believe in. Everybody working together for something bigger – to feel safe and have a world worth living in.

#the walking dead #twd #chandler riggs #carl grimes #khary payton #king ezekiel

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greysfanpage388 · 7 years

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Code Red part 3

Hey guys- here’s part 3 of ‘Code Red’. Enjoy or something! ;)

Thanks Fran @francescabuccino and Sandra @omeliashipper for helping to proofread this chapter! You girls are the best <3

The previous chapters can be found here:

http://ailingnoor.tumblr.com/post/159221825666/code-red

http://ailingnoor.tumblr.com/post/159408175771/code-red-part-2

_____________________________________________________________

Amelia’s heart skipped a beat as she watched Owen’s body go limp once the excavator removed the last piece of rubble from his body.

‘Oh no…no….no…..please no…. universe, please don’t take away another man that I love. I cannot afford to lose another loved one.’ she pleaded silently.

‘ Someone go get one of our ambulances!’ she heard April order, as she rushed over to Owen’s side and felt for a pulse. He still had a pulse, but it was weak and thready. He was in shock and needed to be resuscitated immediately.

‘ Owen!’ she pleaded, tears rolling down her cheeks… ‘ Owen, please don’t leave me and our baby….please….stay awake for our sake…’

‘ Owen’ a primal groan of anguish escaped from her throat when Owen’s body remained limp.

‘ We have to transfer him to Seattle Presybetarian as soon as possible.’ April, stepping up to take charge of the situation, instructed the group of residents and interns gathered around her.

‘ Amelia- he’ll be fine ok?’ she gave her downcast looking colleague a big hug.

Amelia could only nod in reply, she really wished she could believe the statement.

An ambulance arrived at the scene a few short moments later.

A couple of paramedics immediately sprung into action- applying splints on his 4 limbs.

‘ Careful’ April warned as they slowly lifted Owen up on a stretcher to transfer him to the ambulance that had arrived. ‘ He might have internal injuries and fractures, you want to handle him gently.’

‘ Do update me on his condition, ok?’ April said as she gave Amelia a warm hug. The neurosurgeon, who was still in a daze and in shock over the events that had transpired, could only manage a weak nod in reply before she climbed into the ambulance.

_______________________________________________________________

The ambulance arrived at Seattle Presybertarian Hospital in record time. The paramedics had inserted an IV line and ran fluids into his body in the ambulance. In the ER, the efficient ER attendings there discovered that Owen had pneumothorax, probably due to the debris pressing on his lungs. He was being intubated immediately, and a chest tube was inserted into him to drain the pneumothorax. More IV fluids were given to resuscitate him as his body had gone into shock.

The whole time when Owen was being resuscitated in the ER, Amelia could only stay at the waiting area in the lobby and wait. She wasn’t allowed in the ER by the doctors there, as Seattle Presyberterian had strict rules about family members not being allowed to be involved in the management of a patient.

She alternated between sitting down on one of the uncomfortable chairs, with her head in her hands, and pacing back and forth the waiting area. Now she fully understood how family members of patients felt when they waited for news of any sort from her and her colleagues.

After pacing for the 10th time, she sank back on one of the seats, sighing. She looked up at the white hospital ceiling and prayed to the powers above to save Owen. She had already lost her father, Ryan, her unicorn baby and Derek. She couldn’t bear to lose her husband too. Surely the universe can’t be that cruel, can it?

Just then, her phone rang. It was Maggie. In the chaos of the past hour and her anxiety about losing Owen, she had forgotten about her sister.

‘ Hello?’ she answered, her heart pounding in trepidition of further bad news from Grey Sloan.

‘ Amelia’. Maggie sniffled at the other end of the line.

‘ Maggie! Are you ok? Is everyone ok?’ Amelia asked concerned.

‘ I’ve been looking for you. I was at home when I saw the fire in the news. I immediately drove to the hospital and saw a huge crowd at the hospital compounds but I couldn’t find you. Where are you? Are you ok?’ Maggie rattled on anxiously at the other end of the line.

‘ Yes- I’m fine……but Owen isn’t.’ Amelia replied, her voice quivering.

‘ Oh no….what happened?’ Maggie whispered.

Amelia swallowed and tried to regain her composure before answering. ‘ The ER exploded and he was trapped under a rubble. The firefighters removed the rubble and he lost consciousness after that. They’re working on him in the ER now.’

‘ Amelia’ Maggie voice sounded genuinely sympathetic over the other end of the line.

