#in the survival logbook he even writes about her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coconutcordiale · 1 year

Note

Yay! Congrats on the 1k, babes!! You know I love your writing so I’d love a drabble. How about for the closer prompt? BB x reader or hangster. I love them both. ❤️

hours don't turn into days (pt one)

full fic on ao3

pairing- rooster x hangman

synopsis-

There’s fog edging into the corners of his vision, surreal and dream-like. He’s going through the motions, operating on instinct. The only place his head is clear is in the air. In the silence of his jet, with nothing between him and endless miles of the sky but clouds and the crackle of the radio in his helmet, he can see vividly, can feel at peace.

or, bradley's struggling post-mission and hangman keeps calling him for some reason

warnings- 18+ explicit sexual content (blow jobs, anal sex, dom/sub undertones, praise kink, orgasm delay), angst, anxiety, bradley bradshaw's bummer of a life

length- 7.7k

an- MONTHS LATER i'm so sorry ash hahahaha

i'm back!!!! school is still kicking my ass so i can't be as active as i used to but i'm baaaack kinda. i've been posting this on ao3 (the chaps are split up nicer on there but i'm lazy so it'll be 2 parts on here) but since i finally got to the point that kicked off this whole fic - the lovely ASH requesting "make me" with hangster i figured i'd post the first few chapters on here as well. linking the fic on ao3 if you'd prefer to read there. fair warning....i've not scratched the surface of the angst that is planned for this one

Me carrying this mess Is tearing me to shreds I’m so far away from what I need From here it’s hard to breathe

hours – again&again

Bradley’s been measuring his life in hours since the moment he added up the first page in his logbook. He still remembers the excitement of penciling in that 11.4 of flight time into the bottom, already feeling as cool as Maverick, already one step closer to flying as close as he could to a mustached blonde guy and his bright Hawaiian shirts.

It took three hours for him and Mav to talk, actually talk, and hash things out, tears falling as they soothed old hurts and cautiously built new promises. Took them half that to even start.

Took one hour before he left his mother’s bedside, to believe she was gone, but Bradley tries his best not to think about that hour.

All that to say, it’s been nearly a thousand hours since Bradley came back to his stale East coast house that’s never really felt like home. A thousand hours since Hangman showed up in Virginia Beach, seeing as the Navy’s favorite way to say thank you for saving the lives of fellow pilots and surviving the un-survivable is to uproot someone's life and toss them across the country with little to no afterthought.

Phoenix got reassigned to Oceana too, but Phoenix’s presence across from him in the dim lighting of Haddy’s Bar isn’t trying to make Bradley lose his mind.

The problem with being near Hangman post mission – in light of the tenuous truce they’ve struck, with the debt Bradley feels like he owes him – is that no matter how many decent interactions he has with the guy, that flighty feeling in his stomach every time he sees him out of the corner of his eyes never seems to go away.

Must be his anxiety.

“Bradshaw.” Phoenix’s voice is sharp, slicing through the haze in his mind. She waves a hand in front of his face, annoyed. “Bradshaw.”

Bradley shakes his head, clears his throat. “Sorry, zoned out. What were you asking?”

She rolls her eyes, albeit mostly fond, he thinks. “You ever gonna bring the Bronco out here? You’ve been stationed here for, what, two years and you’re still keeping your most prized possession in California?”

Bradley blinks. Two years. He didn’t realize it had been that long and opens his mouth to admit it when he glances up, words dying on the tip of his tongue as he catches sight of blonde hair moving across the bar, amidst a group of pilots Bradley recognizes as VFA-37.

He wonders how Hangman feels about trading out the Vigilantes for the Ragin Bulls, wonders if Hangman insists on wearing his khakis because he knows how good he looks in them.

Then kicks himself for wondering.

Hangman grins when he clocks them, sauntering over like the cat he clearly was in a past life. “Bradshaw, as I –”

Phoenix shakes her head in disgust. “Nope. Not this again.”

Hangman mimes zipping his lips. The fact that he actually shuts up is a testament to how much the dynamic has changed since the mission.

Bradley tries, really tries, not to look but he can’t help the way his eyes flick to Hangman’s lips where they’re turned up slightly, a miniature version of his signature smirk. Phoenix’s derision is the only thing keeping him from saying something stupid at this point.

It doesn’t go unnoticed if the glint appearing in the other man’s green eyes is anything to go by.

“Hangman.” He nods, somewhere in the realm of normal, he thinks.

A blonde eyebrow quirks, telling him he wasn’t even close. “Cool shirt, birdie.”

Bradley wants to protest the obvious sarcastic slander of his muted yellow and white shirt, which is frankly pretty tame but can’t be bothered to put any real heat into his tone. “I see you’re still allergic to civvies."

Hangman lets out a chuckle, his face bright and open for a fleeting second before schooling his features back into something more familiar. “How could I not be, when I make khakis look this good?”

Bradley’s gaze leaves Hangman’s face yet again to rake up and down his form, almost involuntarily, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks as he barrels through his last remaining shred of subtlety.

Hangman looks like he might have some choice teasing about that little display, but his squad is waving at him with extra beers in their hands, trying for the blonde’s attention.

“Sorry to cut and run.” Hangman tilts his head in the direction of the pool table they’ve taken over towards the back. “But I’ve got some fuckin’ new guys to put in their place.”

Bradley decidedly does not stare at his ass as he saunters away. “How is he not the FNG in this squad?”

Phoenix snorts, ignoring his whining as per usual. “Glad to see him saving your life hasn’t spared the rest of us from being subjected to your shameless sexual tension.”

“It’s just regular tension because we don’t like each other very much. You only think it’s sexual because we’re both attractive.”

Pure glee immediately takes over her wry expression. “So, you do think he’s hot.”

“Christ,” Bradley sighs, the word coming out more clipped than Phoenix probably deserves. “Yes, Tash, I have eyes.”

Eyes that can currently see the line of Hangman’s throat as it works to swallow half of his beer in one go.

“Don’t bite my head off, Bradshaw,” she chastises. “I was wary when I heard he was coming to Virginia too, but insufferable horniness aside it does seem like things have changed between you two. For the better, I’d say.”

“Sorry,” Bradley says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just don’t know what his angle is lately. Maybe he wants to feel better about being such a dick for so long. Maybe I’ll feel better when he’s done.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow, and he tries not to balk at the contempt she manages in one minuscule expression. “Yeah, because you’ve always been your most cool-headed with him.”

Bradley makes a face. “Fine, I could probably stand to stop being a dick to him too.”

“There may still be some hope for you yet.” She tips her empty glass toward him. “Now extend that newfound graciousness in this direction and get me another beer.”

As nice as it is to have Phoenix on the same side of the country with him for once, Bradley still feels off-kilter.

The issue is on the ground. And it’s always worse just after a hop, just after he’s pleased to finally have his head clearing, crossing his fingers that it’ll last.

He must be obvious because Hangman lingers after getting ready for a flight of his own, leaning against the locker next to Bradley’s, arms crossed but relaxed as ever. “Y’all looked good up there.”

Bradley nods, curt. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches out between them, only muffled voices moving down the hallway outside the locker room and the plink plink plink of the dripping showers to be heard.

“You good, Bradshaw?”

“Peachy,” Bradley responds gruffly, slamming his locker door with a little more force than is probably necessary. He’d feel bad for his complete shutdown of Hangman’s attempts at friendliness, for doing the exact opposite of what he promised Phoenix he’d do if he could string together a single coherent thought.

As it stands, his brain feels like it’s been in a blender on high, so he nods goodbye to the blonde and makes his way to his car without registering a single other face he passes.

When he gets tired of aimlessly wandering around his house and only half-finishing tasks, he runs. Black New Balances pounding the pavement, lungs burning. It could be three miles or thirteen, he has no idea. It should tell him something about the state of his brain that a man who previously avoided cardio – as much as anyone in the military can actually avoid it – has no idea if he just ran a half-marathon.

It would tell him something. If he were at all interested in listening.

When he finally looks up from the cracks in the sidewalk a new problem becomes apparent; he has no idea where he is. His legs are starting to feel like jelly, putting a mark in that half-marathon column.

Bradley pulls up Uber, not even bothering to consider running back home. It’s twenty minutes out and he tries not to grumble too much about having to wait. It’s his own fault anyways.

Just when he’s looking for a way to bide his time on his phone, Hangman’s name flashes across his screen.

Why the hell is Seresin calling him?

“Hello?” Bradley asks tentatively, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Rooster,” Hangman drawls.

“Yes?”

“What’re you up to?”

“What?”

“Currently,” Hangman says, enunciating every syllable, slowly like he thinks Bradley might be stupid. He probably has a leg to stand on; Bradley feels pretty stupid right now. “What are you doing?”

“I’m, uh,” Bradley rubs the back of his neck awkwardly even though Jake can’t see him, “in Mount Trashmore Park.”

Hangman snorts. “Doing what? Watching your brothers and sisters fly around?”

“Ran here. Waiting for an Uber back home but it’s a ways out.”

“You ran there.” It’s not even a question. His tone is clipped, dry, and flat. Bradley can practically hear the judgmental curl of his lips through the line.

He grunts. Why doesn’t he just hang up? “Yep.”

Bradley hears the other man exhale, wondering if he imagines the amusement that comes across as just a little staticky. “You know, most people run in a loop. I know you’re new to this whole cardio thing, but it makes it easier.”

“Thanks, never thought of that before,” Bradley deadpans. “Did you just call to give me unsolicited personal training advice or was there something you needed?”

“Cancel your Uber, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Bradley stares at the phone in his hand quizzically for a good thirty seconds after Hangman ends the call. Weighs his options. It’s easier not to argue, honestly, as stubborn as Bradley is, he knows Seresin can be just as much of an immovable object when he wants to be. He cancels the ride after a little deliberation, left to the muddled nonsense that’s made up his brain since the mission.

The breeze feels nice on his face, at least. The leaves always look pretty this time of year. It’s something he misses, when he’s home in California, the only downside to eternal summer sunshine.

True to his word, Hangman’s unnecessary F-150 pulls up eight minutes later.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks in lieu of a greeting after Bradley’s buckled his seatbelt, magnanimous like he thinks he’s doing Bradley a favor.

Bradley decides to ignore the fact that he kind of is.

He aims to keep the crisp air out of his voice, trying his hand at Hangman’s brand of measured casualness. “Talk about what?”

Hangman rolls his eyes. Bradley refuses to let his hackles raise, unclenching his fist where it lays next to his thigh one finger at a time.

“You’ve hated running ever since I’ve known you. I have quite literally never witnessed you run by choice.”

“It’s bad for me to start taking care of my cardiovascular health?”

The blonde sighs, knuckles tight on the steering wheel, jade gaze on the road in front of him. Bradley finds himself wondering how much energy it’s costing him, to skirt this close to compassion. “You live at least ten miles from here.”

“So?”

“This is kind of a shitty area, dude.”

Bradley shrugs. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Hangman lets out a frustrated huff. Bradley knows he’s being deliberately obtuse but can’t find it in himself to care, so he looks out the window, counting the cookie-cutter houses as they drive by.

“Look – I – you don’t have to talk to me,” Hangman says when they pull up in front of Bradley’s little craftsman house. It's clear this is even more uncomfortable for him than it is for Bradley. “There are definitely better options. But you should talk to someone. It’s obvious, it’s been obvious, that something’s off with you.”

“My flying’s fine,” Bradley responds tightly. Great, actually. Better than ever. The only thing that feels right these days, he doesn’t say.

“Your flying isn’t what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

Bradley fights a full-body cringe. They’re treading far too close to something Bradley has been professionally avoiding since the mission. Since before, if he’s being honest. Introspection has never been where he shines.

“Thanks for the ride,” Bradley says pointedly, getting out of the car determined to remain steady on his feet in front of the other man even though his legs feel like they’d give out underneath him at any moment.

“You’re welcome, Bradshaw. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Only after Bradley shuts his front door behind him does he realize that Hangman never told him why he called in the first place.

The word maybe was beginning to annoy me, because the only thing that was fixed was that maybe would be with me forever.

- Markus Zusak, Underdog

Even at the height of their antagonism, Bradley has always been able to recognize that Hangman’s attractive. Everyone knows he’s attractive. Hangman knows he’s attractive, with his broad shoulders and a slim waist, that dimple that everyone’s eyes are drawn to whenever he wants them to be.

It’s not Hangman’s fault, not really. The guy’s magnetic; always has been. It used to grate on Bradley, the ease at which Hangman carries himself, the way he makes everything look natural – it’s never once failed in its mission to make Bradley feel inadequate.

Until now. Now, he watches pink lips curl into a smirk and all he can think of is biting them red.

He just doesn’t remember ever looking quite this much. Hangman’s always been on the periphery of his radar but lately, it’s more like Hangman’s a flame and Bradley the moth doomed to its death. Bradley makes a point not to sleep with coworkers, and it truly is a terrible idea in this case. Even though they’re on different squadrons it’d be reckless to upset this new balance they’re coming to. Not friends, exactly, but a sort of peace treaty, nonetheless.

A peace treaty that Bradley considers lighting fire to every time Hangman bends over the pool table to reach an impossible shot.

Maybe he just needs to get laid. Celibacy is clearly fucking with his head.

Because none of his internal crisis seems to matter with the way Hangman’s drawl gets a little syrupier as he straightens up so he can look down at the redhead in front of him, laughing as she meets his sarcasm with quips of her own. Red nails, a shade brighter than her hair, wrap around Hangman’s arm, inching underneath where the sleeve of his uniform strains against his bicep.

Bradley looks away. Tries to focus on Phoenix and her new backseater Cage across from him at their high top. Fails. Why did he choose to sit so close to the pool table anyway?

She’s beautiful. Her laugh is lyrical and gorgeous, but it settles uncomfortably underneath Bradley’s skin. He’s refusing to think too hard about why that is.

He knows he’s getting more and more unbearable to be around, quiet and sullen and surly for no apparent reason. He’s only had two beers but figures it’s time to go home as he ambles to the bar; before everyone gets a glimpse of the real, moody Bradley they’d probably rather not know.

“Close me out instead?” He asks when Isaac makes his way over, holding up an unopened beer in silent question.

Isaac’s eyebrows raise but he nods, taking Bradley’s proffered card without any questioning.

“Gonna head out,” Bradley tells Phoenix and Cage when he returns empty-handed.

“I want to give you a hard time for bailing so early when we have a full day off tomorrow, but I know your students were a pain in the ass today, so I guess I’ll let it slide,” Phoenix grumbles. “Plus, old men need extra beauty rest.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, tone dry, even though the smile twitching underneath his mustache carries nothing but fondness. “Back in my day, we went to bed at a reasonable hour but thanks so much for the mitigated support, Tash.”

Phoenix tilts her beer at him. “Anything for you, birdie.”

Bradley tries not to clench his jaw at her use of Hangman’s nickname for him, adding his visceral reaction to the list of things he is adamantly not-thinking-too-hard-about.

When Bradley tosses a lazy salute in goodbye over towards Hangman and Red, something unreadable flashes across those sharp green eyes but before he can make heads or tails of it, it’s gone. He’s out the door and driving home in a daze moments later anyways, hoping the couple of beers he’s had will shut his brain up long enough for him to fall asleep.

Bradley's cursing the country station he’s had on in his car as of late, wondering which stupid song convinced him beer was the answer to the muddled nonsense that's been making up his brain. As he stares up at the ceiling fan and its endless circles, trying to decide at what point he should just give up on going back to sleep and do something productive, he hears his phone buzz, a text from Hangman lighting up the screen.

