#it was supposed to be about the shitty prison system
Text
TW: panic attack, non-graphic self harm, reckless behaviour, fear of drowning
This is like... a bit 5K of Pac and Philza actually bonding for once...
Fear claws into Pac's heart just as easily as his fingernails dig into his palms. There's nothing wrong, objectively there's nothing wrong, but he's been alone all day. It's not at all like working with Mike; he's been trying to decorate the Favela, but his breath keeps catching and his thoughts keep stopping.
He can hear the fountain beneath the warpstone, and he wants it to /stop/.
He knows anxiety now, he knows it, he knows this is what it is, and when Fit found the blood in Chume Labs and the empty graves he made him promise to call him if it happened again. It's happening now, Pac can feel it building, but there's nobody awake. He checks it again, and still it's only him.
So he does the thing he does next best. He holds his breath and he thinks of nothing and he builds. More trees, more ponds, more fountains - anything and everything he can think of. Give the Redeemer a sombrero, then think better of it half way through and take it down. Start returfing the football field, only to decide to put it back because making the goals muddy is just ugly. Hang up more banners, pull them down, add a bit to the fences, swap them for iron, then concrete.
Breathe in, breathe out, there's nothing wrong it's just anxiety.
(But it is wrong, everything is wrong, the back of his brain where Mike sits is empty, not just asleep but empty, torn away and - )
Mike's in the Order hospital, Pac reminds himself, and begins to walk that way.
( - and there are eyes at his back, ready to take him again and - )
Pac forgets to breathe. He drops to his knees in the middle of the street, and scrabbled his hands in the dirt.
Pac checks the communicator again. There's a few more people awake, but... No Fit, no Tubbo, no Mike, no Bagi or Forever... Of the handful of people, the one he knows best if Philza - and while he's happily looked after the man's children, and he's been quite happy to chat or fight together in the past... Philza Minecraft is a legend, and he's never really spoken much without Fit there as a buffer.
But the other option is staying here alone, and he promised Fit that if he started feeling like this again he'd ask someone for company.
He takes a deep breath, and sends a message.
You whisper to Ph1LzA: Can I visit?
As soon as he hits send, Pac slams it shut. He pushes it against his head, shuddering while curled up in a ball. He clings to the communicator, his link to the outside, so hard it leaves indents in his skin.
"It's okay," he whispers to himself. "It's okay, you're okay, there's nobody here to watch you."
It doesn't help; he tries it anyway.
The seconds drag on into minutes, and Pac's fears overwhelm even his attempts to comfort himself.
"You're okay, you're okay, you're safe," he promises himself, even as he claws at his knees, at his face, at his hair and at the floor - anything he can reach to force himself to remember his place.
He hums songs he loves, shuts his eyes and tries to dance along.
He slams hands over his mouth and freezes when he tries.
Too loud, too loud, they'll find you - quiet, quiet, quiet as a mouse and quieter still. Hide amongst the rats, and hope nobody spots you curled up there...
The communicator pings.
In a scramble Pac pulls the lid open, shaking fingers quickly clicking him through to the correct screen.
Ph1LzA whispers to you: sorry m8, missed the message
Ph1LzA whispers to you: still need something or you get it sorted?
What does Pac say? The loneliness is getting to him and the walls are caving in and he can feel something watching from inside his spine? That Mike is gone and he's remembering a /before/ he wants to forget, He can't say that, he really can't.
But what sounds like a normal response which might get him a conversation...
With shaking hands he types whatever comes to mind.
You whisper to Ph1LzA: I am just missing Fit
... Not that. That absolutely does not sound like a request for company.
This time Philza's reply does not take nearly as long, though still longer than anyone else Pac ever messages.
Ph1LzA whispers to you: yeah?
Ph1LzA whispers to you: you want some company? I can put down a sharestone
Pac's heart settles back into place - maybe slightly too high still, but far closer. He didn't mess it up too badly - maybe English is just like that - he didn't even have to ask again.
You whisper to Ph1LzA: please.
It's another minute or two for Pac's anxiety to build and him to cling to the communicator before he recieves a reply.
Ph1LzA whispers to you: red sharestone, name should be obvious
You whisper to Ph1LzA: obrigado
Ph1LzA whispers to you: you're good
There's definitely some emotion to reading those words; Pac pushes it aside, and grabs his warpstone. Moving to the main warpstone for the warehouse seems like too much, so he simply sends himself to spawn.
Only there does he pick himself up, activating the red sharestone. It takes a few scrolls to find the new option, but once he does it earns a small laugh. He selects it, and lets his body be pulled through space.
Where he arrives is cold, deep snow all around, and an icy ocean before him. Pac tugs his sleeves down over his hands, and looks around.
Whereever Philza is, he isn't immediately obvious.
"Philza?" he calls. "Felipe?"
There's a splash as Philza trident-jumps out of the ocean, his paraglider flipping open at the zenith and allowing him to drift safely down to the ice. Pac watches him drift down, the water dripping off him freezing as it falls.
"Hey," Philza calls, once back in voice range, arm moving as though to wave before suddenly remembering he needs to hold the paraglider. "Sorry about that; spotted another jelly and had to get it before it ran off."
Pac waves him off, "it's okay, it's okay, do you need any help?"
Philza squints at Pac a moment, and Pac squirms beneath it. After a moment, though, he just shrugs, "just hunting for rainbow jelly."
"Rainbow jelly?"
"Like the French use to make themselves all rainbow," Philza grins a bit. "You can use it to make glass like that, too. Chayanne wanted some, so..."
Pac thinks of the children, hurting and asleep and under the Federation's "care", the only guarantees of their safety the ability to visit, and the knowledge the Federation knows what is coming if harm comes for their children.
"For Chayanne?" He asks. "I'll help."
"Feel free to hang onto it - if you don't use it, he'll appreciate the gift when he wakes up."
When, not if, even if Pac can see Philza hesitates too.
With that confidence and the thought of their children, Pac doesn't even consider before throwing himself into the water. Behind him he hears the somewhat distorted sound of Philza laughing, and the man throwing himself in after.
Pac spots a couple of the comb jellies, and kicks off towards them. Philza seems to see another group, as he takes another route.
Hunting animals for their innards is one of the few times that sweeping edge is worth it on this island, and so Pac takes out his sword. It only takes a hit to take out the jellies, small as they are, and then Pac just has to scoop up their remains. From there he spots another - deeper - and swims after it. And another, and another - Pac loses himself to the chore, simply collecting jelly for the happiness of a child.