‘ I….I can’t afford to lose him, Maggie.’ Amelia admitted, her voice now shaking as tears pooled in her eyes. ‘ Every man I’ve ever loved has died - my dad, Ryan, my baby, Derek……. I don’t want the universe to take Owen away from me.’

Amelia had told Maggie about Ryan and her unicorn baby a few weeks ago, and Maggie had uttermost respect for her after hearing the entire story.

‘Owen will be fine, Amelia. Trust me. The doctors there are doing their very best to save him.’ said Maggie, trying to comfort her.

‘ I know.’ Amelia conceded with a sigh. ‘ It’s just….I hate the feeling of being helpless, not being able to do anything to help.’

‘ I know that feeling very well..…’ Maggie’s voice faltered as she recalled the few weeks prior to her mother’s death and how she wanted to try every means possible to save her mother.

A comfortable silence ensued as both sisters were lost in their own thoughts.

‘ Do you know how’s everyone else?’ Amelia asked, hoping to divert her mind from worrying about Owen.

‘ Edwards is in the ICU in Seattle Presybetarian.’ said Maggie with a sad tone in he voice. ‘She ran into the fire trying to save intern Cross when he was trapped. She has extensive burns over her whole body, so does Cross. I’ll go over to see them and Owen later.’

‘ Oh my God.’ Amelia whispered in shock.

Stephanie was Amelia’s favorite and most trusted resident. Even though she had been not in her best mood lately and was always so hard on herself, she continued performing her job flawlessly. Stephanie loved tagging along with Amelia and learning things from the neurosurgeon. Amelia, in return, loved teaching Stephanie.

‘ I think both of them and a couple of interns are the only ones injured, besides Owen.’ said Maggie softly. ‘ Everyone else that we know were either at home or managed to escape unharmed.’

‘ Thank God.’ Amelia muttered under her breath. The hospital didn’t need any more casualties.

‘ Listen, you concentrate on Owen first ok?’ Maggie added when Amelia remained silent at the other end of the line. ‘ Do update me on his condition.’

Just then, two doctors appeared from the ER and made their way towards Amelia.

‘ Maggie- I’ve gotta go, the doctors are coming.’ informed Amelia, a tone of urgency in her voice.

‘ Ok, do keep me posted.’ said Maggie. ‘ Hugs to you and prayers for Owen.’

Amelia’s heart pounded rapidly as the doctors now stood in front of her.

‘ How’s he?’ she asked in a small voice, afraid to hear the answer. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to prepare herself for the bad news that was about to follow. Surely, after receiving bad news about her loved ones so many times in her life, she would have been well prepared for this. And yet her knees still shook and she clenched her fists tight until her knuckles turned white.

‘ Dr Shepherd, I’m Dr. Anderson . We’ve managed to resuscitate your husband. He had a massive pneumothorax and required a chest tube insertion and intubation. He’s still sedated, but his vital signs are stable for now. He also sustained a left radial and right tibial fracture. We did a bedside ultrasound and it showed a splenic rupture requiring urgent splentectomy. We need you to sign a consent form for that, if you agree to the surgery. After the surgery, he’ll be transferred to the ICU and we’ll continue monitoring him there.’ a kind looking doctor informed her with a warm smile on his face.

‘ Ok- thanks.’ Amelia said, breathing a deep sigh of relief, although she knew he was not totally out of the woods yet. ‘ Go ahead with the surgery. How long after the surgery can I see him?’

‘ You can visit him in the ICU a couple of hours after the surgery. We’ve to get him settled in first.’ answered Dr. Anderson as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

_______________________________________________________________

The next day

Amelia sat at Owen’s bedside in his room in Seattle Presybetarian Hospital, staring at his still form. Owen had been transferred from the ICU to a regular room a few hours ago. She hadn’t moved from her seat in the past couple of hours or so, staring at the various monitors connected to her husband. There hadn’t been any changes in his vital signs for the past 2 hours, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the monitors for fear that if she did so, his vitals would drop. The doctor in her knew that it was an irrational thought, but the wife in her just couldn’t help it.

He had been extubated and weaned off sedatives a couple of hours ago, and the intensivists told her that he might wake up at any minute. However, they also warned her of the small possibility that he might not wake up at all. She couldn’t bring herself to think of that possibility.

Amelia felt like she had been to hell and back for the past 24 hours, which seemed like eternity. The hours passed by like a whirlwind, a flurry of activity. She was in a daze the whole time.