You up?

Bradley snorts in amusement as he replies, think u have me confused with that redhead from the bar

He watches the three dots in their message thread appear and disappear a few times, brows furrowing as he sends another text, u need a ride home?

Maybe they’re not friends but Bradley probably owes him one after the whole park debacle.

Hangman calls him almost immediately after the text shows as delivered and Bradley’s so confused, he picks up on the second ring.

“You good?”

The shaky exhale across the line answers that but he hears the blonde’s voice a moment later. “Bradshaw, you know the answer to that.”

It feels like a deflection in his ears; Bradley decides not to call him on it because he's nice like that. Or because he's really too tired to be throwing stones. Glass houses and all that. “What’re you doing up? Need a ride or something?” Hangman doesn’t sound drunk, but Bradley feels the need to offer again anyways.

“Could ask you the same thing. No, went home not long after you did.”

Bradley’s a little surprised by that, trying to shrug it off before speaking again. “Sleep and I haven’t been on great terms lately.”

Another shaky exhale. “Yeah, same.”

He could just hang up. Should hang up, probably, and do breathing techniques or count sheep until his mind shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep.

What comes out of his mouth instead is, “Think I’m gonna go to CVS for snacks. Want to come?”

“It’s two in the morning.” There’s the barest hint of amusement coming across the line now and Bradley barely resists feeling too proud about it.

“The one on Booth is open 24/7.”

Hangman huffs out what could be an actual laugh or what might be an extreme form of judgment. “You would make me get out of bed for sour straws in the middle of the night.”

“Says the one that called me. You wanna come or not?”

Hangman grumbles something unintelligible before Bradley can hear the rustling of sheets, what he assumes is the other man getting out of bed. “You better be picking me up.”

When Hangman walks out of his house, he can see the blonde looking at him like he doesn’t fully believe he’s there, dark circles prominent underneath his usually flawless golden skin. It shouldn’t be this obvious in the dark, with only the streetlights and full moon to give Bradley enough light to see him.

He wracks his brain trying to remember if Hangman looked this gaunt earlier at Haddy’s, but he’s tired enough to acknowledge that he was a little focused on the way the other man’s khakis stretched over his ass and not so much on his face.

They drive in a comfortable silence that always feels right for this time of night, both humming along to George Strait playing on the radio. Bradley succeeds in keeping his eyes mostly on the road, if only because the pensive way Hangman's staring out the window is freaking him out a little bit.

Four seconds after being under the headache-inducing fluorescent lights of CVS, Hangman wanders off mumbling something about moisturizer that Bradley doesn’t have the mental capacity to needle him about at the moment.

Chips and Nerds gummy clusters, he repeats the other man’s request in his head, because Hangman snacks like a ten-year-old let loose without parents. He throws trail mix into his basket because he’s an adult in his thirties. Even if he is at a drugstore in the middle of the night; with his only company a weird sort of-work-friend and high schoolers whose fake IDs haven’t come in the mail yet.

He slows to a stop in the packed chips aisle, swallowing reflexively as he takes in the selection.

It’s absurd. There must be fifty different kinds of chips in here.

Bradley’s eyes flit left and right, hand halfway to the nearest bag of Doritos. It drops back by his side, fingers flexing against his worn jeans.

His throat is drying, bright colors in myriads of packaging blurring at the edges of where his vision is starting to tunnel. Fluorescent lighting flickers overhead, the floor beneath his Converse shiny and speckled with black marks with absolutely no rhyme or reason.

This is where Hangman finds him, the other man stopping short with undoubtedly overpriced moisturizer in his hands, blonde eyebrows creeping towards his hairline.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I –” Bradley clears his throat, trying to blink the glare out of his eyes. “Wasn’t sure what kind of chips you wanted.”

Hangman plucks a bag of salt and vinegar off the shelf, seemingly at random. “These are fine.”

“Right.” He manages, words scraping against the sandpaper in his throat. “Didn’t get your candy yet, either.”

Hangman gives him a look that’s far too knowing for Bradley’s liking but thankfully doesn’t comment on it, stalking to the candy aisle while Bradley follows him like a lost puppy.

They pay the uninterested cashier who checks them out without even bothering to stop texting her boyfriend before heading back to Bradley’s car, tracing his path back to Jake’s on autopilot.

Hangman is staring straight ahead out of the windshield, measured indifference painted across his angular features. “You wanna come in? I have episodes of Bachelor in Paradise to catch up on.”

“Yeah,” Bradley croaks. “Should’ve known you’d be into that crap.”

It must sound even more of a pathetic attempt at snark than it feels because Hangman doesn’t even bother to defend his choice in TV shows, doesn’t take the obvious shot at Bradley’s usually vintage taste.

They settle on a shockingly comfortable grey couch and Jake nods off twenty minutes into the show with his hand still in the bag of trail mix, head lolling onto Bradley’s shoulder. If Bradley’s brain finally shuts up long enough for him to fall asleep only when he can hear the even rhythm of Jake’s breathing and smell the faint spiciness from his cologne, well, that’ll be between him and no one else.

Tell me where it hurts, she’d say. Stop howling. Just calm down and show me where. But some people can’t tell where it hurts. They can’t calm down. They can’t ever stop howling.

- Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

The first thing Bradley thinks when he wakes up with a crick in his neck is that his mouth tastes horrible.

The second is that he’s not sure he’ll recover from the glimpse he catches of Hangman, tiptoeing past him from what’s presumably the bathroom to the kitchen, towel slung low around his waist and hanging on for dear life.

Jesus Christ, Bradley grumbles silently. How hard is it to put on pants when you get out of the shower and not waltz around with maybe-maybe not-friends-probably-still-just-coworkers in your living room? Some of us need our brains in the morning. To think.

“Hey – uh – sorry,” Bradley croaks, easing himself up into a sitting position and trying not to audibly groan since he’s far too old to be sleeping on peoples’ couches. Judging by Hangman’s facial expression, he’s not very successful.

Hangman has a weird look in his eyes. If Bradley didn’t know him any better, he’d think there was a softness there.

“Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Hangman hums noncommittally. Bradley’s brain is still working at half-speed, trying to figure out how strong his coffee needs to be to combat whatever died in his mouth.

“Breakfast?” Hangman asks, shaking himself out of whatever stupor he’s in. “There’s a spare toothbrush or two in the hall bathroom, under the sink.”

“Never took you as the morning-after-breakfast type, Seresin.”

Hangman narrows his eyes, but Bradley doesn’t miss the slight flush rising to his cheekbones. “I’m a fucking gentleman. Shut up.”

Bradley grins, fighting the urge to whistle as he gets up to head towards the bathroom. He’s just glad to have recovered quicker than Hangman for once. When he gets back Hangman is thankfully wearing shorts and standing at the stove pushing egg whites and spinach onto plates with a spatula. Bradley bites down on a joke about his gym bro breakfast since Hangman’s being nice enough to make him food, settling on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Black?” Hangman tosses over his shoulder as he finishes plating.

“Huh?” Bradley asks eloquently, willing his eyes away from Hangman’s back dimples.

Hangman shoots him a look. “Black coffee fine with you? I don’t think I have milk.”

“Yeah, however,” Bradley responds. He’ll blame staying up far too late and sleeping on a couch for how slowly his brain seems to be functioning. “Thanks.”

Hangman waves it off, mumbling something that sounds like it’s nothing before setting Bradley’s food and coffee down in front of him, then circling the counter to sit next to him.

“What got you up so early?”

“Gym,” Hangman mumbles around a mouthful of omelette. It’s disgusting but Bradley’s more nauseated with himself for not being put off by it.

“You got up and worked out already?”

Hangman grins, nudging Bradley with his shoulder conspiratorially. “Yeah, some of us actually like it. Unfathomable, I know.”

“Hey I like it sometimes,” Bradley insists. Faced with Hangman’s skepticism he amends, “Okay, I mostly work out so I don’t hurt myself throwing heavy things around, not because I like it.”

Hangman looks him up and down out of the side of his eyes at that, more subtle than Bradley ever is, but noticeable enough that Bradley fights not to fidget in his seat. One second longer and Bradley’s going to start getting some real idiotic ideas, so he changes the subject. “You going to Rebound’s wedding today?”

Rebound’s an okay guy, one of the pilots on Hangman's new squad. Bradley’s known him since they were both in Pensacola for API. They get along, but Bradley gets along with almost everyone he meets. Present company excluded, at first.

He’s not particularly looking forward to the wedding for some reason. He knows Rebound tends to act single on deployment regardless of relationship status, and Bradley has never understood why you’d bother getting married if that’s not the life you want. He doesn’t know what’s worse – that Rebound might be marrying a girl only to get a boat boo the moment he steps on another aircraft carrier or that he might’ve finally grown up well before Bradley has bothered trying.

Hangman snorts, pulling Bradley out of his selfish deliberation. “Yeah, have to. Only narrowly avoided being a part of the wedding party.”

“He wanted you to be in his wedding, and you’ve known him, what, a month?” Bradley knows the flare of possessiveness that’s flashing through him is not only misplaced but also completely irrational. Rebound’s getting fucking married today, what is his problem?

Hangman blanches. “Don’t act so surprised, Bradshaw.”

Bradley swallows the sorry that wants to leave his lips. “Everyone being obsessed with you is the least surprising thing to happen this week.”

Something indecipherable flashes across Hangman’s face at that but he tries not to read into it much.

“Guess I’ll see you later,” Bradley says awkwardly when they’ve finished eating and making fun of people they work with. “Thanks for breakfast, and for letting me crash, seriously. You didn’t have to.”

“Anytime, Bradshaw,” Hangman answers, clearly not intending to say anything more.

So, they’re not talking about it, then.

Bradley tugs at his choker whites where they feel too tight across his collarbones, already regretting wearing them, regretting coming to this wedding at all.

His back is always stiff in a church pew. The hardwood digs into his thighs, the angle of the seat twinging his back. He doesn’t know how people do this every week. Maybe believing in God makes the seats more comfortable.

Hangman settles himself down next to Bradley with the grace of a much smaller man and Bradley tries his best not to react. He looks relaxed on the uncomfortable wood, because does he ever look uneasy? No. Probably grew up in chapels like this one, down to the dusty windows.

“Don’t know why everyone insists on getting married in a church,” Jake mumbles out of the side of his mouth like he can read Bradley’s discomfort. “Rebound isn’t even Christian.”

Bradley snorts. He agrees but is a little surprised Hangman does too. “Not a weekly attendee? Thought you would’ve practically grown up in a place like this.”

Hangman’s eyes slide sideways, disapproval of Bradley’s intelligence clear on the curl of his pink lips. “Churches in the small towns of Texas don’t usually look kindly on my interest in dick, Rooster.”

Bradley freezes.

Hangman’s brows furrow.

“Sorry – I thought you were – I mean you and that guy Matt…” Hangman trails off. “Anyways, I thought you knew. Or I didn’t think you’d care.”

It’s almost funny, seeing Hangman trip over his own words for once. Almost.

Might be if Bradley wasn’t so busy making a colossal ass of himself.

If Bradley hadn’t thought Hangman was straight for the better part of the last decade and wasn’t currently having his entire world flipped upside down, it’d be hilarious.

“No.” Bradley clears his throat. “I didn’t know, but of course it’s fine. Obviously, it’s fine.”

Hangman nods tightly, pursing his lips like it’s anything but. He’s right, on some level, but not for the reason he thinks he is.

Fine. The word of the day for Bradley.

The ceremony is fine. It’s all fine and cheesy and forgettable with 1 Corinthians being recited at the altar. It makes Bradley’s skin itch, the talk of the future and building a life together when he himself can barely understand what’s going on in his life day to day.

Fine despite putting his foot in his mouth with Hangman earlier. Who seems to appreciate Bradley buying him a tequila soda in silent apology (because really, Rebound, a fucking cash bar?) and sitting down at an empty table with him on the outskirts of the dance floor, anyways.

Jake repays him with a running commentary of who he thinks will end up going home together, both men with eyes on their friends and coworkers acting rowdy and generally making an ass of themselves. It’s amusing at least, even if Bradley can’t put his heart fully into it. He’s willing to put money on Jake’s predictions being dead on.

Someone convinces the band to play Taylor Swift. Bradley tries not to wince.

Jake snorts a laugh into his drink. “Not gonna laud us with Jerry Lee Lewis renditions tonight?”

“Pretty sure Big Ray & the Kool Kats wouldn’t look too kindly on me taking over just so I don’t have to hear ‘Love Story’,” Bradley responds wryly. He has no idea if that’s the band’s actual name and can’t be bothered to check.

“You would hate T-Swift, pretentious hipster,” Jake grumbles.

“I don’t but her songs always get stuck in my head for weeks on end and then-” Bradley cuts himself off when he sees Cage beelining for them, holding his breath to see if the WSO makes it all the way to them without knocking anything over.

“Hey,” Cage says as he plops down gracelessly across from them, the stunning conversationalist that he is.

Despite feeling out of it, Bradley fights a chuckle. He’s known Cage since well before he started flying with Phoenix, and in all that time his alcohol tolerance has somehow never increased. Hangman opens his mouth to say something but stops when he clocks the minute shaking of Bradley’s head, Bradley is well-versed in the face drunk Cage makes when he’s about to say something amusing and stupid.

He doesn’t disappoint. “D’you think that girl over there likes me?”

Jake squints. Bradley tries not to get sidetracked by the little crinkles around his eyes.

“Don’t make an ass of yourself, buddy,” he advises when he regains focus.

Cage’s eyes get comically large. “I would never, Rooster. You would though. Because your ass is dumb. A dumbass,” Cage slurs. He must be hanging onto the clever comebacks for tomorrow. “I might be drunk.”

“Wow, really,” Jake replies, drier than the Sahara. “We couldn’t tell.”

“But you guys don’t get it. Look at you,” Cage laments, turning directly to Jake. “Those cheekbones could cut glass. You could have any girl you want. And Rooster doesn’t love love, not like I do. He doesn’t want the white picket fence. I’m jealous. I wish I wanted to be alone forever.”

Bradley blinks.

Cage isn’t exactly right but he’s not entirely wrong, either. And Bradley shouldn’t be surprised that’s what his friend thinks of him. He’s always shied away from serious relationships, always had a hard time opening up to people enough to get them to stick around. Emotionally unavailable, more than one previous girlfriend has shouted at him in frustration.

He thinks of his mom, eyes far away and glassy for most days of every June that Bradley can remember. Thinks of the wedding ring she never could take off, the way she would always run her thumb across it without realizing it. He can still picture how stiff her smile seemed at his aunt’s wedding, can still feel the resentment that burrowed its way into his chest throughout the ceremony.

He feels defensive all of a sudden, like he has every time a partner has begged him for a shred of vulnerability, like even though he was already pushing himself it still wasn’t enough. Cage gets distracted again before he has to respond anyways, stumbling up and to another group – presumably to find someone more supportive of his quest for the love of his life.

“Need some air,” Bradley mutters to Jake, words scraping his throat like sandpaper.

He makes it outside, facing the ocean. It should calm him down, should be familiar enough to quell the anger simmering beneath his surface, bubbling up to swirl and mix with the little tinge of grief that never seems to fully go away.

Should, but doesn’t. The ocean air tastes different in Virginia. It always has.

He hates it less than being stuck somewhere like Fallon, or even Lemoore, but the humidity of the East Coast has always settled under his skin wrong, lungs fighting for their lives in a steam room.