He thinks he's finally calmed down, when he spots another in a cave. Pac doesn't even think about it as he dives in after - but very quickly, it gets very dark.
Too dark.
He tries to ignore it, to push through and find the jelly even as memories start to loom and the dark closes in.
Breathe in, breathe out, remind yourself your helmet is in place and with that much Aqua Affinity you're fine.
It's not the underwater prison again, it's not, it's not.
Just find the jelly and get out...
On instinct he reaches out for Mike, and finds nothing.
Nothing.
Mike? What happened to Mike?
The most frustrating thing is always that he knows, he remembers, but in the dark and the wet and the unnatural silence it doesn't matter. His breathing picks up, and he twists and he turns, looking - screaming - for Mike.
Rationally, he knows he's lightheaded because hes hyperventilating. But in his heart, in his fear, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything because he's alone in the wet and the dark and he /can't do this anyone/.
He wants Mike, he wants Mike, he wants Fit and he wants Mike.
Where is Mike, why can't he reach him, where is he where is he why can't he feel him in his mind?!
He's screaming for them, he thinks, even as tears stream down his face and he twists in the water. By now he's helplessly lost, not even able to find the exit he cane in by. Whatever light there was is gone, and he doesn't even quite remember why he's here.
He twists and he fights, trying to fend off hands that aren't there - only to get his leg twisted up in the seaweed and somehow everything is even worse and worse and worse. He tugs and tugs, but the seaweed grasps tighter - he sees dark prison walls overlaying dark, broken caves, and he sobs as he realises he is going to die here.
He screams again and wonders how he still has air; something responds this time, and he begs it for bitter, screaming help.
A small light he cannot focus on, and hands find their way to his leg. In a panic he twists, kicks, fights - nothing, nothing, nothing can touch him - it's worse than the seaweed, to be grabbed by a hand.
"Shit, Pac," a familiar voice calls, an odd quality to it. "Fuck, I'm just cutting you out, Jesus mate no need to break my nose."
The words don't make sense, not entirely, but seconds later Pac finds his leg free - still entangled, but the seaweed cut from the floor, and he does his best to swim away.
Right from the seaweed and slamming into the cave wall.
Hands grab him again, and say something, and he fights them all the same. Seconds later he's being dragged and pulled and - oh, god, this is how he's going to die.
He goes to fight before remembering, actually, dieing might not be so bad actually... At worst he'll respawns, at best he'll be with Mike again.
It's just as that thought crosses his mind that his head breaks the surface of the ocean. Pac gasps for air and, by the time he's processed that, he's being hoisted and yanked up onto the ice.
He's frozen, he's freezing, but he shakes off the worst of the water and shudders as sunlight presses into his skin.
He's crying - sobbing even - on his hands and his knees, blind terror all about him as he struggles to breathe.
"Aw, mate, you could have said no if it was gonna fuck you up."
There's someone else here; Pac's eyes glance around, only to find Philza there. He can't tell if the man is a friend or a foe or just an acquaintance to be embarrassed around, but the man shrugs off his bag and opens his arms in a familiar gesture.
Pac falls into them, and hides. A hand finds his hair, and another his back, and something very dark curls around to protect him from icy wind. He does not cling back, just cries to the sound of slightly awkward comfort, sucking it in.
"You're okay," the words sound so much more believable coming from someone else. "You got out, I've got you, you're safe, you're okay."
The words are whispered into his skin, and they're not quite a balm but they are a promise and a kindness none the less; he is promised safety, and he knows the man around him can provide.
He just... Did not expect that provision to include himself, only friends of friends as they are.
Pac breathes, and it comes easier now - the air is cold, but between the darkness and Philza's chest he is safe. Slowly, slowly, as he remembers what limbs are Pac reaches out a shaking hand to the void.
It finds feathers; the darkness tenses, and then relaxes to his touch.
Pac, in turn, relaxes with it.
"You good?" Philza eventually asks from above.
"Sim," Pac replies, gathering himself a little more, hiding himself in a laugh. "Sorry, sorry, that was embarrassing."
"We've all been there mate," Fit's friend says.
The wings peel away, and Pac can see them properly - tattered edges and all. Sees how they droop, and the strain in Philza's shoulders as he uses his hands to fold them, and his backpack to keep them in pace.
"Shall we get somewhere warmer?" he asks, before Pac can comment. "I've got a treasure map to somewhere near that mesa you and Fit showed me, if you've still got the warp?"
"Are you sure?" Pac's hands shake as he checks his things.
"Eh, I'm pretty sure it's an iron dungeon," Philza replies, pulling out a map and squinting at it. "I was saving it to troll Etoiles with, but I could actually do with more iron. And someone to deal with mobs while I mine it. You, me, and some skellies - sound good?"
Pac isn't sure; he doesn't want to think, though, he does know that. Dungeons are supposed to be his and Fit's /thing/, one half the time someone intrudes on. The offer almost feels insulting, but...
But when Philza felt bad, they offered him a dungeon - he so clearly means to offer the same. Like for like, not pity but a trade.
"I want the tracks and redstone," Pac tries to sound steady, and knows he fails. "I'll save it for Mike when he returns."
"Sure, I don't even know where to start with that shit," Philza takes Pac's hand, and leads him along a safe route over the ice. "If we go back to that haunted rock area, then glide back towards the mesa? I should be able to find us on the map from there."
Pac nods, placing his hand on the warpstone in advance. Philza's joins it, and together they warp away.
---
Thankfully it is dawn, and any monsters are gone this time - there's just the beautiful sunrise over the haunted sea. The sun is rising, not setting, but Pac waves to it anyway and hopes that, somewhere, Bobby can see.
Philza makes half a laugh as he finds his glider. Pac searches for his own, and tries not to remember the night on the cliff - him and Fit, him and Fit, but also Philza, laughing about cannons and resting in one another's arms, only for Philza to pull away first and let him and Fit be.
Pac instead thinks about friendship, and how Fit would abandon everything for Philza just as Pac would give it up for Mike, and how it seems that isn't limited to just them. Because Philza didn't send him home, just as Fit also kept close to an oddly behaving Mike. How it doesn't really matter, because in the end they both agree with where the other stands.
Pac instead thinks of nothing, and throws himself off a cliff after Philza.