A lot had happened in the past 24 hours. Amelia had gone to the cafeteria for a snack and sat alone, staring out of the cafeteria window. She knew that even though Owen’s vital signs were stable- he could crash at any moment, and that scared her.

After a few hours, she was being called to the ICU to see him. Even though she had seen patients with monitors and tubes connected to their listless form daily, that couldn’t prepare her for the shock of seeing Owen’s lifeless body connected to the various tubes and wires. She held his hand, as tears rolled down her cheeks. She pleaded silently for him not to leave her and their baby alone. No, she couldn’t go through another pregnancy alone.

She also visited Stephanie and Cross, both who were still in critical condition in the ICU. Their vitals signs were stable, but they were not out of the woods yet. Her heart broke for Stephanie. Stephanie was her favorite resident, and she just couldn’t bear the thought of rounding on her patients without Stephanie there to present the cases to her and performing surgeries without Stephanie as her assistant.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten a proper meal for the past 24 hours. She had gone to the cafeteria again for some sandwiches and hot chocolate a couple of times, for the sake of her baby, but she had thrown up all her food. She had not showered as well, and she was in the exact same clothes she was wearing when she first entered the hospital.

She perked up as she noticed a slight movement of Owen’s right hand.

‘ Owen’, she whispered, as she held his hand. ‘ Owen, wake up, open your eyes.’

Her heart sank when Owen’s eyes remained shut. Maybe it was just a reflex movement?

After a few long moments in which she settled back in her seat, his blue eyes finally opened.

‘ Owen.’ Amelia whispered, smiling at him as tears of relief rolled down her cheeks.

‘ Where am I?’ he asked groggily.

‘ Owen- you’re in Seattle Presybetarian hospital.’ Amelia answered as she took his hand.

Owen frowned in reply. Amelia didn’t know whether it was due to the pain he was experiencing, the confusion, or both.

‘You remember what happened?’ she asked, her neurosurgeon mode taking over.

Owen remained silent, looking around the room with a confused expression on his face. His entire abdomen hurt, and when he looked downwards, he noticed a cast on his left arm and right leg.

‘ There was a fire and explosion in the ER, and you were trapped under a rubble. The firefighters had to remove the rubble. Do you remember that?’ Amelia asked softly.

Suddenly, all the memories of the past day returned to him- the ER fire and explosion, him being trapped under a rubble.

‘ Oh the fire.’ he whispered.

He tried to adjust his body position, but winced when he felt a sharp pain on his abdomen.

‘ My whole body hurts.’ he muttered.

‘ Owen- don’t move. You just had a major surgery. Your spleen ruptured and had to be removed. You were also intubated, and they inserted a chest tube as you had pneumothorax. The endotracheal tube and chest tube had just been removed earlier today.’ said Amelia softly. ‘And you have fractures on your left arm and right leg. I’ll call the nurse to give you some analgesics.’

As Owen kept still, obeying her orders, she pressed the nurse call button.

After being administered a dose of morphine, Owen succumbed to sleep as Amelia continued sitting by his bedside and staring at the monitors until she dozed off.

_______________________________________________________________

A few hours later- Owen opened his eyes. He still felt pain on his abdomen and his limbs, but it had dulled.

His gaze fell upon his wife who was dozing on the uncomfortable reclining chair by his bedside.

‘ Amelia’ he called out softly.

Her eyes opened and she immediately stood up from her chair.

‘ Owen- are you ok? Do you feel better now? Are you still in pain?’ she asked with concern.

‘ I’m feeling better now.’ Owen croaked. ‘ The pain has dulled. I still don’t think I can move much though.’

‘ Don’t move. You need to rest.’ Amelia ordered as she straightened a kink on his IV line. There were dark rings under her eyes, indicating that she did not have a good night’s sleep. She looked worn out and tired.

‘ You look tired.’ Owen pointed out in a hoarse voice. ‘ Did you even sleep or eat? Or shower?’

‘ You need to rest, Owen.’ Amelia said, deflecting his question.

‘ Amelia…’ Owen repeated. ‘ Did you eat?’

‘ Yes, I did!’ Amelia replied, a little louder than she intended. ‘ Baby needs to eat.’

Despite his discomfort, Owen’s heart warmed at the mention of their baby.

‘ Yes, you’re eating for two now.’ Owen managed a small smile as his eyes travelled to her still flat stomach.

‘ I’ve only fed Baby sandwiches and hot chocolate for the past 24 hours. ‘Amelia admitted. ‘ I haven’t been sleeping or resting properly too….I was just so worried about you. Oh gosh, I’m such a bad mom already.’ she rambled. Her face was scrunched and she looked like she was about to cry.