He doesn’t have this guy in him, hasn’t for a while now. Likable Bradley: the guy that buys everyone a beer and doesn’t leave the dance floor. The person who can play Jerry Lee Lewis and sing his heart out, waltzes into a bar, smiling and happy. The person that’s easy, that gets along with everyone and rolls with the punches. He doesn’t have it in him to play the part. Not anymore.

He feels his chest tightening, bile rising.

Bradley leans over the railing, eyes fixed on grains of sand below. For a second, he’s back home in California, steps away from his childhood home, Fleetwood Mac drifting from the open windows, those old red gingham curtains flowing in the wind. His mom humming under her breath in the kitchen, wooden spoon gently folding whipped egg whites into sifted flour for the signature Carole Bradshaw angel food cake.

Jake appears at his elbow, because of course he does. Because he’s everywhere, all the time, his laugh always distant but just within Bradley’s earshot, that smirk painted on his face like he knows a secret no one else does, at the edges of Bradley’s vision. His eternal tan glowing insistently against his dress whites.

“Sorry,” Bradley grits out. “Not in the mood.”

“He’s drunk,” Jake offers, even and calm like always.

“I’m not mad at him.”

“Evidence to the contrary,” he answers, hands out in a sweeping motion displaying their location, waving over where Bradley’s gripping the railing like he’s trying to crush the wood out of sheer force of will.

“Leave it alone, Jake,” Bradley warns, closing his eyes.

“Make me.”

Seven things flicker like a movie behind Bradley’s eyelids. Maybe not deadly but definitely all sins.

When he opens his eyes Jake’s eyebrow is raised, but there’s heat fighting its way through the snark. “Gotta stop bottling it all up someday.”

Bradley turns and takes half a step closer to Jake, moving like he’s going to box him in against the railing but stopping a little short, giving the other man plenty of time to tell him to fuck off.

He doesn’t.

“You’re angry about something. Death grip on the yoke and frozen in a spin.” Jake tilts his chin defiantly but doesn’t move, eyes locked on Bradley’s, challenging.

Bradley leans in closer, crowding Jake against the railing, hands going to his waist to mar his pristine, white uniform. He slots a thigh in between Jake’s so he can watch green pupils blow dark until there’s only the thinnest line of color left.

He doesn’t say anything. Knows he doesn’t have to.

“Come on,” Jake goads, that infuriating smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Whatever you have to work out – you know I can handle it.”

“That what you need?” Bradley growls when Jake pushes against his hold, fingers tight enough to leave bruises. “Need me to hold you down and make you take it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t need it too,” Jake sasses back, fire still burning under hooded eyes. “Like you don’t need someone to help you feel like you’re in control for once.”

Figures. Of course, he’s a brat who won’t make it easy on Bradley.

He shifts his thigh against where it presses against the blonde. “How’d you get here?” Jake’s eyes flutter closed, teeth raking over his bottom lip. Bradley squeezes his waist, trying not to preen at how responsive Jake already is. “Asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“Took an Uber,” Jake breathes out, eyes reopening slowly and recentering on Bradley’s face.

Bradley doesn’t kiss him, not yet, not here. Doesn’t trust himself to stop once he starts. “Let’s go,” he says instead, hands regrettably leaving Jake’s sides so they can make their way to the parking lot without drawing too much attention.

They’re quiet in the car again, but amusement floats from Jake's side of the car as Bradley drives a little faster than normal, his braking at stoplights a touch jerkier, entire body brimming with tension.

Bradley’s self-control cracks the moment he follows Jake through his front door.

“Off,” he mutters against Jake’s skin, fingers working open the buttons of his uniform as he presses him back against the door, using his slight height advantage to tower over him and slot their lips together.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost all that famous Bradshaw patience,” Jake pants when Bradley comes up for air.

Bradley shoots him a dark look, one hand moving to Jake’s jaw to hold him in place. “Don’t be a brat or I’ll have to show you how patient I can really be. String you out all night, bring you to the edge again and again but never let you go over.”

Jake’s head thumps back against the door at that, a high-pitched whine leaving through gritted teeth as he presses into Bradley’s grip. “Bedroom now, Bradshaw, come on.”

Bradley raises an eyebrow, hand frozen in place around Jake’s neck, thumb rubbing across his pulse point but otherwise refusing to move.

“Please,” Jake whines.

“There we go. Was that so hard, sweetheart?” Bradley finally lets up, allowing a modicum of space between the two of them.

“Sadist,” Jake tosses over his shoulder as he heads towards the bedroom, unbuttoning the rest of his uniform before Bradley can even react.

Bradley would be impressed by how fast Jake undresses, quick and efficient like only Hangman can be, if he weren’t busy taking in the strong lines of his back, the muscle rippling beneath his golden skin as he turns around to lay on the bed against the pillows.

“Fuck,” Bradley murmurs. “Perfect all over, aren’t you?”

Jake lowers his eyes at that, a flush rising up his chest. Bradley divests himself of his own clothes while Jake twists to rummage in the nightstand drawer for a condom and lube.

Bradley shoulders Jake’s legs apart with a little more force than is strictly necessary, probably, but the way Jake’s eyes glaze over whenever he gets manhandled makes it hard to resist. He warms up the lube in his fingers, kissing down Jake’s stomach and nipping at the Adonis belt on his hips. Jake tangles his fingers in Bradley's curls and Bradley feels his cock jerk in response.

He mouths at Jake’s cock where it curls up against his stomach, leaking precum on the stark lines of his abs, light and teasing. When he finally licks a stripe up the shaft and takes the tip into his mouth Jake groans, hips jerking.

Bradley takes as much of Jake’s cock in his mouth as he can at the same time he slides one finger in his hole, all the way to the knuckle. Jake tenses before forcibly relaxing and Bradley slides his lips over Jake again, relishing in the breathy noises leaving him without his permission as he can’t seem to decide whether he should fuck himself down onto Bradley’s finger or up into his mouth.

He hums around the length and darts his eyes up to look at Jake where he’s writhing on the pillows, head thrown back against them. He gets a good rhythm going, adding another finger and pressing down on Jake’s prostate on every other pump in to hear his whines rise another octave.

When he feels Jake’s abs start to tense, when Jake is whimpering yes and fuck and Bradley in a continuous loop, he pulls off, trying to hide his amusement at Jake’s now indignant protests.

“Bradshaw, what the fu-” Jake starts before Bradley moves up to kiss him quiet.

“Always so mouthy,” Bradley teases, moving down to nose underneath Jake’s jaw, to drag his teeth along his collarbone. “Be good and you’ll get what you want.”

He latches onto a nipple and proceeds to wind Jake up again with his fingers. Brings him to the edge one, two, three more times until Jake is a whimpering mess, tears leaking from the corners of his pretty eyes.

“Fuck me, let me come, something, anything, please.” Jake’s begging now, words starting to slur together with desperation.

“All right, princess,” Bradley coos, gently wiping tears from Jake’s cheekbones with the pad of his thumb rolling the condom onto himself with his other hand in a feat of coordination he never thought himself capable of. “I’ll give you what you need.”

Jake’s eyes are completely glazed over, staring up at Bradley hazily and unfocused. Bradley has to grip the base of his cock tightly not to come at the sight.

He could probably stand to be gentler but at this point, Bradley doesn’t give a single fuck. He lines himself up and pushes in, slowly as he can manage, groaning when he bottoms out. Jake’s hole stretching even further around his length has his eyes crossing, ears ringing and he knows he won’t last long, watching Jake having keyed him up past the boundaries of his willpower. He wraps a hand around Jake’s cock, stripping him in time with the building pace of his thrusts, Jake getting louder and louder even more rapidly than before.

Jake clenches around him as he comes with Bradley’s name on his lips, making Bradley’s eyes roll back in his head at the force of it, at the way his legs wrap around his hips as he arches in pleasure. Bradley’s own orgasm snaps through him, with Jake whimpering from overstimulation but somehow still asking for more.

He barely manages to hold his weight and avoid crushing Jake, pulling out as gently as possible and tying off the condom, tossing it into the trash can underneath the nightstand letting himself collapse next to Jake.

“You okay?” Bradley asks quietly, clarity having made him a little self-conscious about acting like a neanderthal.

Jake nods against Bradley’s chest and when Bradley leans back to look, he’s smiling up at him with his eyes closed, blissful.

Bradley eventually finds the strength to go get a washcloth and clean Jake up, throwing it in the direction of what he thinks is the hamper before pulling his boxers back on. He hopes Jake doesn’t mind him spending the night again, because the drinks from the wedding are catching up to him and his eyes are practically slipping closed already as he flops back down onto the bed.

He’s halfway asleep but he thinks he feels Jake curling into his chest before he slips under.

additional an-

mt trashmore is a real park in VB, have been informed it's in a nice area hahahah oops sorry the name is funny

cvs scene inspired by the cereal aisle scene from the hurt locker, though the intents are way different have to give the shout out because that scene is straight up brilliant

f/a-18s have a stick instead of a yoke but i'm not gonna write death grip on a stick for obvious reasons lol

thanks for reading!

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focsle · 2 years

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What happened to logbooks after a voyage was over? Did sailors keep them? Were they collected by the ship's owner? Or something else? How did they come to be archived?

Ah, I question I always ask as I go through these! Warning for long image heavy post lol. Tl;dr, the sailors kept them, most often. There is a distinction between logbooks and journals, even though I use them interchangeably in casual conversation.

Every whaling voyage had an official ship’s log kept by either one of the mates or, less commonly, the captain. These were usually quite dry, recording longitude and latitude, weather conditions, ships’ duties, whales, vessels, ports seen, etc. The purpose of these was to serve as a record of the voyage, first for the officers in the management of the ship, but also for the agents in the event that information needed to be referenced within them (such as needing information for insurance purposes, instances on the ship that might be evidence in a lawsuit, etc.) Beyond that, to my knowledge they were kept by their keepers after a voyage. Or if there was space left used as a log for the next voyage. Or tossed. Very few actually survive compared to how many voyages took place over the span of this industry.

It’s always a treat to see the human elements in official logbooks—most keepers kept their personalities out of it, but there are some instances where they use it as a personal journal too. One example of such, as well as of keepers holding on to their old journals is evidenced in one 1848-49 log of ship Edward kept by Allen Newman (likely as a mate). His wife was seen annotating his old entries in 1850, perhaps as a way of having a dialogue with her absent husband while he was at sea on another voyage. He’s speaking in 3rd person in black ink, and she’s writing in it a year later in blue.

[Excerpt from an 1840s journal, with the first entry in black ink and the second in blue in a slightly different hand. Transcript follows]

“Newman’s sick.. I would give all my old shoes to trade situations with the poorest Devel I can think of. I am home sick, sea sick, and love sick, and sick of the sea without A remedy. There is no Balm for healing here.

O dear what A [home?] A nobody see it of all kind of sickness home sick is the worst. Abby P. Newman.”

And one which I found most poignant, was this official log of Annawan II kept by Benjamin Bourne, that he clearly held on to for sentimental purposes. He’s seen annotating old entries 40 years after the voyage.

[ID: excerpt of an 1850s logbook, transcript follows]

“Wensday Dec 25th Wish All A Mary Christmas. Begins with a strong N wind Bark steering S at 3PM wind shifted to the Estrd a heavy rain squall took in sail to a close reef Main Topsail & staysails luffed to the wind heading SSE. Lat part at 9AM saw a large sperm whale going slow into the SW so ends this day. Latitude 2º8 18” South”

Over this is his annotation: “Jan 29th, 1899 I thought I was having a hard time 40 years ago but it was the best of my life.”

[Excerpt from the same journal]

“At the date above I think I was not happy but now would give all to be back in mid ocean. Sept 22 1898.”

In the case of Mr. Bourne, he was deeply attached to his time on this ship, and his record of it. Throughout the book there are various entreaties to keep the book within the family.

[ID, front page of Borne’s book. It has three messages: Be sure and keep this book in the family, it was a great interest to the writer. BH Borne. Keep this book for the present owners’ sake. BH Borne. Please keep this book in the family of BH Borne and never give it up.”]

This makes me sad because it appears it wasn’t forever kept in the family because it’s in a museum archive. But it was preserved for others to read and care about, and I’m grateful to have been privy to it.

NOW, as far as personal journals are concerned, those tended to be more interesting. They were kept by many men (and women!) because…whaling is terribly boring most of the time and it was one way to just…mark the passage of time through all the monotony. A lot of journals kept personally like that had much of the same information about sails and weather and whales as the official log, but also had the emotions of the keeper brought in too.

Some keepers such as Albert Peck or William Abbe were very clearly using their journal not so much as a personal diary but to document whaling life in the style of many 19th century sea yarns that were published at the time. This is evidenced by them outlining ‘chapters’ of their story, starting their book with a ‘table of contents’ or writing the scope of the events at the top of each page (massively helpful in the case of Abbe cos I can so easily find again excerpts I want). These journals were likely kept by them and probably within their personal belongings after the fact, perhaps with the intent of having them printed, or at least for some friends ashore to read it.

For someone like William Buel, it seemed as if he was trying to sometimes write a journal in the context of a sea yarn (presuming he had a ‘reader’ for instance, who he addressed and explained ship life to), but it often just slid into personal journal entries. When he died at sea, his journal was given to the captain (as was often the case), to be held on to so it could be given to loved ones ashore if they ever were in touch with each other. It’s unknown if Buel’s family or friends ever got hold of his journal, or if it was perhaps found in the personal belongings of the captain’s family.

This is a very long way of answering…they were kept by their keepers for a number of reasons, and how they came to be archived came largely from the fortune of someone donating them.

#asks #pleasespellchimerical #awhalin

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berryberrydairy · 2 years

Text

Decided to write down my headcanons for William and Michael :)

William Afton headcanons:

He's the eldest in his family. He has a younger brother named Vincent. (sounds familiar?)

His father was abusive to him and his brother. He was always there to protect his brother from his father.

Secretly had a pet rabbit as a kid but one day his father killed it after he found out about the rabbit. Starting from that day, he hates the concept of death.

He knew about remnants for such a long time but never gave a damn about it. The first time he found out about it was when he visited the library with Michael and was helping him with his school project.

He only did research on remnants after his wife died. He wanted to make his family immortal. He hates death.

He became negligent as he was absorbed with his research.

He was never abusive towards his children before the death of his wife. He never hurt them physically, mentally or even neglect them as he loves his children equally. A good man can turn into a bad person really quick.

Like the book stated, he knew what he was doing was wrong. Murdering children and neglecting his children to the point of two of them dying but he told himself that he was doing this for his children's own good. He also fears being dead.

He knew Elizabeth possessed Circus Baby. He didn't let anyone shock Circus Baby. The reason why the controlled shock for Circus Baby didn't work in SL is because William broke it so nobody can hurt Elizabeth.

Named himself Dave Miller so he could work at one of the pizzerias. He had his hat covered his eyes whenever he is around Fritz Smith.

The only time he ever laid his hands on Michael was when Michael and him had their first big argument before William disappeared to dismantle the animatronics.

He actually treasured Michael and wanted to protect Michael from death and wanted his son to follow his footsteps but all of that were gone when he found out that his son was trying to get rid of him. (FNAF 3, Michael is the security guard)

Michael Afton headcanons:

Wants to become a robot inventor like Henry and William. He placed both of them on a pedestal.

He loved to tease his siblings to the point of making them cry but he tried his best to calm the younger children down.

He loves his siblings and was always there to protect them.

He was cheerful and energetic as a child but after his mother passed away with his father neglecting him and his siblings, he became an angry person.

He took out his anger on his brother by bullying him.

Once he thought of hurting Elizabeth due to her, what Mike would say, brat-ness but Evan stopped him and reminded him that Elizabeth was really younger than them both.