For one glorious second he lets himself fall, before pulling out his own paraglider and following Philza down.
He lands on Philza's boat, and they drive it back to the mesa. It's filled with the sort of talk that means nothing, and with Philza humming tunes to the air. For a man who claims to be musically dead, he manages it well.
It's also noise, white noise to blur the absence in his mind.
"Here we are," Philza gets out first, and offers Pac a hand out. "We should be pretty close. These things are a bit of a nightmare to find, being underground, but I'm sure we'll manage."
To his surprise, Pac is passed the map while Philza puts away the boat. He has to turn it around to orientate himself, but once he has Philza gestures for him to lead the way. Philza puts himself on Pac's left - the side he holds the map, whilst his other has his scythe, shield turned out against the wild.
Pac tries to think of something to say, and what comes out is, "so did you go looking for a big cannon, or did you just stumble into it?"
The comment draws startled laughter from his companion as they walk, having to stop a moment to let him gather himself. "We knew we were going to see one, but we're exactly looking. You find them all over the coast in the UK, and I think some along the Thames too? A lot have been removed, but we like our old crap, so a couple of the old forts are still open."
"So you're saying you come from a land of many large cannons."
"Yes, Pac," Philza laughs again. "Yes, I do; don't you?"
"We have other large things instead," Pac tries to smile, but he knows it looks off. "Like diamonds."
"Diamonds?"
Pac can see Philza looking for the sex joke, and suddenly realises he doesn't actually want to explain what he meant. So instead he says, "quality over size. Even a big diamond is small."
That draws more laughter, "yeah okay mate; Fit's a lucky boy then."
That almost has Pac dropping the map he's holding as he chokes. Philza grabs him, holds him steady, gives him something to cling to with Mike and Fit and Richarlyson and Walter Bob all gone. Something there, some support, something to stop him choking on himself.
"Too much?" Philza's voice is gentler this time.
Pac nods, hiding his blush in his hands even as he leans on Philza.
"Alright," Philza says, handing him a bottle. "Drink some water, king, and we'll get this dungeon cleared. And no more dick jokes until Fit's also here to suffer. Maybe we could even come up with some new ones, just to tease him next time we all meet up."
Pac takes the bottle, hiding in his hood as he does as he's told. Philza takes the map and they continue to walk as he sips at it, hiding himself and his face in the bottle. Philza makes sure to stay in sight, keeping idle commentry going.
At this point, Pac is reasonably sure Philza knows something continues to be wrong - but then so did Fit and Pac when Philza had that strange... Maybe hallucination? Fit says it probably wasn't, and Pac trusts Fit, but whatever it was it was unsettling and strange.
Philza seems fine now, though; maybe one day Pac will be fine too.
It is about ten or fifteen minutes walk to the dungeon. There's nothing on the surface to mark it, just Philza squinting at the map, and passing it to Pac to check.
Once they agree, they dig; Philza calls 'race you!' and begins a staircase.
Pac lives for adrenaline; he starts digging straight down.
Somehow he doesn't hit lava.
He does end up falling from the top of the dungeon into a crevasse, fails to find either a water bucket or his paraglider, and breaks his leg. It's terrifying, and he's alone as he sees his death message flash up in chat but - maybe - it's okay. There's Aypierre laughing and Baghera offering help, and Philza on his black paraglider swooping in from the ceiling to assist.
"You good?" Philza asks as he pours a potion out over the wounds, his eyes almost glowing in the low light as Pac's bones knit together.
Pac leans forwards to check his prosthetic while his body heals, twitching only a little with the pain. The fall knocked a few screws loose and bent some of the metal out of shape, but it's an easy enough fix with a hammer and screwdriver. He'll check it over properly later, or maybe swap it for his spare until he has energy for it, but it'll hold for the day.
"All good," Pac confirms, as he pulls his jeans back down.
He can see Philza side-eyeing the prosthetic, and shifts; the man says nothing, however, just helps Pac up and types out an 'all good we're just dungeoning' to calm the global chat.
And then he looks at his map.
"You've got us near a corner," Philza turns his communicator to show Pac. "If we just start here and work around to the left, we shouldn't miss anything."
Pac nods, and pulls out his grapple. Together they pull themselves up and onto the ledge, and the dungeon begins.
It starts simple - Philza takes out a spawner, while Pac works on the skeletons, then they swap so Pac can loot the minetracks. Trading the mobs on and off, Pac cannot help but notice how Philza even when on mob duty prioritises looting, catching the attention of a swamp of skeletons and sending them on a chase over barrels as he smashes them open and grabs the contents. Only when he can carry no more does he start fighting, laughing as he does.
It's a nice laugh, that one.
He laughs too when Pac fights, hacking away at the iron blocks he claims to want. With every other hit there is a call of "good hit!" "nice one!" "you're doing good, Pac!", and Pac can feel himself starting to grin as well.
Together they dance in a dungeon much easier than the one Phil joined Pac and Fit for, able to let loose without worrying for the giant magma cube around the corner. They keep an eye on each other, and watch their backs, and Fit's deep voice is so clearly missing between them without feeling like a void.
By the time it is finished, they are both laughing, bone-dust covering their clothes and their tools and the world in their hands. Philza gives Pac some of the iron, and they take his staircase - not Pac's hole - out.
They don't talk about what comes next, but neither of them reach for their warpstones. Instead Pac picks a direction and walks. Philza follows.
They find a hill a little way out, surrounded by flower fields but empty of them itself. Philza lights it up with his slingshot, despite it still being around midday, and Pac makes hot chocolate for them both. Pulls out chairs, too - blue and green - and places a coffee table between them.
He sits on the blue and Philza looks at the green and says, "are you sure I'm okay to sit there? I don't wanna intrude."
Pac looks at the chair - it was just habit, just what he carries - and curls up his toes. "It's fine," he can hear the sadness in his own voice. "Mike isn't here, he wouldn't mind."
"Do you mind?"
"I got it out for you."
"Alright, king," Philza finally takes the seat and the hot chocolate, leaning back into the cushions. After a bit he adds, "these are good chairs. Maybe I should invest in something better than mine."
"They're not expensive," Pac replies. "And they're comfy! I have one instead of a bed."
He wonders if he should have admitted that - he knows people worry - but in the crash of the panic attack and the fighting it's hard to keep his mouth shut.
Philza just laughs though, "yeah? I've been using one of those wooden ones. You know? Basic ones, just in a fancy wood."