‘ Amelia,’ Owen whispered. ‘ Please don’t cry. I’m fine now. And you’re going to be an amazing mom. And I’m going to be an amazing dad.’ he tried to comfort her. The anguish of seeing his wife cry was even worse than the physical pain he felt at the moment.

Amelia shook her head as tears started rolling down her cheeks.

‘ Don’t do this to me again, please.’ she pleaded. ‘ Don’t ever leave me, do you hear me? Do you know how it felt like- the fear of losing you? After losing all the loved ones in my life? I can’t do this without you, Owen. I….I can’t bring up our baby alone.’

The combination of the stress, lack of sleep and her pregnancy hormones caused her to finally break down.

Owen slowly reached out his right hand and placed it on top of Amelia’s hand, trying to reassure her as she sobbed quietly, releasing all the stress she felt.

‘ Amelia- I’ll never leave you. Or Bean.’ he croaked.

‘ You better not.’ Amelia warned , smiling teary eyed at the mention of their baby’s nickname.

Owen reached out his right hand to stroke Amelia’s still flat belly.

‘ Hey Bean’, he whispered hoarsely. ‘ It’s your daddy here. I love you so much and I can’t wait to meet you.’

‘ He or she can’t hear you yet.’ Amelia pointed out, still smiling.

The sharp pain Owen felt radiating through his abdomen that moment didn’t stop a smile from forming on his face. This was his dream all along, of becoming a father, and the fact that he was going to be one trumped the pain and discomfort he felt.

He then looked up at Amelia as their eyes met.

‘ I love you and Bean so much.’ he whispered, full of love.

‘ We love you so much too.’ she replied.

Although Owen’s whole body was battered and bruised, Amelia was just so glad that he was alive. That was the most important thing, that he survived the entire ordeal, which was a miracle in itself. Sure, Owen had a long road to recovery lying ahead of him. There would be many painful physiotherapy sessions and another surgery to remove more pieces of his ruptured spleen. His chest would hurt everytime he inhaled for at least another month or so. His left arm would be casted for 6 weeks and his right leg for 8 weeks. However, despite the painful road to recovery he would go through, he would persevere for Amelia and their baby.

The couple held hands and sat in silence, savoring the moment together.

They could imagine their future together, with their children running around the house compound, filling the house with laughter. The future was uncertain, the future scared them. There was no guarantee that the baby she was carrying would turn out to be healthy. But they both knew that they would be able to get through this together. The future was theirs and no one could take it away from them.

Their precious moment was interrupted by a call from Maggie- informing Amelia that both Stephanie and Cross were stable enough to be transferred to regular rooms too and were expected to make a full recovery.

At that moment, Amelia realized that she had a lot to be grateful for- her loving husband who miraculously survived the explosion and fire, her unborn baby, her sisters and her colleagues. The universe was no longer conspiring against her.

Ok guys, this is it- the ending of the ‘Code Red.’ series. I hope you like it! Comments, reviews, reblogs and messages are very much appreciated :) I would love to hear from you!

@omeliafics this is part 3 of the ‘Code Red’ series for the fire prompt :)

#owen hunt #amelia shepherd #omelia #omeliafics #omelia fanfiction #omelia fanfics #ailing's fics #grey's anatomy

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readingontheedge · 5 years

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The Good Inside Me

by Barbara Russell

Genre: YA Paranormal Romance

Dragons, short-tempered archdemons, and hysterical damned souls—Shax is used to dealing with all that. He’s a young fire demon and lives in Hell, after all. What he’s not used to is being possessed by a human. A very good human and a pretty girl at that: sixteen-year-old Tolis. Despite still having control of his body most of the time, Shax can hear Tolis’s voice inside his head and feels what she feels constantly.

Shax’s mentor claims that Tolis hides an ancient, powerful grimoire, a book of spells, and proposes a deal: if Shax finds it, he’ll help Shax get work as a dragon keeper—Shax’s dream job. Tolis swears she doesn’t have the grimoire and asks Shax to help her father, whose soul is turning evil by the minute. Unless Tolis does something, her dad’s soul will end in Hell. Hoping to convince her to give him the grimoire, and not because Shax cares about the man’s soul, he agrees to help.

Goodness is overrated. Since Shax decided to help Tolis, his life has turned into a hurdle race. Thugs chase him, the scientists in Hell want to prod and examine the first possessed demon in history, and he can’t find the darn grimoire.