His anger mellowed down after Evan's death. He felt guilty for treating his siblings like an absolute crap when he was supposed to be there for them as his father was never present.

He was helping around in Circus Baby Pizza World and he was also supposed to be paying attention to Elizabeth but he got so busy, he lost sight of her.

He is now ridden by guilt for his siblings' death.

He became quiet, serious and can be sarcastic towards others. Though he was friendly towards his neighbours.

He had a huge argument with William before William disappeared to dismantle the animatronics at one of the pizzerias. That was the only time he let out all the emotions and problems he kept inside him about his father’s negligence.

Like in the book, he likes to scribble on the logbook but also he also enjoys painting and doing proper illustrations on his sketchbook.

Trash and the gangs were made by him. (New Beginning)

He has anxiety and paranoia, but that might be hinted as canon.

I believe that Fritz Smith was Michael when he was 18 years old trying to find a job to kill some times.

Michael ate a soap as a child thinking it'd taste like fruit.

He was hospitalised a lot as a child because of broken bones. God knows how he survived until now.

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton #william afton #mike schmidt

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shrapnelstars · 4 years

Text

(Don’t @ me unless you read the whole thing.)

I binge watched all of MatPat’s FNaF theories last night, and let me tell you, after going back over the story and assessing where we are now, the more I feel like the Afton arc makes more sense if you kick 4 from the timeline. Just that one change. The son going out to undo what the father wrought flows more naturally without trying to figure out what the fuck happened in that game.

I’m definitely of the opinion that Mike is an android because the series undeniably strayed further into Cyberpunk towards the end of that arc, and the books (ZOMFG!!HERETIC!) echoed that theme hard with TFC and the way it ended, not to mention how a lot of material started centering around Mike’s identity and even calling it into question (Survival Logbook). Charlie’s identity was very much shaken when she found out she was an android, and it was treated as a major moment, and she had to reconcile that information in her mind, the decision of which ends the whole series. Mike has a similar moment when he realizes that it’s very incorrect for him to still be alive, resolves to find William, and shuts down everyone’s mess in the maze fire. Those characters both take that pivotal reveal, reclaim their lives as their own instead of lamenting the validity of their existence, and end the horror show on their own terms.

I have to be honest, though: I don’t hate 4. I loved the focus on storytelling and especially the greater emphasis on the Commodore-style minigames. They were my favorite addition to the series (still are!), and did an amazing job at minimalist storytelling that used silence to their advantage when setting up atmosphere. The issue with 4? Now that I think about it, probably the fact that it had to have the Nightmare animatronics in it in the first place. If 4 was just a Commodore-style game focusing on a child who got killed by a freak accident at an arcade, that would have made a lot more sense and had a lot more focus. Take a close look at how everything falls into chaos when that color-pack of enemies has to be explained and placed in the story. If that kid was just having trauma-induced nightmares and hallucinations up until his death, we wouldn’t have to contend with the micro-discs, who made them, the house monitoring scenario, and all that other cruft. Since the Nightmares had to be made physical just to contrast with 3, we have all of these extra details.

What I like about this new arc we’re entering into is that, not only are we clear of all of that baggage and are starting anew, the series also seems to be going back to it’s Cassette-Futurist roots, focusing on 80′s-90′s aesthetics and technology, and telling a character-focused story from the ground up to avoid the pitfalls and plot contention of the first arc. It will probably genre-shift into Cyberpunk and transhumanism once again, since that’s baked into the already-seeded story right now, but at least people won’t reject it as hard when or if it happens since it’s been there all along.

I don’t know why people fight so hard against stuff like Mi/keBot and the events of the books. Scott has shown his preferred plot leanings from the very beginning, and his stories always lean towards Dystopian Cyberpunk and some form of softcore identity death (Children in the suits becoming feral, Elizabeth becoming Baby, Ennard’s whole concept, the remnant mass from the end books, Charlie being a robot, Mike being surprised at being alive after being hollowed out by Ennard, the girl turning into a junk heap in FF1 [an actual hardcore example], and on and on). Why they pick and choose certain elements to “protect” from his standard mode of writing baffles me. Speaking of, this is also the third time Scott has said that the books are allowed for solving the game story and these kinds of fans have stiff-armed him. Nobody is trying to place officer Clay or John in the games, so that strawman can be dropped. Seeing character motifs, small plot details, and bits of characterization mirrored between the books and the games is going to happen, because the overarching story is the same. And once again, Afton and Henry are canon immigrants. Any hard separation between the books and the games was shot by the time Sister Location came out because of those two characters being lifted straight from the books into the games. You can be a purist if you want, but I feel like you miss a lot of the fun of the series by trying to enforce that nobody thinks about the books and the games at the same time.

#stuff #long post #kind of a rant at the end but not really?#This series is too good to take a purist attitude toward

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ascension-soliloquy · 5 years

Text

Mistborn book 2 - The Well of Ascension part 2.0 chapters 12-19 - first read

[Spoilers for the chapters covered and all previous chapters]

Predictions:

•Where to begin? Who got body snatched? Would the kandra know to imitate Spook’s Eastern street slang, and laugh at Breeze’s story about poisoning the camp’s water supply? Probably not. Breeze noted that Ham’s sense of humor was getting worse, could it be him? Clubs didn’t seem too suspicious to me, so that means it’s most likely him, but if I had to choose right now, I’d probably say Dockson, since he didn’t appear in that last chapter. Ooo, the real kick in the head would be if it was Elend. Was Vin ever away from him long enough? No, it’s not him.

•We still don’t have an identity for the Watcher, but I still say it’s Reen. Except, it’s more likely to be a new character we’ve never met before.

•Will Marsh betray Sazed? Yes...yes he will.

Part 2.0: Ghosts in the Mist (chapters 12-19)

Chapter 12

Marsh and Sazed reach Seran. They go down into the fortress. Marsh is certain it is empty, but isn’t sure why. They explore it. Sazed records his observations into a coppermind. “You should not care about the Inquisitors. They are not worthy of your record.” Marsh seems to be ashamed of the Inquisitors. So far he’s defying my expectations. I don’t know how to feel about this.

They split up. Sazed finds a stairway and goes further down. He finds a wall that has text scratched into it. It is the writing of Kwaan, quotes of which are at the beginning of each chapter. He begins to read it, when Marsh comes back to him, and says it was a mistake to come here, and that they should leave. Sazed convinces him to let him take charcoal rubbings of the etchings.

I spent the entire chapter waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it never did. They haven’t left yet, so there’s still time for things to go south in the next Sazed chapter. However, I have to admit perhaps I have misjudged Marsh, and I have no clue where the story will go from here. I still find him creepy, and I’m not sure I’ll ever fully trust him, but this chapter has eased my mind about him a little bit. On the other hand, he felt inexplicably drawn here, and after they got here he seemed agitated and wanted to leave. I’m not sure what to make of that. There may be more going on here than meets the eye.

I wonder what the rest of Kwaan’s text will say?

Chapter 13

Vin questions OreSeur to find out what she can learn about kandras, to see if she can figure out who the impostor is. Some questions he answers willingly, some he has to be commanded to answer, and some he won’t answer even if she commands him. “The kandra is a spy, sent to gather information for another human.” Ham, Dockson, Clubs, and Spook all have hours unaccounted for, so none of them can be ruled out. An Allomancer can’t Riot or Soothe the emotions of a kandra. Kandra can’t use Allomancy.

“Then I may leave? ...You do not wish to command me, so our Contract is dissolved?” It’s claimed that kandra are great actors, but I feel at certain points in this conversation, such as this one, OreSeur misunderstands Vin. Can they really be so convincing if they misunderstand the humans they are supposed to be infiltrating? Or is it just the relationship between these two particular characters that causes misunderstanding. Vin has trouble understanding OreSeur, so it goes both ways, I suppose.

She asks OreSeur what he loves and hates, but he doesn’t want to say. She tells him she loves the mists, the power, the freedom. She hates being afraid.

Vin feels the bronze pulse that she felt when she encountered the misty figure. She finds it inside a building. She asks it, “Why have you been watching me?” It seems to disappear, but then it attacks her, grabbing her arm. She falls out the window. Flaring metal, she survives the fall. OreSeur asks if she needs assistance, but she shakes her head and runs away.

Elend is meeting with Breeze, Ham, Spook, Dockson, and Clubs. “Any of these men could be an impostor, Elend thought. The thought still seemed insane to him.” This section is an Elend POV, so that rules him out as the impostor. They talk about how they are going to deal with the two armies. After discussing different possibilities, Elend says he wants to get the two armies to attack each other.

The guard, Captain Demoux interrupts to say the guards caught someone eavesdropping on the meeting. It was a Terriswoman that Elend recognized from being at the assembly. She wants to speak to Elend alone. When the others hesitate, she says the Mistborn outside the window should be able to deal with her.

Chapter 14

The Terriswoman admits she lied about Vin being outside the window. She begins instructing Elend to be more commanding and kingly. She says the people don’t respect him, and so he needs to demand respect if he is going to be a leader. Her name is Tindwyl.

Vin comes back, and Tindwyl leaves. Vin doesn’t like what giving up the kingdom would do to Elend. Vin asks Elend what he knows about the Deepness. She is worried about the misty figure, but reluctant to tell Elend, because he didn’t believe her last time. When he leaves, she sees mist outside the window. “I will not fear you...and I will find your secret.”

Chapter 15

Eight days after leaving Seran, Sazed wakes up alone. Marsh is gone. Grrrr Marsh, what are you up to? Don’t break my not-quite-trust so soon. Sazed decides to go without him. He comes to a village. He can smell death coming from it. “These people had died of starvation and dehydration.”

“I must be mistaken about the starvation...it must have been a plague...a disease.” He finds one living man. He is terrified of going outside because of the mist. He says that the mist didn’t go away after a few hours; that it stayed for days; weeks. The mist let some get away, but killed others. Once again, my guess is that this is an effect of the Deepness. The man had turned to cannibalism to survive. Sazed pulls the man outside, and he runs away.

Sazed realizes something is very wrong in the world. He puts on a steelmind with months worth of strength stored in it to run quickly to Luthadel.

Chapter 16

Vin looks through the logbook of the Hero, looking for clues of the misty figure, and of the Deepness. Seems like she is about to, if she hasn’t already, come to the same conclusion I did about the mist and the Deepness. She finds a passage that describes a dark thing that follows him, perhaps made of a black fog, or mist. The references to the Deepness make it clear that it is dangerous, killing thousands, but not saying what it is.

She comes across a page where the Hero says that he has to assume he is not mad, that the thing following him is real, and he must make the decision to continue on his quest. Vin determines she must make the same choice.

Tindwyl has Elend try on a military style uniform, and tells him he can’t wear anything else until the siege is over. She tells him, “a good king is one who is trusted by his people—and one who deserves that trust.”

Chapter 17

Elend and Vin go to meet the messenger Straff sent, and Vin recognizes him as the Watcher. His name is Zane. So is that his real name, or an alias? At least we now have a name besides just “the Watcher.” He says Straff wants Elend to meet at Straff’s tent. Elend tells Zane he will think about it.

Later that night while Vin is out doing her rounds, Zane shows up. They have a showdown, with some chasing and some sparring. Vin realizes he is better at Allomancy than she is, and so she wants to continue sparring with him to hone her skills.

Chapter 18

Zane hears the voice of “God” telling him to kill any person he sees. He ignores it most of the time. He knows he is insane, but can mostly keep it under control. He is Elend’s half brother, but his existence was kept secret. He considers himself a weapon. He thinks Vin’s senses are better than any Allomancer he has ever fought. A spy left him a message. I’m guessing that’s the kandra.

Well, so far my predictions aren’t very accurate (aside from Vin being badass, that’s always true). The Watcher isn’t Reen; Marsh hasn’t betrayed Sazed (yet). I’m sure everyone is laughing at me. I’m sure I’ll be laughing at myself once I finish the series and look back at these.

Zane meets with Straff. A servant girl had wanted to kill Straff, so Zane helped her poison his tea. Straff is able to smell the poison, so he has the girl executed, then drinks the tea anyway. He asks what the spy said. Zane says that the spy thinks he is suspected by the others, and he hasn’t found out anything about the atium.

After Zane leaves, Straff calls for a former mistress who is good with herbs. He had drank the poison just to show Zane he isn’t weak. He has her make a remedy to counteract the poison.

Straff is awful, especially when it comes to women. I kind of hope Zane gives in to the voice he hears when he’s around Straff one of these times. How did Elend turn out to be so decent with this thing for a father?

Chapter 19

On his way back to Luthadel, Sazed encounters an army of large blue humanoid creatures known as koloss. He spies on them from the distance at the top of a tree, but as he finishes, he realizes that some have entered the grove of trees where he is hiding. They surround him, and one tells him to come down. Weighing his options, he decides he probably won’t be able to escape, so he drops down out of the tree. Koloss are violent creatures, attacking and killing each other with little provocation. They lead Sazed through the army to a tent, which is guarded by humans.

Inside the tent is a man Sazed recognizes as a friend of Elend, Jastes Lekal. He calls himself king Lekal. He is headed to Luthadel, and he knows about the other armies, claiming he will give Elend a better deal than Cett or Straff will. Jastes wants Sazed to serve him, but Sazed is able to talk Jastes into letting him go.

As far as plot lines where people get captured go, this went rather smoothly. It didn’t last more than a chapter, and Sazed was able to talk his way out of it.

So we meet the orcs/trollocs of this story*: big, ugly, bloodthirsty brutes hellbent on destruction. A complaint I’ve seen about trollocs is that they started out being scary, but as the protagonists leveled up in power they turned into cannon fodder**. Will the koloss suffer the same fate, or will they stay dangerous throughout the books? My guess is Vin will wipe them out just by staring them down.

(*and I was doing so good about not referencing other series in this entry, just to blow it at the end.)

(**I’m not sure I agree with that complaint. Tarmon Gai’don got pretty hairy for the light side just by the sheer number of shadow spawn)

Until next time...

#mistborn liveblog #brandon sanderson #the well of ascension #fantasy #cosmere #vin #sazed #elend venture #koloss #mistborn

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a-gay-bloodmage · 5 years

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23 25 37 for Redren and Fae? :D

Questions!! Thank you!! :3

((From this post!))

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

Redren really wants nothing but an open mind from a partner. Being a blood mage leaves him terrified of opening up to people, knowing that more likely than not, he’ll be (at best) mistrusted and shamed for something he can’t really help, or (at worst) chased off or killed because of it. In a more sexual way, of course, the open-mindedness still applies. He isn’t shy with making his love for bloody noses or open cuts during sex known once a partner’s aware of his blood magic, and if a partner is willing to go along with something most people would be reasonably grossed out by, he’ll be one happy mage. But sex, in general and despite any odd kink or two he may have, is a subject he’s very, very sensitive about. As a victim of sexual assault, he’s incredibly nervous when it comes to sex, and he needs to have absolute confidence that the person he’s sleeping with will stop when he tells them to, and won’t do anything to hurt him. He won’t ever have casual sex with someone, and it can only be done once he’s completely comfortable with the idea of being intimate with a person. Zevran’s the only person he’s had consensual sex with. Morrigan most definitely does not count.