"How do you not have splinters?!"
"I'm good with my hands - what else can I say?"
They both laugh at that one, a joke which actually lands. There's something comfortable and comforting about it. The laughter drifts into giggles, drifts into sips of hot chocolate - quiet and together. Pac makes a point of not watching as Philza gets himself comfortable, untangling his wings and stretching them... Not to full width, but wide.
It's only when one brushes his arm that Pac dares to ask "what happened?"
"Hm?" Philza looks up.
"To your wings?"
"Feds fucked them up when I arrived," Philza says it like its nothing, but there's bitter pain in his words. "By purgatory they'd healed up just enough to fly, but then carrying Tubbo through meteor strikes and radiation... I can't regret it, I /won't/ regret it, but they're fucked again. I can hold them up so it seems better, but they hurt worse than before."
Pac wants to say he's sorry, but he doesn't think it would be appreciated. Instead he says "thank you for saving Tubbo."
"I couldn't just leave him," Philza says. "He's my friend too, you know?"
"I know," Pac fiddles with his cup. "You're a good man, Felipe Minecraft. I'm not sure I'd do it."
"I think you would," Philza says, with more faith in Pac than he's ever had in himself. "If it came to it. You're also a good man, Pac - if you weren't, I wouldn't let you have Fit."
It's an admission neither of them acknowledge. Instead Pac flops, exhausted, against his chair. "I'd do it for Mike. I miss him."
"I can't imagine," Philza's wings stretch a little further, stroking against Pac's cheek. "But, I'm sure he'll heal. And once he does hold him close, okay? Because you never know when you'll loose him."
It's obvious, of course Pac will try to, but there's pain in Philza's voice, and Pac thinks of a memorial on a wall and a child living in the footsteps of a ghost, and maybe Philza can imagine better than he thinks he can.
Or maybe Philza means he can't imagine, because he knows.
"Did you love him?" Pac asks instead.
"He was my best friend."
Philza's voice breaks on the word, and Pac knows both that he has to stop, and that Philza knows just what it is Pac fears. Even if he calls it different, even if they didn't share one mind... Pac should not have asked.
"I'm sorry."
"You did nothing wrong; it hurts, but in hurting I remember him, you know?"
There's a long silence, in which Pac tries to know what to say, and Philza stares absently at soft clouds on the horizon. Even in Portuguese he would struggle, and Philza is certainly not looking to his translator.
Maybe Philza and Fit are not as Pac and Mike; Philza has already lost his Mike. Or, perhaps, both are true, and even if Pac looses his best friend, someone will be there to keep him whole.
It's a nice fantasy; he knows Philza's wound bleeds open even now.
"I have never been without Mike before this island," Pac eventually admits. "At least... I was seven when we met, he was five. I've heard his thoughts since I was ten, and the first time he ever fell silent was when I was put in that water prison."
"Shit," Philza closes his eyes as he swears, leaning back. "Earlier, with the water... You should have said something, Pac, I wouldn't have judged you. Fuck knows there's shit I can't do anymore."
"I didn't know it'd be that bad," Pac hesitates after those words. "It hasn't been before. Today is just... bad? I already felt bad."
"And you came to me for company, and I made it worse," Philza says. "I am so, so sorry mate - I didn't mean to, I just- It was for Chayanne."
"It was still better than being alone," Pac replies. "The second time our connection broke was when he was taken - I haven't heard him since. Even asleep, even unconscious, even when I was in a coma... We could still feel each other. Not now. It's lonely no, and it's been so long..."
"Pac..." Philza's voice catches. "You shouldn't have to make those choices... You shouldn't have to put up with my whims just not to be alone, mate, you should have just said; we could have gone to the dungeon, or the favela, worked on the train tracks... You didn't have to swim."
"Fit is gone, Mike is gone, Richas is gone," Pac twists his hands. "You were helping me. I wanted to help you - I wanted to do something for Chayanne too! He is a good egg."
"He is," Philza smiles softly, taking the distraction for what it is. "The best. But, king, are you going to be okay?"
"When am I not?" Pac asks, as he thinks of happy pills and his own blood trailing the floors of Chume Labs.
Philza gives him a distinctly unimpressed expression and, yeah, fair, "I'm serious, Pac; I don't have plans today if you just wanna chill somewhere. Here, my place, your place, the Favela... if the karaoke's working, we could steal a room? Hell, we can just keep heading outwards and find some more dungeons if you fancy violence instead."
"... Are you sure?"
"We're friends, aren't we?" Philza asks. "We don't get to hang out as often as we should - if you'd rather get some rest, I won't stop you. Just thought I'd offer."
"Karaoke then?" Pac suggests, if only for some structure to keep the anxiety from seeping back in.
"Sure. No promises I won't fall asleep on the couch, though."
Pac laughs. It is weaker, but it is more real. "No promises, no promises here either."
In time they do, of course, fall asleep on the couch - and that is where Fit will find them in the morning.
#qsmp fanfic#qsmp philza#qsmp pac#mike and techno haunt the narrative#what is that conversation at the end idk they ran away from me#it was supposed to be about the shitty prison system#it very much is not#god this was a long one#I wanted to write it so bad#but christ 5k of continuous narrative is a lot#I've put scene breaks where they teleport#and summarised the fighting more than I meant to#but its still all one continuous scene really#and oh god was it hard to stitch together#multiple scenes so much easier for longer >.<#okay enough complaining about writing hope you enjoyed#I'll get it to ao3 when I can#but that means at least spellchecking#but oh god I'm tired after this#I've been writing it for... eight hours#on and off but without doing anything thinky between#just replying to occassional email or watching a video about a snake while I have lunch
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hello I've now played Pikmin 3 and I'm beside myself with how Nintendo keeps doing Olimar like this.
After Olimar pays off President's whole debt (and then some) in Pikmin 2 he is... back on PNF-404 in Pikmin 3. Immediately. Like immediately. Because the President lost all their money again and he's sent Olimar and Louie back to PNF-404 again exactly the same as happens to Olimar in Pikmin 2 and this time there is absolutely an undercurrent of violence in Olimar's vlogs and logs. He WANTS bad things to happen to his boss.