And the worst part? Due to the unavoidable presence of Tolis, who keeps intruding into his evil thoughts, Shax discovers an almost decent side of himself. In no time at all, he catches himself doing actual good deeds. Is he becoming—yuck—good?

Goodreads * Amazon

Book Trailer:

https://youtu.be/qC7wTElHHlc

Chapter One

NOT MANY THINGS scared Shax. He was a fire demon, lived in Hell, and dealt with dragons and other infernal beasts every day. Attempts to stab and roast him were pretty much a part of his daily routine. Not to mention his short-tempered archdemon mentor, who threatened him with disembowelment at least ten times in an hour. Yet, being trapped in the limbo between Earth and Hell, the nowhere space that had no entrance or exit, made him want to throw up out of fear. When he’d dematerialized from Hell to reach Earth, he hadn’t focused on his destination. He’d landed in the middle of the corridor of St. Cecil High School in Auckland, as he was supposed to, but had ended up sandwiched between the infernal portal and the human one. Again. Whoever said ending up in limbo was a rare thing had never dematerialized with Shax.

Blurred figures brushed past the limbo’s walls, and muffled sounds echoed around him. Pushing at the opaque walls that caged him was useless. Screaming didn’t solve anything, and even tossing one of his mighty demonic blazes wouldn’t do any good. The metaphysical cage was fireproof. Besides, he’d tried demonic fire before and only gotten burned. But this didn’t mean he was a hopeless demon, as many said back in Hell. Anyone could’ve made this mistake.

He leaned against the cold barrier and counted the stains of mud on his sneakers. Not much to do but wait for Astharot, his mentor, to rescue him. As only a fifth-level fire demon, Shax needed an expert’s help to jump in and out of limbo.

A tall dark figure approached the wall, and Shax waved a hand. “I’m here!”

He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. Great Sathael, not even Hades Park with its roaming werewolves was so creepy. These icy walls, the distant sounds, the fuzzy silhouettes…it all seemed as if he were trapped in a fishbowl.

The dark figure lifted an arm and hit the barrier. A crack appeared, letting in a draft of fresh air. The fist struck again until the fractures expanded like cobwebs. The wall shattered, exploding into thousands of glassy pieces. Shax fell over, dropping onto a blue vinyl floor. He moaned, massaging his back.

Astharot loomed over him. His lips curled to bare his teeth in a threatening smirk—as if being a massive archdemon, almost eight feet tall and dressed in black leather from head to toe, wasn’t menacing enough.

“What were you doing in there?” Astharot pulled Shax to his feet.

Shax adjusted his red hoodie. “I miscalculated the dematerialization.”

“Miscalculated?” Astharot scowled at him. “Your lack of focus will cost you a few points on your final score.”

“What?”

“Complain and I’ll have you weed dragonwort from my garden.”

“Again? I did it last week.” Shax flexed his fingers, which were still throbbing from the spiky dragonwort’s bites.

“It has regrown.” Astharot grabbed his arm. “We’d better hurry. Our divine colleagues are already here.”

Shax shrugged himself free and dodged a teacher striding past. A long corridor, lined with yellow lockers on both sides, stretched in front of him. Kids wearing blue and green uniforms milled around, bags strapped to their shoulders. Girls with colorful rucksacks covered in freakish rainbows, ugly unicorns, and hideous flowers filed in. Goodness wafted from them like the scents of their flowery perfumes, causing his stomach to roll. A guy ran through Shax as if he were a ghost, and Shax shouted. No point in keeping his voice low. None of these humans could see, hear, or touch him unless he revealed himself.

The students’ chatter and click-clack of lockers being closed and opened echoed off the walls. At the end of the hallway, in a quiet corner, two men stood, dressed in blinding white suits. The shorter one, Jilhael, fussed with his snowy cravat and pulled back his long blond hair.

Shax waved at his friend. Looking at Jilhael’s sapphire eyes and sensing the goodness in him, no one would ever guess he was half fire demon, half air angel. Jilhael’s mentor, Nithael, surveyed the crowd of kids with his sharp gaze, like a German shepherd watching a flock of sheep, his ebony skin a stark contrast with his white suit. Shax squinted at the circle of blue light on the floor; it marked one of the celestial portals that led to Heaven.

Astharot and Nithael exchanged a curt nod.

Shax playfully shoved Jilhael. “Hey, Jay, ready?”

Jilhael loosened his shirt’s collar. “You were right. This white suit is a tad uncomfortable.”