Faelyn wants someone who loves her, plain and simple. She wants someone sweet and kind and loving, someone who will kiss her on the cheek and tell her they love her. She’s innocent, but she’s not completely uneducated, so she knows what sex is. She’s a grown woman, even if she doesn’t act like it most of the time. She really just wants someone who’ll take their time and be gentle with her, someone who will help make her comfortable and feel good. Before her wedding, she viewed sex as a special thing between husband and wife, and it wasn’t until Leliana took her virginity that she became more open to the idea of feeling good for fun and not just for making babies. She’s open with her sexuality to a bit of an embarrassing degree, as she lacks the filter that would keep most people from talking about their partner’s pubic hair in polite conversation. She gets a pass because she’s cute, though.

25- What are their hobbies and interests?

Redren loves whittling, drawing, writing, hunting, and commuting casual manslaughter. Whittling is something he does to keep his hands and mind busy, something incredibly important while he attempted to stay sane during his four year solitude after breaking out of the Circle. Drawing and writing were also used for the purpose of keeping some semblance of sanity. He notably stole a thick, blank Circle logbook at age sixteen, and slowly filled it with drawings, poetry, journal entries, and mini manifestos for six years. As for hunting, it was a means of survival that he enjoyed. Not exactly killing innocent animals, but instead the bloodrush that came along with splitting open a fresh corpse. Similarly, the whole “manslaughter” thing mostly applies to Templars he can claim he killed in self-defense.As for interests, he really loves blood, magic, and blood magic. Blood interests him not only because of his blood magic, but because he genuinely finds healing things (notably gruesome and bloody injuries) fascinating. Being able to stitch back mass amounts of mangled flesh never ceases to amuse him. With “dark” magic essentially making up most of his identity, he loves studying it, notably more taboo practices like blood manipulation and necromancy. His adopted sister is a necromancer, and the craft fascinates him.

Faelyn finds it hard to get involved in hobbies. Her brain isn’t really wired to latch onto activities, and more so finds enjoyment in interests of hers. But, if she were to name something as a hobby, it would be cleaning, but mostly “tidying up”. When she lived in the Alienage, it was always comforting to clean and have things look nice, and reorganizing what little belongings she owned made them more important and worth more to her.As for her interests, however, she has two main ones: weddings and stories. Faelyn started planning for a wedding as soon as she learned what they were. She was always bouncing on her toes at every wedding, so excited to see the bride in her pretty white dress and the groom in his handsome brown suit. Sometimes, the bride would have her hair braided, sometimes it would be down. Sometimes, her flower crown would be pink, sometimes white, sometimes blue. Rings could be gold-ish, or bronze, or iron. She loves talking about weddings to anybody who’ll listen, really. As for stories, she loved romantic ones. Ones with a damsel in distress and a knight in shining armor to rescue her. Her father would read to her every night when she was young, and even in her early twenties on occasion. She loved The Hero of the River Dane, and really liked Varric’s The Dasher’s Men and The Viper’s Nest. Her literacy isn’t great, so she has to read out loud most of the time, but the enjoyment she gets from the stories override any embarrassment over her reading level.

27- How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

Redren doesn’t really act like one would assume based on his clothing and looks. Aside from his staff, he looks pretty non-threatening—he’s got a round, soft, baby face, big green eyes, a rain-thin body, and long, girlish hair. Of course, his staff is coated in blood and he’s got homicidal tendencies, but that’s neither here nor there. He wears a dark red, wrap-around robe with a low neckline, and holds his clothing together with a brown ribbon around his waist that functions like a corset. His hair, robe, waist, aversion to shoes, and general body type are all tied to his home village’s culture, which emphasizes maintaining long hair and a small waist, which are believed to aid in the discipline needed to be an efficient mage. His robes are maintained with magic, so they’re pretty high quality.

Faelyn has a personality that matches her appearance very well. Her big, aquamarine eyes, bouncy blonde hair, buck teeth, little frame, and ever-present smile all make her into someone who just exudes sweetness. During her days living in the Alienage, she wore second-hand sundresses most of the time, and had a white lower-half apron she wore when she went to work as a barmaid at a local tavern. Her clothes weren’t really quality, but she took care of them well enough so that they lasted a long time, even if she had a tendency to fall into mud and spill things on herself. During her time as a Warden, she wore the typical “I guess this is my size” armor, and once she got her official Warden armor, she loved it and hardly ever took it off.

#asks #faelyn tabris #redren #aaahhh!!! thank you so much for the asks!!#original content #red and fae are a weird duo to ask about lol i love them both but they're soooo different #they're both sweet lil babies tho (except with red you've gotta work for it whoops)

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douxreviews · 5 years

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Gotham - ‘Pena Dura’ Review

Eduardo: "You left the army for this city?" Jim: "It grows on you."

How right Jim is here. And while 'Pena Dura' is actually a pretty outstanding follow-up to last week's episode, it also bears a disheartening feature often found in Michael Crichton novels; it builds up some thrilling concepts for the first two-thirds, but the actual executions of said concepts in the last third are quite lackluster.

Still pursuing the unknown culprit behind Haven's detonation, Jim Gordon and Bullock follow a lead given by Barbara on a dealer of RPG's. Unfortunately, the confrontation with the dealer himself is cut short when a battalion called Delta Force drops in and axes off Gordon's only lead. As it turns out, Delta Force is led by Eduardo Dorrance (Shane West), a former comrade of Gordon's when he was still in the army. And right away, I marked Eduardo as a character drafted to inevitably betray Gordon at some point down the line, because even if Gotham chose to keep West's eventual transformation into Bane confidential, he still reeks of someone you could just all too easily see double-crossing our protagonists; he's enthusiastic, he's chummy right from the get-go with Gordon, he gets a lot of the zingy one-liners once in action, in fact, he's too much of all these things. It's as if he's almost too eager to be here in Gotham City mowing down its costumed gangsters one by one, because he's got some kind of clandestine government cabal pulling his strings. But now I'm just getting ahead of myself here...

Quite surprisingly, I expected Gotham to drag out Gordon learning that Nygma was the one behind Haven's detonation by at least one more episode, but in fact, the pace doesn't drag too much after Eduardo steps in, and he and Gordon learn from the RPG dealer's logbook that Nygma was his most recent client. Gordon and Delta Force try to arrest Nygma at his safehouse, but Nygma is able to make his getaway by activating an IED below Eduardo's feet that will go off if Nygma is shot down. I must confess that this scene alone gave Nygma the essence of The Riddler more so than anything Season 4 did for his character. He's got his massive ego back, he's rigged his safehouse with booby traps, and of course, it takes the solving of a riddle too to deactivate the IED. As Gordon appropriately puts it - "there's always a puzzle with Nygma."

It's becoming a bit muddled though as to who exactly is in control of Nygma's body now. At the beginning of Season 5, it seemed that it was the Riddler trying to retrace his steps and learn what Ed has been doing during the blackouts, but in 'Pena Dura', the geeky CSI Ed is now the one the focus is on. What's more, Gotham seems to be doing a bit of retooling to the Ed personality as well; he's suddenly aghast to learn he was behind the bombing of Haven and the deaths of hundreds of civilians, yet he had no issue with making a name for himself as a feared criminal mastermind back in Season 3 by mercilessly stabbing a stage performer.

With Nygma on the run, Gordon puts the word out around the city that Nygma's the most likely culprit behind the attack on Haven. As a result, it isn't long before Nygma is captured and bound by a group of stereotypes, evidently intent on avenging their dog that was killed in the attack, and tortured through electroshock administration. In the process, buried memories start rising to Nygma's conscious, most prominently, a vision of Oswald promising to 'fix' Nygma. Believing Oswald to be the one behind his constant blackouts, Nygma engineers another escape and confronts Oswald, in a much-anticipated reunion for many of the show's viewers. Regardless of whether or not there's meant to be some sexual undertones in the conversations between these two, there's no denying that their bickering and their scene-chewing is always a welcome highlight. I got a kick out of how Oswald basically admitted too that only because he shot Butch last year did Nygma by default fill the slot of being his 'best friend'.

I've also grown fond of the increasing competitiveness between these two over the last year. I don't think they'll ever be able to return to the relationship they once held back in the beginning of Season 3, but they at least now retain a mutual respect for the other. They'd never go out of their way to kill the other, but they also definitely would not hesitate now to throw them under the bus if it meant saving their own skin, as Oswald does moments later when Delta Force shows up on his doorstep. Oswald tells Gordon that Nygma's going after Hugo Strange next, since Strange was the one Oswald ordered to 'fix' Nygma. I also haven't forgotten that Oswald also asked Strange to 'fix' Lee Thompkins, but the show seems to have, so let's move on.

Strange, greeting Nygma with an impeccable George Takei imitation, admits he is also unaware that Nygma has been blacking out, but confesses to having installed some sort of microchip that is subject to remote control in Nygma's head while he was in the process of being resurrected. Yet Strange oddly enough is also not the one who has been controlling Nygma. In a twist of events that now makes the twists of How I Met Your Mother's finale look rather superb, it turns out Delta Force and their shadowy government-affiliated leader Walker have been controlling Nygma the entire time. But here's the darnedest thing - the eyeroll and exhale this reveal got out of me wasn't a result of the twist being obvious - it's just that I feel Gotham has earned its place as being a series that should have shelved plot points like this. If Gotham remained in the confines of the grounded cop drama it was attempting to be way back in Season 1, then a reveal like this would have felt more accommodated to the show's nature. But Gotham is well past that point, what with their featuring of laughing gas, serial killers with pig masks, shapeshifters and countless resurrections, I know it can do more than just the evil-government-conspiracy that wants to clean house shtick.

Meanwhile, at the Sirens' club, Selina is being celebrated for killing the clearly not-dead Jeremiah Valeska. Funny how Bruce and Selina are always attempting to alleviate the other in Barbara's club, and this felt like a nice parallel to their encounter back in Season 4's 'Pieces of a Broken Mirror'. As much as Bruce wants though to convince Selina she's not a cold-blooded killer, Selina's only form of rebuttal is by trying to - once again, no less - demonstrate to Bruce that she doesn't give a hoot about anyone else except herself. This blather doesn't strike me as genuine though, as much as it more feels like Selina's just trying to save face. I also trust in Bruce to know Selina well enough to see through her jibber-jabber. Jeremiah himself turns out to have survived Selina's stabbings through the use of some nifty body armor. As commonplace as that solution does sound, we finally get a laugh out of Jeremiah by the episode's end. Something else I haven't seen others comment on is how it sounds almost as if Cameron Monaghan is evolving his Jeremiah voice with every episode. By now, he's done a phenomenal job at distinguishing his performance as Jeremiah in every aspect from his performance as Jerome.

To capitalize on my earlier metaphor, 'Pena Dura' has a first-rate setup that's unfortunately dampened in the end by its anti-climatic resolutions - our big baddie for the final season looks to be our own government, Nygma's been reduced essentially to a murder-bot hitman, and Jeremiah survives a stab wound to the chest (he even mentions that one Selina's attacks missed the armor) merely because the story needs him to. Not to mention that the cat-and-mouse game of pursuing Nygma and Strange could have been trimmed down by ten minutes.

Other Thoughts: • I don't consider myself much of a dog person, but if something ever happens to Oswald's bulldog, Gotham's showrunners will be receiving a vent-heavy letter penned by yours truly.

• I thought I heard Eduardo misspeak at first, and refer to Walker as 'Waller', leading me to suspect that Gotham was actually in the midst of introducing to us Amanda Waller and conceiving their own lineup of the Suicide Squad.

Aaron Studer loves spending his time reading, writing and defending the existence of cryptids because they can’t do it themselves.

#Gotham #James Gordon #Bruce Wayne #Edward Nygma #Selina Kyle #Harvey Bullock #Oswald Cobblepot #Alfred Pennyworth #DC Comics #Batman #Gotham Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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neuxue · 6 years

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 26

Aviendha gets a promotion, Romanda has a barbecue, and I lose it at any mention of Rhuidean because I am a parody of myself.

Chapter 26: A Crack in the Stone

Hey Aviendha, worked out the meaning of your punishments yet?

The Aiel brought only what they could carry, and their war band included only soldiers and Wise Ones.

Have the Aiel ever referred to themselves as ‘soldiers’ before? It strikes me as off, a little, but it could be that Jordan used it as well and I’m just misremembering.

Aviendha’s moving water from one bucket to another with her finger, one drop at a time, and I never thought I’d say this but right now I’m glad my university went with boring old paper examinations.

Actually I’d probably be okay at the Accepted test. And the Aes Sedai one, even. And those would certainly be more fun than written exams, for a given definition of ‘fun’…but this last Wise One test? No thank you.

It made her angry. Then that anger made her ashamed.

Anger leads to shame? Well at least she’s not turning into a Sith.

The Last Battle would be a test unlike any her people had ever known.

Will it? It’s shaping up to be one hell of a bigass battle, sure, but beyond sheer scope and scale and stakes…the Aiel know battle. The greater test, it seems to me, is everything else. Their history and their tests have been ones of identity and survival, and I would argue that’s the greater test that’s facing them now – maintaining a sense of identity as everything changes around them, as they leave their home and face the truth of their history and the uncertainty of their future.

After that, a battle – even if it is potentially world-ending – against a known or defined enemy would be almost a relief. What comes afterthe battle, though…‘The great battle done, but the world not done with battle’. What comes next for them, once they have left this chapter of their history behind? What do they become now, now that they have left the Three-fold Land and taken up their place as the People of the Dragon? ‘He will take you back, and he will destroy you’. That’s already begun; it started back at Alcair Dal. The Aiel have already begun to be scattered and broken and changed, and while Tarmon Gai’don itself will likely claim plenty of lives, I think Rand himself is more of a catalyst here. And the Aiel themselves, as it has always been in their history.

Anyway, Rhuidean still haunts me, news at eleven.

“Are you all right?”

Min! I almost can’t believe Min is on the askingside of that question, but it’s Min, so of course she is. Still. Are you okay, Min?

She wore a scarf at her neck.

Maybe…maybe she and Mat can start a trend? Exchange tips on How To Accessorise Your Asphyxiation? Bit of a niche market but I’m sure there’s some business to be had…

“I thought I could talk to you,” Min said, still looking out at the camp “I’m not sure who else I could approach. I don’t trust the Aes Sedai, and neither does he. I’m not sure he trusts anyone, now. Maybe not even me.”

Oh, Min. She tries so hard, and she just keeps going and keeps trying even when everything turns to an absolute literal horror show around her, but…what now? What can she do, when he no longer trusts her? The one person he still trusted, the one who almost convinced him he had gone too far…until that backfired in the most spectacular way possible. So now he can’t let himself trust, and he can’t trust himself with her, and Min tries so hardbut what can even she do, now? Where can she go, when there’s no one left who can reach him? He’s alone now; he may not have truly driven away all those who love him, but he has shut himself off from the last of them. It’s the culmination of a long, long process, and now…what more can they do, that they haven’t already tried?

Not to mention, Min was just nearly killed by someone she loves, and she’s still looking for a way to help him, and someone please just pull Min aside for five minutes and give her a cup of hot chocolate and a hug and maybe the business card of a really good therapist for when this is all over.

Aviendha had heard about the events the night before

What did she hear, exactly? What are the rumours? How much is actually known? Because that’s the sort of thing that can look so very different depending on how it’s being told, and by whom.

Rand al’Thor had fought and won.

And that is certainly one way to look at the sequence of events, if you strip it down.

Which is…kind of the point. If you strip away all context and emotion, if you write it out like a logbook or an accounting…that’s what you get. At the base level of life and death, Semirhage attacked Rand and he killed her. So he won, didn’t he? That’s victory, isn’t it?

It is, in miniature, a perfect illustration of the whole concept that if Rand faces the Last Battle as he is now, victory and defeat will be indistinguishable. He has done to the idea of Tarmon Gai’don what ‘Rand al’Thor had fought and won’does to Chapter 22. Stripped it of all meaning, of all context, of all purpose and consequence, of anything but a body count.