But he's too polite and too composed so he's just keeping his cortisol levels down with elaborate fantasies of class revolution, and the mental countdown of how many days until he can get the FUCK off this planet and get home to his family for real. He was ship-wrecked and left for dead for 30 days in Pikmin 1 and fought and bled and killed for his own survival to make it back to his planet only to then IMMEDIATELY be sent back by his shitty awful boss to the planet for another ~30 days in Pikmin 2 (he hasn't seen his family yet) and then IMMEDIATELY is sent back in Pikmin 3 and he wants to go home. He wants to go home. His daughter sends him a message asking if he even lives with them anymore. I'm fucking beside myself.
THIS would all be... okay, at least, if Olimar actually got to go home. But No The Fuck He Doesn't. Because at the end of his mission he's kidnapped by concentrated pikmin nightmare fuel in the form of the game's final boss. Some non-corporeal omnipresent monstrosity which has kidnapped Olimar as a keepsake. A pet. A toy? Which allows Olimar just the chance to attempt an escape day after day before snatching him back and dragging him back to his eternal jail cell. The man who was just about to go home and finally see his family after 3 games.
You find his logs and he's just losing his mind, slowly. He knows he's never escaping. He's losing his will to try. He has nightmares of the pikmin turning on him. Louie's not coming back for him and the President isn't coming back for him.
Pikmin 1 is horror as Olimar is stranded alone with no one but himself to save him. His life support is damaged and he has only 30 days to repair his ship to get home, lest he die in the poisonous atmosphere of this planet. And it's horrifying but at least. At least. He had his own power to save himself. He makes progress steadily over the month. He has reason to keep his hope alive.
Pikmin 3 robs him of that. There is nothing under his own power he can do to escape the Plasm Wraith. His pikmin have all been killed. He's in an unwinnable Saw trap. And this time his life support system isn't damaged. It's the only thing worse than damaged - it's completely functional.
Given that, playing as the Koppaite trio, there is no time limit to save Olimar, I can only conclude Olimar's suit is fully functional this time. He has no food, no water, no chance to ever change out of his suit, but it keeps him alive. He's the Plasm Wraith's prisoner for as long as that suit will keep him alive. Indefinitely, maybe. Unless he could work up the nerve to remove his helmet himself and just end it...
But he doesn't. Day after day he tries to escape until he doesn't have the strength anymore. His suit forces him to sleep more and more, against his will, as a life preservation method. So he's forced to fade in and out of consciousness as this thing's prisoner. And this is forever. Until he dies.
The Koppaite trio rescuing him is pure coincidence. They were on PNF-404 for reasons completely divorced from Olimar. They should never have cared who he was or where he was. Olimar just happened to come across their warp drive key when they crashed, and he picked it up, right before the Plasm Wraith took him. They find him for the warp drive key. The Koppaite trio weren't supposed to save Olimar. No one was supposed to save Olimar.
And how. Awful. Because this time people KNOW Olimar is on PNF-404. President is back home on Hocotate and knows he's lost contact with Louie and Olimar. He could send help but he doesn't. He could COME to help but he doesn't. Olimar isn't waywardly alone this time. He's abandoned. And abandoned by the man who forced him into this danger.
And depending how well you play, and how many fruits you get as the Koppaite trio, a normal run is probably 20-30 days for them BEFORE you rescue Olimar. He was taken soon after they landed. So a month. Another month. Of Olimar stranded on this planet. Worse than ever before, as he's nothing but the mouse being played with by this world's cruelest cat. He hasn't been allowed to take off his space suit for a month... After ~30 days of Pikmin 1 and ~30 of Pikmin 2 and now ~30 of Pikmin 3. His daugher thinks he doesn't live with them anymore...
And then... okay and then... the Koppaite trio rescue him... They offer to bring him home. And Olimar's beside himself because he never thought he was getting off this planet. Someone's shown kindness to him for the first time in 3 games and it takes him by absolute surprise.
He and Louie get home.
AND THE PRESIDENT CALLS THEM IDIOTS FOR LOSING THEIR SHIP AND SENDS THEM IMMEDIATELY BACK TO GET THE SHIP
THE PLASM WRAITH IS STILL THERE AND ALIVE.
IT IS LEGALLY AND ETHICALLY ALLOWED FOR OLIMAR TO KILL HIS BOSS.
#chrissy plays pikmin 3#pikmin#pikmin 3#also since so much of this is from the Koppaite trio's perspective youre allowed to just. not lean into these implications#especially if you're not collecting and reading Olimar's logs#you can kinda be like 'wow woo we saved this guy :)'#THIS MAN'S EXISTENCE IS A FUCKING WAR CRIME DONE TO HIM EVERY DAY#chrissy talks pikmin
706 notes
·
View notes
Text
If Beezlebub Is Portrayed As Nice, Then Why Isn't She Concerned With The Conditions Of Her Subjects The Hellhounds
While Vivziepop states that Beezlebub is one of the good sings (despite that being a contradiction), but that contradicts with the fact that she signs onto the hellhound adoption system. Seriously, we see her signature on the certificate approving this adoption, so she knows how shitty the adoption process is but does shit about it. If she really is as nice as Vivziepop says she is, then she would be more caring about her main subjects being treated like crap. It again was a stupid idea to make some of the sins be good if she again wants to show hell as a shithole.
Seriously, this looks like a prison rather than a childcare center. This shouldn't be a place where a supposed sin is observing over. Again it's another result of her contradictory worldbuilding which can also conflict with a characterization. Vivziepop should think how she wanted to characterize Beezlebub because if the worldbuilding contradicts her character then she either changes how Hellhounds are treated or again not make Bee a hellhound herself and not do shit to help them.
126 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Lock-up episode of children's show BTAS really said "you know these villains who are seemingly never redeemed or improving? Well they're actually being horribly mistreated and abused in the mental institution that's supposed to help them by the American Police/Prison System made into a completely unsympathetic character :)" and made a more effective point about the state of most mental health institutions and the police than most things today.
I love this episode because it shows without a doubt that batman cares about these peoples lives and WANTS them to improve. He doesn't even humor Lyles bullshit, he just beats his ass up whilst telling him he has no compassion (based batman).
Because no matter how shitty people like Scarecrow(who has no explicit sad backstory in btas)are, they are still just people and need to be treated as such if they are to improve. You cannot expect someone to get better by treating them like vermin with no hope of change. They are in a mental institution. They are supposed to be treated with care to have any chance of rehabilitation.