“Told ya.” Shax tugged at his hoodie and twitched his nose. His clothes smelled of sulfur and French fries. “Hell: less rules, more fun.”

Jilhael raised a golden brow. “This is work. It’s not supposed to be fun.”

Astharot toyed with his dagger—the athame—scrutinizing the oblivious human kids. “Have you already chosen Jilhael’s subject? Who should Jilhael possess?”

Nithael straightened and golden sparks flew about him. They fell on two girls passing by, who laughed. “Sure.” He flourished a hand. A white book appeared in his palm, and he skimmed the pages. “Jilhael has already possessed three young humans with excellent results, despite his lack of control.” He gave Jilhael a piercing look.

Astharot snorted, but Nithael ignored him.

“Jilhael’s subject today will be…Chad McKee, sixteen, prone to anger and envy. He harassed a few girls in the past weeks, and he’s that boy over there.” Nithael pointed to a broad guy with short brown hair and hazel eyes, standing in front of an open locker. A large duffel bag dangled from his shoulder.

Shax poked Jilhael in the ribs. “Looks like a tough guy. I don’t envy you.”

“No pun intended, right?” Jilhael chuckled.

“What about Shax?” Nithael closed the book and made it disappear with a casual gesture.

Astharot scratched his unshaven chin with his blade. “Don’t know…not sure yet….”

“I need to know who Shax is going to possess, Astharot.” Nithael’s hands twitched. “It’s our right to have the chance to repair the damage you and your apprentice are going to—”

“Shut up. I’m no rookie. Let me think,” Astharot scoffed.

“You promised to be ready this time,” Nithael hissed, blue sparks shooting from his body.

Shax stifled a chuckle. Had Nithael believed Astharot would be ready?

“Don’t get your wings in a knot.” Astharot held out a hand. “Give me a minute, and I’ll find Shax’s next target.”

Jilhael leaned closer to Shax. “What creature is next on your list? Or are you still working with objects?”

“I’ve finished with appliances.” Shax gestured to a fly zooming by. “An insect? Or a small animal maybe.” He rubbed his hands. “This is the first time I’ll possess a living thing. I can’t wait.”

“It’s a lot of work.” Jilhael brushed his white jacket. “But I love searching for the good inside a living being and helping it grow.”

“There!” Astharot pointed his athame toward Chad’s left.

Shax squinted. A huge black spider crawled on top of the lockers, but Chad and a pretty blonde girl next to him ignored it.

A spider. Cool. Being a spider for a few days would have to be fun.

The girl shifted sideways, her pink lips and rosy skin, her long wavy hair— Nope. He had to focus. On the spider. Astharot mumbled something Shax didn’t catch—probably the usual list of dos and don’ts. As if he didn’t know that taking a life was a big no-no. Inside a spider, he could scare girls, build cobwebs, sneak into the girls’ changing room. Finally, Astharot had given him an awesome test.

I’m an entomologist and a soil biologist, which is a fancy way to say that I dig in the dirt, looking for bugs. Nature and books have always been my passion. I was a kid when I read The Lord Of The Ring and fell in love with fantasy novels.

When I discovered cozy mystery and crime novels, I fell in love with Hercules Poirot and Sherlock Holmes. Then I grew up and . . . Nah, I’m joking. I didn’t grow up. Don’t grow up, folks! It’s a trap.

PS I hate gardening. There, I said it. Sorry fellow Kiwis.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

Giveaway

$25 Amazon

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

https://www.silverdaggertours.com/sdsxx-tours/the-good-inside-me-book-tour-and-giveaway

#dark fantasy #young adult #Silver Dagger Book Tours #Amazon #books

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nntodayblog · 6 years

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Don’t Let Blockbusters Keep You From Seeing Indie Movies This Month

A24 Great Point Media/Paladin Film Amazon Studios

Snag a ticket to "Lean on Pete," "Where Is Kyra?" or "You Were Never Really Here" before the blockbuster deluge.

Now that blockbusters ― namely reboots and franchise fare ― have graduated from summer escapism to year-round fixtures, April is no longer a safe space at the multiplex. The month that once birthed “Field of Dreams,” “The Matrix,” “Election” and “Mean Girls” now belongs to the “Fast and the Furious” vehicles, Marvel and “Clash of the Titans.”

To see “A Quiet Place” rumble into theaters last weekend was to witness a small miracle. Heralding John Krasinski’s directing talents and notching an august $50 million opening, the post-apocalyptic creature feature is the sort of studio product meant to warm jaded cinephiles’ hearts: a high-concept crowd-pleaser that manages to be fresh andwhip-smart ― an increasingly rare sight in the year of our big-budget Lord 2018. “A Quiet Place” boasts the highest-grossing April debut for an original film in history, as well as the heftiest intake for an original live-action release since “Happy Death Day” last October.