It’s how he has forced himself to see things, over this long course of hardening himself against everything he fears he cannot endure if he is to reach the Last Battle. It’s how he himself would likely describe what just happened with Semirhage, because the rest doesn’t matter. It’s the cold, spare harshness of the Void, in which everything is stripped down so far as to become…meaningless. It’s the state of mind in which he could reach out and touch the True Power, Shai’tan’s power, the power of chaos and entropy and oblivion. Which is maybe an indication that this is Hashtag Not Good.

Rand al’Thor had fought and won.

And the thing is, it isn’t just Rand’s internal mindset that this highlights. The fact that we’re getting this through Aviendha also shows something of how things can look so different from the outside, and thus how much of this is internal. Or, how much the internal actually matters.

His fight had left him scarred in ways she did not yet understand.

Aviendha can feel this and even if she can’t understand the exact nature of those scars, she can understand that they exist, that there is pain and that something is wrong. Whereas the rest of the world… the world doesn’t see Rand as human, really, and Rand no longer even sees himself as human, and it’s so easy to let that spiral.

Aviendha had raised the alarm, but not quickly enough. She had tohto him for her mistake

Oh Aviendha. Nothing you could have done would have changed it, I don’t think. This was a long time coming, in one form or another.

“Rand al’Thor will deal with his problems,” she said, dripping more water.

“How can you say that?” Min asked, glancing at her. “Can’t you feel his pain?”

“I feel each and every moment of it,” Aviendha said through gritted teeth. “But he must face his own trials, just as I face mine.”

I’m maybe with Aviendha on this one. At some point, some of it is going to have to come from Rand. He is at war with himself, and has been for, oh, eight or nine books now at least, and while Min and Aviendha and others are there for him, and can try to help him, they can’t do it for him; at some point it’s going to come down to him. To accept that help or not. To trust or not. To let himself feel things that hurt, or to shut them away. To fight himself or to accept who and what he is.

“You are not what I expected,” Min finally said.

“I have deceived you?” Aviendha said, frowning.

“No, not that,” Min said with a small laugh. “I mean, I was wrong about you, I guess. I wasn’t certain what to think, after that night in Caemlyn when…well, that night when we bonded Rand together. I feel close to you, yet distant from you at the same time.” She shrugged. “I guess I expected you to come looking for me the moment you got into camp. We had things to discuss. When you didn’t, I worried. I thought perhaps I had offended you.”

“You have no toh to me,” Aviendha said.

“Good,” Min said. “I still worry sometimes that we’ll…come to a confrontation.”

“And what good would a confrontation serve?”

“I don’t know,” Min said with a shrug. “I figured it would be the Aiel way. Challenge me to a fight of honour. For him.”

Aviendha snorted. “Fight over a man?”

Who needs love triangles when you can have honest adult conversations? I like this because it provides a contrast to the rapid friendship between Aviendha and Elayne (or Elayne and Min) without going the ‘they hate each other because women who like the same man must despise each other on principle’ route. Min and Aviendha are still strangers in many ways, and they’re still not entirely sure what to make of each other, and so…that’s what you get. It isn’t pushed towards an extreme, or played up for drama, it’s just…something they both know needs to be addressed at some point, and so they talk to each other about it. And maybe they won’t resolve everything right away, but they also aren’t going to be at each other’s throats about this. What a miracle.

“What honour would there be to be gained in fighting one with no skill?” Min flushed, as if Aviendha had offered her an insult. What a curious reaction.

They also come from very different backgrounds, and without an immediate or near-immediate friendship to help smooth some of that over, it’s going to be another thing that they have to learn to work around. But again, while Min may feel insulted and Aviendha may not understand (much like how Aviendha felt somewhat insulted or shamed by Min talking to her while she’s serving a humiliating punishment), it doesn’t turn into some kind of catfight.

It’s nice to see.

It’s one of the ways in which WoT benefits simply from having such a large cast of female characters; by numbers alone it allows for more kinds of relationships and interactions between women, so that any one dynamic doesn’t bear all the weight. That then allows for so much more freedom in writing relationships between characters that are simply true to the characters. Some of those relationships are friendly, some are antagonistic, some are neutral, and because they’re all different none of them feel like a (deliberate or accidental) generalisation.

“I would not fight with you unless you gave me grave insult. My first-sister considers you a friend, and I would like to do so as well.”

“All right,” Min said, folding her arms and looking back at Rand. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing. I have to admit, I don’t much like the idea of sharing.”

Aviendha hesitated, then dipped her finger into the pail. “Neither do I.” At least, she didn’t like the idea of sharing with a woman she didn’t know very well.

“Then what do we do?”

“We continue as we have.”

And that’s that. There are other things going on, and there isn’t really a whole lot else that can be done about this right now. But they’ve both been upfront about where they stand, and they’re more or less on the same page, and YOU GUYS IT’S JUST SO GOOD TO SEE CHARACTERS GET TO ACT LIKE ADULTS IN SITUATIONS LIKE THIS.

Anyway.

Oh, Aviendha is pissed off. Not at Min; Min mentioned the water thing in parting but that seems almost to have been a catalyst more than anything else. Aviendha is just fucking done.

She stalked up to the Wise Ones, fuming.

FINALLY.

“Not learning quickly enough?” Aviendha demanded. “I have learned everything you have asked of me! I have memorised every lesson, repeated every fact, performed every duty. I have answered all your questions and have seen you nod in approval at each answer!”

Forget written exams, any system in which graduation is determined by stalking up to your instructors and telling them to get fucked is clearly the way to go.

“I have left behind the spears, and I welcome my place among you.”

Joking aside, this reminds me of the scene from the Rhuidean sequence: “I am Aiel!” There’s very little in common between the two scenes, except for the fierce affirmation of identity, but that’s what stands out. Self-declaration and self-determination are an important part of who they are.

“Child,” Amys said, meeting her eyes. “Are you rejecting our punishments?” “Yes,” she said, heart thumping. “I am.”

It’s a testament to how well-constructed the Aiel are as a fictional culture that this feels absolutely right. It doesn’t seem to come out of nowhere, and not just because it’s been foreshadowed recently but because it fits seamlessly with what we’ve learned about the Aiel over the last several books, as they’ve gone from mysterious unknown outsiders to a familiar nuanced culture.

“I am ready to join you.”

She gritted her teeth, waiting for an explosion of furious incredulity. What was she thinking? She shouldn’t have let Min’s foolish talk rile her so. And then Bair started to laugh. […] Amys’s expression was uncharacteristically soft. “Welcome, sister,” she said to Aviendha.

Aviendha blinked. “What?”

“You are one of us now, girl!” Bair said. “Or soon will be.”

“But I defied you!”

Or you asserted yourself. It’s all a matter of perspective. I like the way this rewards ambition and self-confidence. Also it’s kind of a sweet scene, even if Amys’s relationship to Aviendha is now rather complicated: she’s Aviendha’s mother by ceremony, and now sister by vocation…

“But there is rank among Wise Ones,” Aviendha said. “Is there not?”

“Rank?” Amys looked puzzled. “Some of us have more honour than others, earned by wisdom, actions, and experience.”

It’s set up as a contrast to the Aes Sedai’s system of rank-by-power or the Kin’s rank-by-age, but I have to wonder how well this would actually work in any kind of emergency situation. I suppose they do acknowledge certain informal ranks amongst themselves; they’ll all defer to Sorilea, and most will defer to Amys, and so on…and if they do not by tradition take part in combat (or didn’t) then it’s less of an issue because conflicts can be resolved through discussion. And honour is a much less abstract quality to the Aiel than it is to others. And to be fair, there are going to be problems with pretty much any system of rank, because people, so okay.

“A punishment is not a true punishment unless you accept it, Aviendha”

Alright, Eleanor Roosevelt. But once again it’s a philosophy that fits well with what we’ve learned of Aiel culture. Punishment and honour are tied closely together, and while they’re codified in some ways, there is also a great deal of choiceinvolved in both. How to meet toh. What your honour is worth. Who you are.

And so this was not about punishment, but about Aviendha needing to change her own self-perception. To see herself as a Wise One because she believes herself to be, because she believes she has earned it, not because they’ve told her she has. She has to accept this as her identity before anyone else can accept it. It’s internal before it can be external.

“Oh, she’s still a girl,” Bair said. “Until one more thing is done.”

Wait…

What would have happened if Min hadn’t riled her? She would have to thank the woman, although Min didn’t realise what she’d done.

That’s weirdly sweet. And again, rather…mature, I suppose, to acknowledge the help Min has given her, even if it was entirely unintentional. It’s something a lot of people struggle with.

“What must I still do?” Aviendha asked.

“Rhuidean,” Bair said.

WHAT.

ARE YOU—

IS THIS—

ARE YOU SERIOUS. RHUIDEAN.

I mean…I should not be surprised? This is the final step in becoming a Wise One, and the tradition for clan chief hasn’t changed so why would this, but at the same time I was WHOLLY UNPREPARED FOR THIS IN EVERY WAY.

Even though we’ve already seen the history of the Aiel, and Aviendha already knows it.

So it probably won’t take place on-screen, because while I would gladly just reread those two chapters I think publishers might disagree, but I hope we get something. Even just a reaction gif.

Also because it would be so different, to see that history through the eyes of one actually born and raised among the Aiel. It’s known to all of them now, but even so…for someone like Aviendha to watch some of those scenes play out, to see the truth of their origins and their honour…

I’m sure you will all be surprised to see that yes, I am once again Emotionally Compromised by Rhuidean.

“Things will be different, now,” Melaine said. “Rhuidean is no longer what it once was.”

YOU SHUT THE HELL UP.

“We will turn our backs on you now, Aviendha. We will not see you again until you return to us as a sister returning from a long journey.”

“A sister we had forgotten that we knew.”

HELP ME. SHE’S GOING TO RHUIDEAN AND I’m fine, this is fine, everything is fine.

I know, I know, that it makes no actual sense to show her journey through the glass columns, and that either something will go horribly wrong or else we’ll just cut-scene to when she comes out or returns to the Wise Ones, but. I want it anyway.

“I suggest Travelling to Cold Rocks Hold and walking from there. You must spend time in the Three-fold Land to contemplate your journey.”

Okay, that’s promising. Maybe we don’t see her go through the columns but we see her thinking over her people and their history and their uncertain future as she walks to the city that for so long stood empty, holding the secret heart and truth of who they are, and now is an oasis in the desert, open to all, no longer shrouded, no longer hidden. A walk of contemplation through the land that has been theirs for all living memory but is only a part of their exodus, a walk through history until she reaches the glass columns and sees the full truth of the history she has come to know through rumour and proclamation. It wouldn’t be a surprise that she then has to come to terms with, the way it once was for other new Wise Ones, but instead would be a way of gaining…certainty? Or of answering questions and affirming truths. It would become something of a bookend rather than an opening – she knows the history now, and so then this is the final step in seeing it in full and accepting it, so that now she can help them move on. Or something.

Listen. Let’s be honest here. If Rhuidean is involved I don’t even care about the specifics of how it’s given to me I just WANT IT.

That’s a lie, I do care. I care way too much.

HELP.

“Remember this time and the shame you felt, for it is the shame any da’tsangwill know, should you consign them to their fate. And they cannot escape it simply by demanding release.”

That’s an excellent lesson, and an important one. It’s empathy, really, which is often…underrated in positions of power.

Ah, so that’s how Sevanna ended up a Wise One. Every system has its flaws, after all.

“Once you reach Rhuidean, travel to the centre of the city. You will find the pillars of glass. Pass through the centre of them, then return here.”

There is no reason at all for me to quote this, I just…needed to.

“Spend well your days running to the city. We pushed you hard so that you would have this time for contemplation. It is likely the last you will have for some while.”

Aviendha nodded. “The battle comes.”

The calm before the storm, except it’s…more than that. I’m trying to figure out exactly how to phrase what I like about this. It’s the idea not just of pausing to breathe before everything explodes, but of taking time to think. Taking time for quiet contemplation. And it’s more than that; there’s a layering here of…they’re approaching the Last Battle, the end of an Age, something that will force the world from now into what comes next. Soon it will be about surviving the present and saving the future, but these last few days, this last time for contemplation, is then about the past. About going backto the Three-fold Land, about spending time there to think, about walking back through the history of her people and thinking on that. It’s a…grounding, an anchoring. A focus on identity and origin. A farewell, perhaps, but also a remembrance.

“Go,” Amys said, “and return.” She put emphasis on the final word. Some women did not survive Rhuidean.

But it’s also a variation on “forward. And back in time.” It’s the push-pull of who they were and who they are, of going back at this moment when they prepare to face the coming battle.

Also…okay bear with me here because we’re going on a semantic adventure. First of all, there’s a double-meaning in ‘go and return’ because ‘go to Rhuidean, and return to our past’. But the way ‘go’ and ‘return’ are emphasised, and the places they refer to, are also interesting here. ‘Go’ is ‘leave’ is ‘from here, to elsewhere’; but ‘return’ implies…home. It implies the status quo. She must goin order to get to Rhiudean, to get to the Three-fold Land, which was once the home of the Aiel…but from that home she must return. To here, to the wetlands, to this place in space and time and identity where the Aiel now are, because that place has changed. The Aiel have changed.

She has to go back to see what they once were – not just through the glass columns, but now the Three-fold Land is a part of that past; even the trip to Rhuidean is a part of that past. As Melaine said, Rhuidean is no longer what it once was. That’s the first step in the history now, even if it is outside of the ter’angreal. And then she must return, not just from the columns, or to Chaendaer, or to her own hold, but to where the Aiel are. To who the Aiel have become. She has to see their full history, and they have taken their next step now; a new scene has been written.

All of that makes perfect sense in my head I swear.

From Wise Ones to Aes Sedai. Appropriate, I suppose, especially as we’re starting off with Shemerin.

Shemerin, who was demoted to Accepted and the change stuck because, according to Silviana, Shemerin allowed it to. She believed it, accepted it herself, and did not fight it or claim her place as Aes Sedai. She let her status be defined by someone else and could not stand up for herself against it. So it’s pretty much an exact inversion of what we just saw Aviendha do. I See What You Did There.

Romanda had not forgotten Siuan’s crafty nature, even if so many others in camp seemed to have done so. Lesser strength in the Power did not mean decreased capacity for scheming.

Except you still fell for it, Romanda. Hook, line, and sinker, as Siuan might say.

Sheriam had been withdrawn lately, and barely maintained the dignity of an Aes Sedai. Foolish woman. She needed to be removed from her place; everyone could see that.

Romanda’s on a roll here with expelling or trying to expel Black Ajah. Even if in this case she has no idea.

Romanda had rarely seen a woman as determined to punish herself as this poor child.

Not a child, Romanda thought. A full Aes Sedai, whatever she says.

Yeah, Shemerin is a rather perfect foil for Aviendha in this specific moment.

“You are Aes Sedai,” Romanda said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

Being told she is Aes Sedai, rather than claiming the title for herself. And because it does not come from her, she does not believe it. She sees herself as Accepted – as an apprentice – regardless of what status she was once accorded, or should still have. It comes back to identity, to how you see yourself. Shemerin accepts her punishments and her given status; Aviendha decided not to anymore.

“Tell me about this watergate,” Siuan said

Well, Siuan, Watergate is the name of a hotel that has become synonymous with political scandal ever since—oh, not that watergate. Gotcha.

“Where would we find it?”

You had better not be contemplating a rescue mission, Siuan.