Not like Lyle Bolton wanted to help them or see them improve anyway. He just wanted to feel powerful by abusing helpless people he had control over. And that's why people don't like Lyle Bolton while they do other villains. He isn't a fun concept. He's real. He represents a real issue. People like Lyle Bolton are real. As I'm writing this very post my father is watching a YouTube video in the living room from one of them. Abusers in positions of power complaining about being "censored" by the liberal media and how "those types" of people aren't people and don't deserve to live.
The entire trial scene is so hard to watch because even though the patients of Arkham are clearly being abused and threatened in front of everyone, no one (except Bruce) seems to notice. If Bruce hadn't instigated the patients freak-out, they never would have said anything about the mistreatment they were receiving from the very place that was supposed to help them. They literally end up huddling together, shaking in fear as Lyle, barely being able to be restrained, screams at them about how they're scum that deserve to be beaten to death. There's a theory that Scarecrow not only escaped to get away from Lyle Bolton, but to get help for the other inmates as well. And if that was the intention, well, I'm glad he succeeded.
The only unrealistic part of the episode is the fact that Lyle actually got punished.
#batman the animated series#Btas#Lock-up#lock up#lyle bolton#batman: the animated series#batman#btas scarecrow#jonathan crane#cw abuse#abuse mention
175 notes
·
View notes
Text
Whirl has started to grow on me, but I’ve had some thoughts about his time in prison, and if it’s truly a point where I’m supposed to sympathize with his character. And after a while of going back and forth with it, I had to remind myself that Whirl (like half of the people on the Lost Light) was a bad person lol.
And I personally believe Whirl got most everything he deserved in prison. He was a corrupt cop who used his position and power to harm people. Innocent people. And he was smug about it.
Yes--even Megatron prior to him becoming Megatron. And while Whirl isn’t at fault for Megatron becoming a dictator, usually when oppressed people are beat to a breaking point, shit does hit the fan. Megatron adopting a “burn it all” mindset after being beaten by a cop and starting a revolution can be tied in some part to Whirl. Whirl represented an oppressive system that went unchecked.
Now this isn’t saying Whirl is to blame for the genocide and Megatron’s actions and choices to harm innocent people. No, not at all. That’s all on Megatron and his followers.
But it is saying that Whirl was a catalyst for a revolution.
He was shitty, which is the point of his narrative. He harmed and hurt people because of his position as a cop, and spent the following years in and out of prison. He saw what his actions contributed to.
Like i love Whirl because I have a soft spot for complex characters and complex narratives, both good and bad, but his time in prison was very much earned. It’s interesting to see how it impacts him in his every day life.
He’s also in a situation where he can’t necessarily complain about it because it’s largely his fault.
60 notes
·
View notes
Text
following the current, circling the drain
read on a03 | spotify playlist for good vibes
Well, shit, this certainly complicates things. Found myself in a bit of a conundrum now, haven't I? You probably have too, since you're also sitting in this shitty little cracker box of a "prison cell" in the basement of self-proclaimed warlord and arms dealer Sitis Epirian's sort-of-mansion. Or what counts as a mansion on this blessed rock called Omega. It’s more like a mercenary compound with fancy art tacked up on the walls than an actual mansion. Big and fortified, just like any hobbyist warlord should have.
Name's Inonsi, I'd say it's good to meet you, but the circumstances being what they are ...
Shit, will you calm down? Stop freaking out, it's not so bad here. They even put a bucket in here so you can piss somewhere other than your pants or the floor. I've been stuck in worse, comes with the territory. If you wait patiently, everything will work out, you can trust me on that. I've never let something like six-inch bulletproof glass with kinetic impact barriers, high tech security systems, locks, and a literal mercenary army stop me before. And if you so happen to slip out when I'm done ... well, that's none of my business, now is it?
I know what you're thinking, how did the drell with beautiful shining scales and eyes like endless obsidian pools end up getting manhandled and tossed into a man like Epirian's torture dungeon? Well, I could tell you the entire story from start to finish in exacting and exhaustive detail, right down to the number of buttons on my father's dinner jacket that he wore one time when I was five years old (seven brass buttons that caught the light and shimmered like small stars, by the way), but I won't do that. You humans don't have the attention span for that kind of biography.
But we've got some time to kill, I love talking about myself, and you seem like you're on the verge of a stroke. You need a distraction. Put your feet up friend, relax and let the tide flow out to the sea.
Disappearing Apprentice
I was a special child, training under a specialist known far and wide for her skills in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. Why was a child training under someone like that? Easy enough answer, the Compact. The hanar saved my people two centuries ago and now there's some long-held belief that all drell owe a debt to the hanar for it. And so sometimes, promising young upstarts with apparent skill in sneaking around and good balance get plucked from their parents to be trained as assassins, soldiers and mercenaries, and they're supposed to be thankful for it.
Etensan Laon was a difficult mistress, impossible to please.
"Again!" She shouts. A crimson scaled hand flies out and wraps tight around my ankle. One short tug topples me from my perch on the worn balance beam, the fading vinyl covering over the center evidences the apprentices of times past. I land hard on my back, my breath comes in short, painful gasps, her fingers are still digging around my ankle. She sneers down at me, lips turned up in the left corner with disdain. There are white stripes running from the crown of her head to her neck. "Balance and attention, Inonsi! Simply remaining upright when you land your jump is not sufficient. You will fall to your death if a strong breeze catches you unaware, as I have just done."
I am only seven years old, but she will not let go of my ankle. I know I must free myself from her grasp. One cannot depend on never being caught. Her talons scrape against my scales, still sore from the last two days we have been doing this exercise, repeating this exact scenario. "Yes, Sera Laon," I say before I swing my other leg beneath hers and attempt to pull her down. She does not fall to the ground, her knee only buckles, but her grip around my ankle weakens and I roll back, pulling myself free.
It is sloppy, unskilled, but it works. I leap back onto the balance beam to start again. I must be perfect. Etensan Laon does not tolerate imperfection.
Oh, sorry about that. Happens sometimes. You get used to it.
Well, I trained with Laon until I was ten years old. I was great. At ten years old, if something had a neck, I could theoretically snap it. If there was something to climb, leap from, hide behind, or twist myself into, I could do it. You know that thing in all the spy movie vids where the spy disappears into a crowd or into a passing shadow? Well, I could do that too. But I wasn't perfect, and I hated that as much as Laon seemed to hate me. It worked out in the end though.
Because I got to leave.