The rest of April’s wide releases are, well, less thrilling. Oversized beasts are stampeding Dwayne Johnson and Naomie Harris, “Isle of Dogs” barks its way into more corners of the country, Shia LaBeouf flaunts short shorts in the otherwise staid “Borg vs McEnroe,” Amy Schumer stars in a feminist “Shallow Hal,” we finally get a sequel to ... “Super Troopers” (?), “Truth or Dare” turns its titular pastime into something deadly (Tyler Posey doesn’t take his shirt off in the trailer; skip it), and the Avengers threaten to put more superheroes on one screen than a VH1 Divas telecast.

Those movies will flood multiplexes in the coming weeks, ushering us toward the blockbuster domination that is May, June and July. Meanwhile, three worthwhile underdogs opened opposite “A Quiet Place,” shouldering the month’s indie marketplace. “Lean on Pete,” “Where Is Kyra?” and “You Were Never Really Here” are hardly light fare, but isn’t there some adage about bleak movies being the perfect way to escape April showers? No? You’ll want to invent one after seeing this trio.

We talked to the filmmakers responsible for these gems. If you don’t live near a theater where the movies are playing, add them to a list of rainy-day streaming options for later in the year, when you find yourself wondering who among us requested yet another Robin Hood retelling.

“Lean on Pete”

For fans of “Boyhood,” “The 400 Blows” and “The Black Stallion”

Written and directed by Andrew Haigh Starring Charlie Plummer, Steve Buscemi, Chloë Sevigny, Travis Fimmel, Amy Seimetz and Steve Zahn

A24

Lean on Pete is a racehorse whose cantankerous trainer (Steve Buscemi) describes him as a “piece of shit” ― catnip for our protagonist, Charley (Charlie Plummer), a motherless 15-year-old working the stables for $25 a day, partly as a respite from his aloneness and partly to gird his father’s (Travis Fimmel) limited income. Gentle Charley can’t stomach the thought of Pete being carted off to Mexico, where aged steeds are slaughtered once they are no longer moneymakers. So, in the dark of night, this spindly boy absconds with his beloved horse (an expert listener), trekking through the Oregon desert toward a broader horizon.

On paper, it’s a quintessential coming-of-age tale. But in practice, writer and director Andrew Haigh sees “Lean on Pete” as the events that occur before Charley comes of age. And he’s right: Charley doesn’t yet have the means ― the familial support, the peers, the finances ― to determine his place in the world. The only thing that steadies him is a tender heart. “Until he finds somewhere to have a base, in order to grow, he can’t even deal with ideas of identity or who he’s going to be or what kind of man he wants to be,” Haigh said. “And also, I suppose, in all of my films, I can’t help but want to show a different version of masculinity.”

Haigh is the master of compassionate relationship dramas, having explored a one-night stand in “Weekend,” a long-term marriage in “45 Years,” a group of gay friends on HBO’s “Looking,” and, now, a teenager and his equestrian companion in “Lean on Pete,” based on the novel of the same name by Willy Vlautin. It’s Charley’s desperate need to be kind, and to receive kindness from others, that grounds this particular relationship and separates him from the average teen boy. Whereas most kids his age are striving to master schoolyard politics or sibling rivalry, Charley is trying to conquer the oppressive ugliness of the world around him, hoping that relatives in nearby Wyoming will provide the stability he lacks.

“What do you do in your life if you don’t have support from your loved ones?” Haigh said. “Or you don’t have support from the society around you? It felt like it was something more important, almost, than just questions of identity. It was about something like, how do you survive in the world if you don’t have a framework?”

Charley’s journey makes for a magnificent travelogue in which none of the travel is glamorous. With a parting shot that evokes “The 400 Blows,” this is one of the year’s best movies to date. Another recent release, “Ready Player One,” centered on an orphan in an ugly world, but its virtual-reality bedlam lacked humanity. “Lean on Pete” more than makes up for it, sending its hero ― Plummer’s performance is a wonder; a true star is born ― on an expedition through the great Northwestern outdoors that ends with an introspective discovery. Bring tissues; you’ll need a bunch.

“Where Is Kyra?”