“How is it that Elaida could think that demoting a sister was wise?”

You’ll be happier just…not thinking too hard on questions like that, Magla. All you’re going to do is give yourself a headache. Elaida decided wisdom was a dump stat and we’re all living with the consequences.

Something small was creeping beneath the canvas floor of the tent, moving from one corner toward the centre of the room.

Um? I can’t think what that could be but I doubt it’s anything good.

“You didn’t plot against her? You didn’t contradict her?”

Shemerin shook her head. “I was loyal.”

Good thing that’s in the past tense, though Shemerin’s still referring to Elaida as ‘the Amyrlin’. Still, the rebels have needed something like this – firsthand accounts of all the fresh steaming bullshit happening in the Tower on Elaida’s watch. They’ve had Egwene in Tel’aran’rhiod up until recently, of course, but it’s different when it’s coming from those who were on Elaida’s side.

“I suspect she used poor Shemerin as an example, acclimating the White Tower to the concept of demotion. That will let her use it on those who are actually her enemies.”

Repeat after me: THIS IS NOT NORMAL.

Man, some of this feels so very…relevant.

The conversation hit a lull. The Sitters who supported Egwene would likely head the list of those to be demoted, if Elaida retained her power and the Aes Sedai reconciled.

Excellent: a perfect selfish reason for them to make sure that doesn’t happen. That’s not even sarcasm; it’s a good way to keep them motivated to achieve what they came here to achieve. They could just toss Egwene to Elaida as a scapegoat and reconcile with her – and the more time that passes, especially without Egwene able to communicate with them, the more appealing an option that becomes. But it becomes far less of an option if they know they’d go down with her.

Oh cool it’s a giant cockroach. Yum.

Nope, lotsof giant cockroaches.

I had a good laugh at the image of the Warders standing there with their swords drawn, ready to face the threat, and just looking at the flood of cockroaches like ‘…I do not get paid enough for this’.

“Is there anything in the tent that is dear to you?” Lelaine asked, looking back at the tent.

Why Lelaine, I’m surprised you care! It’s an almost sweet moment; the two of them momentarily united against a greater – or in this case at least more disturbing – enemy. Which, I suppose, is precisely the point. They’re not enemies; they should be helping one another and working together against the Shadow, rather than spending their time and energy trying to outmanoeuvre one another.

Romanda spared a thought for her journal, but knew that she’d never be able to touch those pages after her tent had been infested this way. “Nothing that I’d care to keep now,” she said, weaving Fire. “And nothing I can’t replace.”

It’s a good attitude to have, especially as they all stand at the brink of a battle that will change quite possibly everything.

And it’s even another small link back to the previous scene, with Aviendha. A slight inversion, perhaps, but again the issue of looking back, of the past and letting it go or remembering it, moving forward.

Romanda thought she heard the insects popping and sizzling inside.

Mmmmm, dinner.

Light, she thought. Egwene is right. It is coming. Fast.

[…]

The Tower needed to be whole. Whatever it took. Would she be willing to bow before Elaida to make that happen? Would she put on an Accepted dress again if it would bring unity for the Last Battle?

She couldn’t decide.

It’s not an easy choice, in part because the question isn’t simply unity but what sortof unity. And whether there can be unity at all under Elaida, after she has already split the Tower and then shattered her half of it.

It’s not an easy choice because, in Romanda’s position, there’s no way to know. There’s no way to know if Egwene will prevail, and if she’ll be able to heal the Tower in time. There’s no way to know if Elaida would be able to hold them together, or if she might at least be better than nothing.

And there are the questions of pride and identity and selfishness, and Romanda acknowledges those, too.

There is no time left, and they have to make some of these decisions now; they have to put so much behind them and let go of so much, and move forward, but there’s not necessarily any way to know which path will be the right one. They just have to choose, and hope they choose correctly.

Next (TGS ch 27)

Previous (TGS ch 25)

#SHE'S GOING TO RHUIDEAN HELP ME #wheel of time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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onlyplatonicirl · 6 years

Conversation

Me rn

Me: okay, it’s almost finals week, time to get shit done!

Scott Cawthon: lel no

*slides Fnaf 6 onto steam*

Me: ...

My Brain the entirety of finals week, when I should be studying: Who is the cassette man? Is it Henry? I don’t think it is because the ending cutscene revealed his daughter who is actually the puppet. If Cassette man’s daughter is the puppet, then is the crying child golden Freddy’s? I think I’m going to start a religion around Bucket Bob. What exactly is paragraph 4? Could there be a possibility we find out in the survival logbook, which comes out Dec 26th? Scott also said he was going to write another novel and that would be great, I just hope the next one is mainly tying up loose ends instead of adding new ones. The Twisted Ones made almost no sense. Speaking of the twisted ones, was the weird pizzaria maze that Charlie ran through to avoid the twisted animatronics the same restaurant that we design in Fnaf 6? I mean, it was described as having posters of shiny plastic animatronics, and it was a sort of tortuous maze. And under Henry’s house, in the least. And what DID Springtrap (pretty sure in this instance spring is Micheal but I could be wrong so I’ll just call him springtrap) mean when he said “I didn’t take him, I took you.” Does that mean he’s Henry? Does that mean Sammy’s not dead? Does Henry even exist? Does anyone exist? Are people even real? And is Charlie really dead? What about Elizabeth, the soul of the girl who possesses baby? What about her? The cassette man said something about wondering if they had consciousnesses in the insane ending of the game, or perhaps the souls are actually “powering” the suits in someway? So from what the sixth game has told me is that Baby is just one of the “monsters”: a bloody thirsty machine out for little children, as they were programmed to do. It seems like she was pretty remorseful in her reminiscence of the death of Afton’s daughter. Many people thought the small girl in the fruity maze mini game was Afton’s daughter, but her eyes are blue, not green, and all the fans know that the eyes are green, because it was her eyes that caused Baby’s to change color. Candy Cadets stories were really interesting and creepy, but I’m beginning to draw parallels between them all. Each of the stories contains five innocents (five children in locked rooms, five kittens in a shoebox, five orphans) and all five of the innocents die in the end, by something(the keys, the snake, the murderer) that their caretakers (the woman, the boy, the man) could have prevented, but was careless, and made the wrong voice. Each one also deals with mashing up into one (the 5 keys melded into one, the remains of the kittens sewed up and placed in the shoebox, the bodies of the five children stitched up and placed into one casket.) could this symbolize Ennard? With the parallel of combining several into one entity, it makes me believe this might be the case, but what do the others represent? The caretaker and the killer? Perhaps Ennard was assisted in his creation. Then again, I have reason to believe that this may correlate to one of the incidents with the five murdered children. As creepy as candy cadet is he also gives candy. Go get get your candy from him. Candy. Candy. Candy. One of the blueprints in the insanity ending that flashed by that I did not recognize, which looked like a pyramid on wheels. It was, however curious to see molten Freddy. He’s quite confusing, for at first I simply thought that this might just be another scrapped robot with AI, but based on the small alleyway cutscene, we can see the several plastic eyeballs hanging of a hose of wires, with the mask of this twisted Freddy in the middle. I remember in the source code of Scottgames.com and fnafworld.com, there was a conversation between Ennard and baby, saying that they found a way to get rid of her, where baby proclaims that she can “put herself back together.” What exactly does that mean, and who says it? I did notice the slight color difference between the golden Freddy plush’s normal text is, compared to the time when the plush talks to the young boy, who’s on the verge of death in Fnaf 6Mat pat had said something about this being the daughter, and that could be possible. Also, what were those two number sequences that were hidden in the first twisted ones trailer? Usually, those act as reminds or prompts when the book/game comes out, I never caught anything worth mentioning. Could they be hexadecimal code to represent a certain speaker, as they do with the yellow guy’s mini game. Who is that anyways? And what’s the deal with lefty? The marionette is located inside him (not the security puppet but the actual vintage puppet from Fnaf 2), but why? Had she heard the “calling?” How did the robots hear the calling? And what about blah blah blah blah blah blah hey where did all my friends go

#fnaf 6 #finals week #seriously Scott why now #fnaf #bucket bob #elizabeth #william Afton #henry #ennard #theories #procrastination #rants #hey where did all my friends go #freddy Fazbear’s pizzaria simulator #i am trash #i should be put up on stage with the trash animatronics #HhhHhhhhnnnngnngngggggggggggg

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dynamicapplications · 4 years

Text

The 21st century worldwide growth of forest simulation is much about thinking about the consequences of CO2 in the atmosphere.

Thinking over Time.

This page was formerly published as The 21st century worldwide growth of Forest.

However, we have decided for smaller, more reasonable official product publications. The reasoning and further thoughts around the topic shall be to every user.

So from 2020, in the Logbook of Dynamic Applications, we shall concern ourselves with Articles, Essays and Noteworthy Thoughts around Values and Targets, Society, Law and Order, Targets in Life, and finally, Sustainable Thinking.

As that’s what we learn from working with, working on Dynamic Applications.

Dynamic Applications, Company HQ in Leopold’s Height, North Rhine Westfalia. Home.

Time is infinite, and so it heals all wounds.

The immanent extermination of Life on Earth, quite honestly though, has neither been proven, nor does it seem logical from looking at the existance of Earth in time. From all we know, our beautiful planet must have seen much worse times, before. So there’s no need to worry.

Apart from that, have you ever heard of the Photosynthetic effect, CO2 consumption by plants of all kind?

Life and Death, Loss and Win. What a beautiful variety of beings on this very planet, isn’t it.

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So for a simulation like that, so many influencers, what do we have to consider?

Sunshine, Atmosphere, CO2, fertilizer, Glass effect, Clouds, Rain, Growth of Forest, Siberia, Green Land, Plants, Trees, Animals, and finally, Human beings and technology.

It’s all about the Details, the holy grail of detailed know-how possession.

Concept.

Endless effort, endless humility, endless modesty.

First of all, as for fossile ressources, we’ve researched resonable information for weeks, just to dig up a few proven numbers. What we found was rough estimations.

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There’s so many assumptions on remaining ressources, in practice or theory…

So in using this very simulation model, we can learn a lot about the holy grail search.

Solutions?

Be modest, that’s good for you, that’s good for others, as well. Less greed, less decadency, and all of a sudden, our nature is gonna be fine, as well. In 21st century, we don’t need cars, we don’t need greed, to survive, hurray. As we got so much time now, so much time, to make friends with one butterfly, one whole free day. Or write an application as simple as this, in all our free time, in being Founders of 21st century. Much better than flying in Airplanes all over Greenland’s melting coast, to day. Just to write one more report, one more report so useless in history. As if you’d look, if you’d look how many open ends there be in this very simple simulation today, you’ll see how much more useless formula they create when building simulations of ultra complexity.

World’s details are endless, that’s what we here say.

So you better make up your own mind, today. It’s free of charge, anyway.

In the end, you got to decide if Participation is one of your core values (ecologist), or you believe in mankind’s victory (anthropologist). While the ecologist welcomes the natural change, and sees human caused change as merely natural (one world of participating species), the anthropologist merely believes in primate and secondary species, so that all secondaries shall serve the primates, and be eaten, killed, or surpressed, for example, for reasons of farming and for optimizing net profit in industrial food production.

What we say here is that climate change is mostly good for nature, as it is gonna get warm and evaporate. We’ll see a large new manifold of species, and Planet Earth has seen so many worse times before, we find ourselves in a self-regulating circle already.

Only for mankind, with industry, business, welfare and bureaucracy, we see that too fast change could mean a lot of harm, that could be avoided if we all just live in a bit more modesty. So while nature, as a whole, may certainly benefit from warmth, evaporation, rainfall and CO2-driven photosynthesis, there may be bitter destruction for thousands of people. The re-naturation of infrastructure by thunderstorm will only seem right if you’re not the victim, including your own beloved family.

Win and loss. That’s what we learn from nature. So we’ll all see how Mother Nature’s gonna strike back on us. She’s seen much worse scenarios in history. Globally seen, natural reflection may not be a problem. But it won’t help us all to live a life in fear. So with little effort, we could all give in our share. To a better living, a living with, within nature. In a base democracy, no sense at all in picking at some leaders. Everyone on the same level, everyone responsible.

If we the people could vote on a global level, that would be an option.

An option to agree, to build synergy on a global level. What a promise to pursue, to follow.

at Dynamic Applications, we believe in participation. and the uttermost fair and even, strongest level of participation is of course not sitting around in infinite boredom of universities on the backs of the working class, all day, but rather to experience all that beauty, all those wonderful interactions of nature and man kind in your own very garden. May it be Butterflies, Ladybugs, Ants and even snails. Not everything may suit you on your Table, so whenever you’ll have access to god’s own environment, we shall have at least one small, completely natural peace of wonder’s garden. Then, we can do as well a little agricultural gardening for food. Of course, participation with nature, in its ever so beautiful diversity, that’s best to achieve, in all our wonderful life of modesty.

Still, that’s just my 2 ct, so as always, we’ll leave that up to you to decide.

at Dynamic Applications, we believe in that you shall rather life a good, fine, decent life, than to destroy what’s god given to us. So let’s enjoy all that we see, and believe me, i see before me thousands of years gone by, Bye bye, le feel D, and still we see one brown bear tapping on that unknown stuff again that we now call ice and snow. And that’s what i call proven from history, as if you look closely, 5000 years ago, there was one guy called Noah, oh, how did her enjoy, the greatest Pirate on earth. He saved them all, living together with plants, animals, children, men and wifes, did not he have a wonderful life.

And so we see that we now all can relax a bit and say, well, well, that’s what we learn from history, good plan is 4 more years, and all beyond we may as well call scientology. Especially, if politicians say in 2020 that they will save the world in 2030. bla bla bla, no change of course, just they fill up their pockets, or they make more debts in filling up the pockets of some friends. In case you wanna know what kind of guy i am, now, why don’t you look at test i did to find out about all of my believe. Reflect, i say, and learn from thee. And a bit, small part of that strongest ever Pirate, Noah’s arc, we find to day in Pirate Party flag, around the world of green party believer’s nightly child mares, soo very Pirate children before me i see, why don’t you join and enjoy life with me, in modesty.

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And well, you know, how child is made, that’s what we call here all protected, in you bed room’s privacy. So unfortunately, i couldn’t talk about that! You gotta go ask goo goll’s monster of paid truth. Ok, ok, you gonna say i cheat, if i move forward in your head one single thought. So i better stop and wish you a good nite, here. Hm, hm, sometimes, best thoughts appear to me in early morning, when all around god’s wonderful landscape i hear them calling, my lightweight friends of feather’s bride, singin to me from all those nearby, wooden trees, we haven’t had to carve away in an attempt to resist greed.

I say that nature, up from ants and even beneath, would probably tell us their very own, best ever theory, of why they think all species on earth shall be wild horses, wolves, or fox hunt funny bunnies on the field. Cats, mice, the mickey mouse of me, i am so small i most enjoy the lightmost elements we see, in what’s called birds who bring up children from small eggs. Enjoy your break fast, i say, and why don’t you try all kinds of fruit there is, and try to find out which of these may suit you well, some day. Take what you need, not what you might think you can get.

If we do all like that, no need to worry at.

Now you may say, hm hm, so if i decide for human, anthropologist view – survival for me and my family and many others – won’t that mean that we got to regulate climate change, globally!?

hm hm, i say. First of all, everyone shall have there own opinion, that’s part of oir method here. In using Dynamic Applications, whether we raise up a value, whether we rule down a level, both ways we train, we practice, we learn thinking over time.

In creating, in offering Dynamic Applications on our websites, Sustainable System Thinking is a constant value we provide. So this is more like an eLearning approach, than that we’d try to tell you about the holy grail, the one world formula, ourselves.