I was allowed to visit with my parents sometimes, and one of those times, my world went upside down. You see dear old dad got involved in some political scandal, the nature of which is quite embarrassing if you know anything about hanar-drell politics, which you don't, so don't worry your head about it. Suffice to say, he and mom elected to leave Kahje and well, they weren't going to leave precious little Inonsi behind. I waved goodbye to Kahje from the private passenger cabin of a very pricey transport shuttle. I was ten and to my mind it was an exciting adventure. Besides, I'd gotten in trouble with Laon because I had been caught stealing yetae blossoms from the tree in the meditation garden, and my parents were in such a rush to get off world that she never had the opportunity to tattle on me.
How was I supposed to know you weren't allowed to pluck them straight from the tree? It's not like there were signs posted around the ancient tree that I willfully ignored from the moment I arrived at the training center to the moment I left it. The blossoms smelled so sweet. If they didn't want me taking them, maybe they shouldn't have smelled so good. Following the rules has never been my strong suit.
If my parents had known then exactly how often I was stealing they might have kept a better eye on me once we landed at our destination, because flowers from a tree didn't even really count as stealing, there were other things. Mostly Laon's things. I didn't even keep them, I would just sneak into her quarters or pick her pockets and take things. Datapads, credit chits, clothing, incense burners ... whatever I could get my little hands on. I threw almost all of it into the ocean. She never caught me stealing anything that mattered. Just those fucking flowers that she treated like holy relics.
Urchin? Sort of.
And then, middle, middle, middle. You don't want to hear about the quiet years on Teyolia, where father dearest conducted secretive business, and I definitely did not make a habit of listening in on his conversations or hacking his computer terminal and reading his encrypted emails. I most certainly didn't bug his office. Nope. Not Inonsi, she never ever would have done that.
Just kidding. Let's just say that perhaps nature versus nurture might lean more toward nature in my case. My poor, long-suffering mother.
I kept to myself at school mostly, I stuck out like ... well a bright orange and purple thumb in a sea of tall, blue and beautiful girls. I was easy to mock, short by asari standards (and also drell standards, but that's neither here nor there), and very, very different. It's okay though, the meanest of the girls, Paresya, found a lot of her school supplies missing. A lot of her girlfriends too, as we got older. What can I say? I have a certain mystique about me, it would be a shame not to leverage that to my advantage.
Oh please, don't give me that look. You're in this cell too. Don't tell me you've never done something juvenile and vindictive like stealing someone's girlfriend or boyfriend out of spite. I don't believe it.
When I was sixteen I grew dreadfully bored of school and of teenage asari superiority, so I started skipping classes frequently. It's incredible how long you can get away with that if you know how to hack into the school's attendance system and reprogram the VI that calls the parents when you're absent. All those phone calls went to some takeout joint in the next city over. By the time my parents were contacted by a real person, I'd missed approximately a quarter of that year's lessons.
You know, those asari do a very good job of making their colonies and cities look like marvelous, utopic jewels. If you stay on all the main thoroughfares, in all of the tourist centers, you might even find yourself believing it. But at sixteen, I found my way to the seedy underbelly of Iare, a moderately large city in the main colony of Teyolia. I found a group of kids, far more diverse than I'd ever been exposed to before. I was used to living first around drell and hanar exclusively, and then mostly asari. They were poor kids, a pair of turian siblings whose parents were day laborers, a salarian whose dad was sort of like mine, but unlike mine had recently had the rug pulled out from under him, and an asari who didn't talk about her family at all.
I pulled the same trick. They were fun kids, and I didn't want them to know that I got to go home at night to a nice apartment with flawed, but loving parents. Zelthatea, Zel to anyone who didn’t want to get socked in the face, didn’t talk about her family for much darker reasons, but I was sixteen, and using her method seemed like the best way to fit in.
We were tight, those kinds of bonds formed by committing small acts of theft and property damage together. The kinds formed through spending whole days together rough housing and running away from cops, shrieking with relieved laughter as we narrowly escaped capture. And then they found out I could do tricks. I could scale a building, leap from rooftop to rooftop, and I started teaching them how to do some of it. Soon enough, we had ourselves a little gang of roof running hooligans, we would do beer runs on convenience stores, and escape into alleys and up and away from prying eyes, that sort of thing.
We got too big for our ill-fitting pants, though. I wish I could tell you that I don’t remember whose idea it was to break into a corporate office and try to make off with company secrets, but if a drell ever tell you that, you know they’re lying. Only one of us had a dad who was in the corporate espionage business, so you do the math. There I was, in the CEO’s office with Zel, Apus and Catiae were our lookouts and were pretending to be janitors. Dex (the salarian, he didn’t like us using his real name) was our man on the outside, he was supposed to keep an eye out for security and police activity. He lost his nerve the first time he saw someone who looked like she might have been security and darted off without telling us!
“Shit, something’s up, get out of there!” Apus calls into the room right before tossing the trash cart over on its side and dashing down the hall towards the fire stairs. Catiae is hot on his heels. Her secondhand boots crash against the tile floor noisily as her footsteps pound heavy, sounding her escape. They don’t quite fit her yet. They were her mothers, one of the buckles hangs loose, it clinks mockingly as she ducks through the door.
Zel looks at me, panic in wide, ocean blue eyes. She is already crying, but she doesn’t want to leave me behind. She is always so sweet, usually quiet. Three emerald lines draw down over her pointed chin, the only facial markings she has. “Zel, hide! I’ll run a distraction. Don’t leave until it’s safe,” I say. Out of all of us, she doesn’t deserve to get caught committing a real crime.
I snatch the OSD I was using to transfer a clone of the CEO’s terminal on and beat feet out of the door. Four guards turn the corner, they wear heavy armor, deep blue, accented with gold. I wave my hand at them, making sure they see the OSD held in my fingers. “Genteux gives his regards!” I shout. Genteux doesn’t exist, or at least, I do not believe he does, I’ve never heard of anyone named Genteux. I run for the elevator and dart inside. I send it down to the first floor, climb out of the maintenance hatch and pry open the doors on the second. One, two, three, four running steps to the window. It is not the kind that opens. Shit, I panic. I pick up a chair and send it hurling through with a neon biotic burst.
No hesitation, I leap through, tuck and roll to the ground. It hurts, but I haven’t broken anything. I land right in the center of a congregation of Iare’s finest, guns raised and trained on me.