For fans of “Klute,” “99 Homes” and Gena Rowlands movies

Written by Darci Picoult • Directed by Andrew Dosunmu Starring Michelle Pfeiffer, Kiefer Sutherland, Suzanne Shepherd and Sam Robards

Great Point Media/Paladin Film

“Some people say it almost feels like a horror film,” Darci Picoult, the writer of “Where Is Kyra?,” said. “It becomes this terrorizing psychological deterioration.”

Those horror trappings are evident in Picoult’s sparse script, but they’re largely owed to Andrew Dosunmu’s shadowy direction. Working with Oscar-nominated cinematographer Bradford Young (“Selma,” “Arrival”), Dosunmu shades Michelle Pfeiffer’s titular Brooklynite with fuzzy grays and anesthetized blues. Laid off from her job and cashing her late mother’s pension checks for income, Kyra is often framed from a distance, the atrophy she’s facing as she nears senior citizenship foregrounded to reveal a genre of poverty rarely explored in popular culture.

Picoult wrote “Where Is Kyra?” in 2013, surveying the aftereffects of the late 2000s’ economic crisis. She first set the movie in Detroit, which filed for bankruptcy that same summer. But Picoult and Dosunmu, who also collaborated on the Nigerian drama “Mother of George,” relocated the backdrop to New York, where the glaring disparity between haves and have-nots underscores everyday economic strife. What is a middle-aged woman to do when she finds herself unemployed and undesirable, reduced to placing advertisements on vehicles’ windshields and being turned down for gigs at fast-food restaurants in favor of younger candidates?

“I always envisioned Kyra being someone who, if you will, had a life that had promise, someone who believed things were going to work out,” Picoult said. “And then, when they don’t, it becomes even more disparaging because she’s holding on, hoping for something better that doesn’t happen.“

Pfeiffer, who made something of a comeback last year with “mother!” and “Murder on the Orient Express,” has found one of the richest roles of her career, looking more desperate with each rejection and more weathered with each dignity-shattering wakeup. Kyra’s corner of the world struggles to blossom into anything sunnier; farther and farther she drifts down the rabbit hole of anguish, Pfeiffer’s oceanic eyes absorbing every psychic bruise.

“You Were Never Really Here”

For fans of “Taxi Driver,” “Good Time” and “Drive”

Written and directed by Lynne Ramsay Starring Joaquin Phoenix, Judith Roberts, Frank Pando, Ekaterina Samsonov, Alessandro Nivola and Alex Manette

Amazon Studios

“You Were Never Really Here” demands to be seen twice: once to absorb its ethereal grime, and another to peek more clearly into its protagonist’s fractured mind. As Joe, a contract killer (and PTSD-addled war veteran) paid to extricate young girls from corruption, Joaquin Phoenix dances with the camera, angling through the New York streets, slipping between past and present, reality and hallucination. Joe is purposefully elusive, a design that is at once frustrating and hypnotic.

“I thought I was making an action movie, but it also became a character study,” Scottish director Lynne Ramsay, who adapted Jonathan Ames’ novella of the same name, said. “I think I just gravitated to the inner workings of the character.”

Those inner workings are bleak: At home, where he cares for his ailing mother (Judith Roberts), Joe sometimes covers his head with a plastic bag, wondering what would happen if he finally ended it all. Outside, he seems as likely to take a gun to his own head as he does to avenge the brutes holding innocent preteens hostage. But that’s familiar territory for Ramsay, who treats grief and death as leitmotifs (her other credits include “We Need to Talk About Kevin,” “Morvern Callar” and “Ratcatcher”). What makes “You Were Never Really Here” powerful is its ability to place us next to Joe, psychologically and physically, as he flits between avenger and avoider. Think Travis Bickle with a splash of the adrenaline-pumping “Good Time.” The movie telegraphs a woozy paranoia, aided by another stirring score from Jonny Greenwood, who composed the music for “We Need to Talk About Kevin” and last year’s “Phantom Thread.”

For Phoenix, the role encouraged a certain visceral improvisation. “We would make decisions in the moment, and sometimes there are things I’m reacting to in the moment,” he said. “There are times when other actors didn’t know what was going to happen because we didn’t know what was going to happen in that moment. And I think I probably like that way of working in general, but I think it was probably really applicable to that character and this experience.”

You won't find that in "Rampage."

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BEFORE YOU GO

Matthew Jacobs

Entertainment Reporter, HuffPost

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MoviesSteve BuscemiJoaquin PhoenixAndrew HaighCharlie Plummer

Reference source : Don’t Let Blockbusters Keep You From Seeing Indie Movies This Month

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