Now to your key concern, your core argument. Yes. You may decide for man kind, family, village, people. Absolutely. Who said that man kind shall not participate here, anymore?

Now do we have to find global solutions, and isn’t any measure, just everything, wasted and void, otherwise? – because if we here in Germany should build more bicycle ways and ride by car, won’t Donald Trump in USA, Bolsonaro in Brazil, Philipines, India, China and Putin all laugh on us, and benefit from less demand, cheaper oil now?

Now that’s a good question.

We can not solve globally when we taboo critical questions, at the same time.

From my point of view, if you got a global idea, an idea that has potential, that could possibly scale up globally, just post it on your website, then why don’t you use Startup Informer or The Federal Press Agency to deploy your idea, worldwide. This is a strong win-win-win situation for good ideas (me, you, and the customers who visit your website in more and more masses, soon). So yes. We can solve problems, globally. The problem of climate change is not a problem for nature, as we have seen. However, severe follow-up problems could arise for humanity if some people keep occupying land on this beautiful planet, and then they are neither willing to share, nor would they admit other people to be of same rights. That’s egoistic and nasty, living on the backs, the skulls of the poor.

Seen this way, a mediate arise in climate change and local temperature could lead to severe problems of social healthcare and survival for the many, the billions of utterly poor people on this very planet earth. If you got a child, or even got the luck of god be mother, be father of a few children, and now you gotta decide to rip wood off last trees near village, just to make fire and cook meal, so that children don’t get ill from infected, dirty water next week. If you shall decide to save your own children to the next month, would you save that tree, honestly? – so that some ultra rich people from Europe, first world posh shine taker’s USA can sleep better, in their artificial year 2100 problems?

If we want to solve the climate question, let’s solve the social problem.

It could mean nothing less than to disrupt the global financial market system.

For this, first of all, we’ll need a better idea to follow, a better wish for we the people, the all of us united, than what we see in nationalist’s patriotic selfishness today, globally.

However, having solved that, i foresee rather challenges than real problems to remain, speaking of our participation of species on this beautiful planet earth. 4.000.000.000 years passed by, 4.000.000.000 years to go. Same sunshine, same heat, every day, globally.

Reflection of a planet’s cosy warmth in cool, cold space.

Billions of years, of life, to follow.

What a promise.

https://twitter.com/mydarkstar/status/1177144253161574400?s=21

Second, let’s talk about rural, local applications. Here in Germany, core EU, for example, we had a really hot summer last year. 40+ degrees. Yes. I was there, i have seen it. My little son and me, we live directly under the roof of my parent’s home, where i have built new rooms out of nothing with my father. So we need not take other people’s home away, for ourselves. That’s a great local thing that you can do with no or little impact on neighbours and society.

So if people, should refugees come by here from the desert, at least my family and me have tried not to occupy too many homes (we’ve beeen 4 children in my paren’t family, and at the moment we live here with 8 people in one house – my old parents, ground floor, my brother’s family with 4 kids – 1st floor, me and my little sun, 2nd floor). At some point ground floor will be empty again, so another family can move in. With a bit of will and tolerance, much harm to anyone. And we coild even rent the house to someone, make a small business model and have some food. Win-Win again: home, food.

But apart from that kind of social problem solving, let’s look at nature itself. What Germany’s CDU-CSU-SPD government did here last autumn, was one of the most stupid things in ripping off more taxpayers, that i ever heard of. They offered, they created a fund with dozens of billions of Euro (“30 Milliarden Euro” i think it was), just to save dry farmers. Yes, of course, it wasn’t their fault alone.

But look at what they did! Now every farmer who never took precautions can get strong saving and benefit for doing nothing at all. But all good farmers who benefit nature back for a long time with building a natural water reservoir, just blocking a small river a few meters up, they get nothing. Only if they went bankrupt. Is that not unfair?

It’s so easy to create small lake, if you have even small water flow on your ground. Even the rain from your own house roof may do! Just collect it in a small garden pond, or in a fish pond as a farmer. No harm at all! Instead of feeding pork and beef, now you raise some fish. The local kids may even use a boat and have a fine children’ playground. Pirate games, you know, a classic children’s fun. You never know where they can use all that kind knowledge they create by just been playing round your lake all say. Now if you’re afraid one might be sunk, ok. We don’t want that. That’s one good reason for a garden fence. Sell key to children for 5 bucks and they can use your boat with mum, all day.

That’s solution thinking,

because it helps a lot in having a good life with lots of fun, you know?

Even if you got just street water, think about creating small bio water pond, small lake. All you need is one way in and 2 ways out. Lower sea level is small pipe, large enough that it won’t fill itself with mud. Dig a hole , and calculate the extent you shall need with Water Supply, our free calculation model, 2-3 m above ground, which is 5 m below earth ground level, for example. Up from there, another 2 m up, just half a meter below earth ground level, create a big concrete flow-out exit. All you need! No matter how much rain should fall, it will fill up your basin. Any excess water will be stored first, then exempt slowly in the next few days. Less peak tides, your neighbours down the river will thank you so much for that. Still, should too much rain fall locally, no local flood just rain will fill up lake and then will flow down river to some place where it’s not raining, full sunshine again.

Best of all, this way you never have to worry for your field be dry and convert into desert. Not here in western Europe or on any place on earth where we got rain, at times. And should the global temperature be really raising up some day, well well, i say we soon habe thousands of new clouds. Man kind would burn up planet earth, a whole? – ha ha, we say, that’s only hypocrisis of those idiots from the greens. Piling up a few catastrophies and claiming Mother Earth be dry and dead. Stupid Imposters!

We here, we are from Pirate Party, and we have learned to always use our brain.

Think globally, act locally, that’s what we say, my dear friends. Strong focus on content, on argument. No need for super ruling humans with that mass of dumb ideas who collect taxes from all us just to feed them and their hyposcientist’s experiments.

Content is key.

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In being Pirates, in being members of a transparent society, let us demand truth, not hypocritic fabulation in simply adding up a pile of ever so more milkmaid calculations.

Throughout history, politicians may have found the weirdest reasons to raise their taxes, but really, thin hot air taxation, wouldn’t you agree this was, this is the greatest bullshit of all?

Man, you wanna help nature, why don’t you shut up and drive nothing for a while. That’s what i say.

Do nothing, man, it’s free of charge, worldwide available.

Nature’s abilities of empowerment, we’d follow silently in astonishment. 20 years later, fell one tree, earn honest money from a hard day’s work, in building furniture for the people. Best value generation for a whole, New Generation, much like an old forrester’s family. So we can wait for Nature’s fine restauration, or we behave, just a bit modest, all.

A few acres of Land less, Lord, and instantly, less food we have to throw away.

No harm at all, honestly.

Build a Water reservoir for the all of them, the small forrester families.

Enjoy birds, a fine, simple life, and green plants, where ever your eyes look upon.

We here, we say if you good scientist, then go ahead, proof yourself first, and show you can and go develop something that’s half easy and half useful as we Startups build all day. Throw your dust in the air, and show us how your thin air, your lightweight plans really becomes the all of us to live more healthy. And then, you better start rejecting money from the others, you better open up small business and sell us your part of that good idea. Are you good scientist, have understood physics and biologic chemistry, or not. Are you a bot, reflecting say-say bullshit of ever so missing detailed holography?

Fair enough! That’s how we spot a good, fair, honest guy. Be father, be mother, be child, to us we are all same, so we demand all people shall be equal before law. Especially those old, bribed politicians who take money and then even make more debts. Ha ha, we say, ha ha, we know, that money wasn’t lost by any kind mistake! That money sure went to some other pocket that was bribed. Help yourself, think, be kind to others and provide solution, no bla bla. That’s how we here identify good guy. Do it yourself, you dumbo polititicans, show us that you are worth 1 ct a cross, a Euro four more years a key.

We are good basic democrats down here. We work on, have stopped listening, at all. Why should we listen to that bla-bla garbage when you guys have no idea, have never yourself experienced any poverty. Shame on you guys, shame on your family.

How dare thou rule us, who, be damned, got no idea, no key.

Don’t listen to them, anymore, just swith off your old TV, and start to watch all useful channels on the net, where content is key. Bla bla bullshit they tell us all day, bla bla tomorrow until hell, just stuffing pockets for bla-bla not working on any solutions yourself, all long day.

Shame on you guys. That’s what i say to that.

Sorry!

The 21st century worldwide growth of Forest simulation will empower you to make up your own mind, based on facts and logic. You don’t believe in a number, a formula? – go ahead and change every formula, integrated live within the application.

Free Promo Codes on Twitter, world’s fastest network, will empower you to activate all integrated Formula editors, fully.

See The Dynamic Idea and Roadmap Voting Competition for more. Learn sustainable thinking by checking out dependencies between fact, effect, logic, cause and origin.

School’s know-how, and a small book of old, proven laws of nature, all you need.

What you see is what you get, here.

Verify, Change anything you wanna try, and solve with me.

Let’s feed our children from solutions, no bla-bla.

Productive for a better world, true day.

Sustainable thinking, we train. Understanding. Survival.

Where we can’t heal the world, why don’t we try in small, and as well feed your family.

To prove anything in itself, and show the proof of concept, we decided to go with the deliverable ressources per year, under today’s technology and market conditions, as we have it right now. As there is more grains, water, mesh and sunken trees in the earth und under the oceans than we might even know today, we let that value rise by about 1% per year, as the startup setting. It’s only a default – change anything as you prefer, and see the consequences.

So, apart from collecting a few note full articles, as listed below… –

we concentrated on simulating a few, fairly well known things.

Stone Coal delivery and yearly consumption (Input Value)

Brown Coal delivery and yearly consumption (Input Value)

Natural Gas delivery and yearly consumption (Input Value)

Crude oil delivery and yearly consumption (Input Value)

CO2 production from burning each of these (Target Formula)

CO2 mass (and ppm) in the atmosphere (Starting Point, then Target Formula)

Rise in global Temperature (there’s a huge discussion, we’ll let you set it: Input Value)

Evaporation – Water mass in Rain clouds around the earth (Starting Point and Target Formula)

Greenhouse effect – Plant fertilization through water and CO2 (Target Formula)

Forest area in North America (Starting Points and Target Formulas…)

Forest area in South America

Forest area in Russia and Siberia

Forest area in South Asia

Forest area in Europe (excluding Russia)

Forest area in Africa

Forest area in Australia and Ozeania

Forest area, worldwide.

So here we go, simulating your winner of the year 2016 in the Dynamic Idea and Roadmap competition:

https://twitter.com/dynamic_idea/status/694743968026882048

All Input Values and Formula, where suitable, are based on Wikipedia sources and articles, which contain further weblinks for public research.

See bottom of this page for a list of references and sources.

Earth.

Our Planet as a whole, in neverending balance.

Introducing the 21st century worldwide growth of Forest simulation.

Our simulation does not intend to provide the singular world formula, neither do we have the capacity nor would be so arrogant to claim we have got the knowledge to do so. It’s just an overview of a complex system of interacting nature, climate and weather, in a top-down approach.

It should rather be an easy enough starting point for everyone interested in the topic to check it out, yourself.

By concept of the Dynamic Applications platform, all parameters are publicly visible through ToolTips, with formula and live calculation values.

Instead of just showing a few numbers and fancy diagrams as you can find all over the internet, here you can make up your own mind.

21st century worldwide growth of Forest – rising worldwide CO2 level, depending on your config

Rain Forest. Nature’s Treasure in global resources, woods, animals and clean air.

For each ToolTip, we’ll be adding a hand-written comment to explain what this value is about, where we got value and formula from, and cite the Wikipedia source.

As usual, for everyone interested in adjusting the formula systems, there’s promo codes around on Twitter to activate Perfect Desire, our professional simulation platform, for free. It’s part of the game. So this very simulation comes with a built-in formula editor.

https://twitter.com/BenFranklinUP/status/495259494809481217

21st century worldwide growth of Forest.

Our 21st century worldwide growth of Forest simulation, with a forecast based on System Dynamics.

Softpedia Award for a 100% adware and spyware-free download!.

21st century worldwide growth of Forest includes:

Bakery Model (a one-product business calculation Tutorial)

Photovoltaic System – intro – PV amortization

21st century worldwide growth of Forest.

default Simulation Time Frame: 2000 .. 2100

The Dynamic Idea and Roadmap Competition.

freely configurable Start Date and Simulation Time (10..240 years).

download now.

We develop a standalone client, here. Precise. Pure. and Safe. no Data gathering, no Server behind you. It’s your business. We respect that.

Latest version exclusively on dynamic-apps.org, our free FTP download Server.

21st ct worldwide growth of Forest.

We’re following a customer-driven, agile development approach with 2-4 week cycles. Beat us for everything not exactly perfect on Twitter, next two weeks. 24/7.

All our Windows 10 Store Apps come with full functionality, including the Target Formula System editor. So there’s no need to apply Promo Codes on Windows 10 Store Apps.

Unlimited License for the Windows 10 Store App, including unlimited upgrades.

21st century worldwide growth of Forest. Grow your Input. Show your Target. Think.

Living in Nature. Dependency. Understanding. Living in Balance with Nature.

Rain fall per area in a year, calculated from evaporation and Temperature.

Sources.

inspired by:

Spiegel Online: 20th century growth of Forest in Europe (Animation)

For this simulation, we’re referring to Wikipedia in german and english language as a reference. Further pages researched have been used as an additional resource to set up values and formula, but in the end, as of the mssive number of ressources, we decided to rely on Wikipedia, only.

[a] Worldwide Ressources on:

Stone coal and brown coal [1] [2]

Natural gas [3] [4]

Crude Oil and delivery [5]

List of Countries by proven Oil reserves [6]

[b] Energy density, CO2 and CO2 emission:

Energy density [7]

Gas and Steam Power Plant [8]

Carbon dioxide [9]

[c] CO2 in atmosphere, and Greenhouse effect:

Carbon dioxide in Earth’s atmosphere [10] [11]

Greenhouse effect and CO2 fertilization [12]

[d] Weather and Climate

Earth and Rainfall Climatography [13]

Geologic Earth Temperature records [14]

[e] Forest

List of Countries by Forest Area [15]

21st century worldwide growth of Forest.

how many open ends will we find, when adding one more formula of choice?

Think self, here we say. That’s key one question to solve. Sharing is Caring.

So this simulation model is much about living on the backs of others, you and me.

As it serves a good purpose, and to feed the poor, this simulation model is free of charge.

understanding.

21st century worldwide growth of Forest. Logo.

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Dynamic Applications.

Dynamic Applications is a small business consultancy focused on customers, product cost, efficiency, sales, and net profit. We support Startups in developing 21st century Business Models. We’re driven by thousands of independent voters. Altogether, we develop Perfect Desire, an evolving platform of free and simple business plan calculators for everyone.

We vote in online democracy, we deliver for free. we work for you, and we call them& Dynamic Applications.

SocialMedia driven innovations for the 21st century. and you could be one.

at Dynamic Applications, we work to empower people. we are Sharing Economy. Follow us to gain.

Thank you for choosing to visit Dynamic Applications, today. Comment section is open.

a few thoughts on Climate justice. The 21st century worldwide growth of forest simulation is much about thinking about the consequences of CO2 in the atmosphere.

#Animals #Climate change #Ecology #Economy #Forest #Forrester #Future Society #Growth #Human beings #Infinity #Law and Order #Life on Earth #Participation #Photosynthesis #Plants #Sustainability #Sustainable Society #The Club of Rome

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