Everyone but Dex got caught. I did my best to take the fall for it. It was my big-brained idea after all. But well, my dad wasn’t exactly a paragon of upstanding citizenry, as I have alluded to already. Money floated into someone’s grasping hands, and I was let off with a slap on the wrist. Despite my desperate pleading, daddy dearest did not extend his kindness to the poor kids who got wrapped up in my ego.
Well, my days as an up-and-coming criminal mastermind were cut quite short at that point. Mom was furious, dad was embarrassed, and apparently lost a lot of business (judging by the angry phone calls I was still horning my way into) because I allegedly chose my target based on some conversations that were very private. Allegedly.
We picked up and moved again. I won’t tell you where to, dad still lives there, conducting his business.
They say there’s no honor among thieves, but I am daddy’s little girl. I never put his lifestyle in jeopardy again, and I will not do so now.
Mom eventually wised up to his shenanigans, by the way, and is living the high life in the tropics. Last I heard, she’s started seeing a nice young drell. Good for her. I believe you humans would call her a cougar. She seems happy, and that’s what matters.
Hey, settle! The guard’s just cranky because of the little surprise I left in one of the bathrooms. I mean, maybe some people think a flashbang rigged up so that the pin gets pulled when the door opens isn’t a good prank, but those people aren’t tormenting assholes like these guys. This guard’s a pussy, he’s just trying to rattle our cage a bit. Keep it together, will you? Losing your cool because the guy is threatening to pull our fingernails out one by one because he has a migraine and moderate to severe hearing loss now is a surefire way to miss our chance.
Now, where was I? Oh, don’t answer that, it’s hypothetical. I know exactly where I was.
Actually an Acrobat
I was kept under lock and key right up until my parents could no longer do so without it being considered false imprisonment or kidnapping. I mean, I still got out. Often. Civilian security is child’s play, and it’s frankly embarrassing that more people don’t know how to hack open a regular old apartment door and slip out into the night.
This story has to, of course, touch on tragic young love. All the great stories do. And mine is pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I do.
Upon gaining the freedom afforded by adulthood, I immediately tried my hand at the nightclub scene. I learned two things right away, club goers are easy pick-pocketing targets, and that the cocktail called the “Rough Tide” is the best alcoholic beverage to be crafted by clever asari mixologists. Its main components are lunassa, a very strong asari liquor, and juice from the olan fruit native to Kahje. There are other things mixed in it, but I’ve never bothered with the finer points of cocktail mixing. The sweetness of the fruit masks the surprising strength of the liquor, and when you stand up the tide sweeps you off your feet.
I’ve made some of my best bad decisions under the influence of a Rough Tide … or three … or four. My favorite best bad decision was Tertus Achaso, even when you account for the aforementioned tragedy. I was sitting at the bar, pleasantly drunk but not out of my mind on it, when a barefaced turian with a charming smile, chipped third tooth, and sharp, honey eyes slid onto the seat next to me. His first words to me were, “So do the colors go all the way down?” Very charming. Very smooth. It should have been very off-putting. But what can I say? I’m a sucker for a good smile.
“Buy me another drink, and maybe you’ll find out,” I answered. I was looking for a good time, and it seemed I had found it. What? Oh, the answer? I am all the colors of a desert sunset from my head to my toes. You should be so lucky to see me in my full glory.
Stop distracting me.
We talked for a while, and he did buy me a drink, another Rough Tide. He laughed when I told him that I couldn’t stand the taste of hard liquor. He laughed even harder when I admitted that I had (still have, thank you) a terrible sweet tooth. One thing led to the only place this was ever going – a cheap hotel room.
He smells of fresh cut lumber and canvas. There is a scar cut deep into the keel of his chest, long healed. Dark brown hide, patterned with sandy, rough plates. He’s surprisingly gentle for someone so large. Fingers tenderly trace down-
Ahem, sorry. That’s not the kind of memory that one should share, especially with a stranger. We’ll just gloss over that by me telling that he worked for a traveling circus, and I happen to be very flexible. I made an impression on him, and he made an impression on me.
So Inonsi runs off with the no-so-smooth talking turian to join the circus, right? I had stars in my eyes, like all young women do. Tertus could do no wrong, and I became enamored with both him and the idea that I could make a living of being an entertainer. I wowed audiences with suicidal feats of acrobatic grace, tight ropes, swinging on long swathes of cloth, leaping from heights that made most people sick. Finally, I was putting my training to use. No more petty thievery for me, and breaking and entering because I was bored, I was going straight.
Ha!
See the thing was that those kinds of circuses, the ones that are not owned by multibillion credit entertainment conglomerates, are filled to the brim with criminals and rejects of every stripe. Beautiful, gentle, and sweet Tertus was one of them. A criminal, I mean. He was probably a reject too, but he was my, admittedly very small, world so I didn’t see him that way. Some nights, he would step away from the other stagehands to go make phone calls. I’ve always been too curious for my own good. I listened in on those too, I am ashamed to say. I am capable of some shame, not much, but some.
Look, I didn't listen because I didn't trust him. I just like to know things. People are always having such interesting conversations, don't you think?
If only listening in on his conversations drove me to some sort of action. But it didn't. He had the kind of debts a lowlife criminal with a former drug addiction came upon. Tertus did more crimes to make creds so he could pay those debts, circus work does not pay well, and in the process, he pissed some very bad people off. This place wasn't like Omega, where you can't throw a rock without hitting some wannabe mob boss, so he thought he would be safe traveling with a planet-side circus.
It was the morning before our first show in a new city, I'd been with the circus and Tertus for several months at that point (eight months and four days according to the local calendar, to be exact). We actually had an auditorium to perform in that time, and I was excited do all of my tricks. There were poles to climb, flowing fabrics to spin around in, things to dive off of. It was going to be magnificent, and people were going to learn my name. And Tertus and I were going to live happily forever. And he was late to meet me at a diner for breakfast. That wasn't very unusual, circus folk run on a different sort of clock - the kind that's always late.
But after an hour of waiting, I decided to go looking for him. As I was crossing over a foot bridge heading back towards the hotel most of us were staying at, I heard boots slamming on concrete. Have you ever heard a sound that's innocuous, an everyday sound, but it's so wrong it sets your teeth on edge?
Sun is warm on my back. One, two, three, four rushing steps, panicked breathing. I look up and see Tertus running full speed toward me. He doesn't see me at first, too focused on watching his feet to make sure he doesn't trip. His eyes meet mine, halfway across the bridge, eyes wide with fear. "Go! Run!" he shouts as he grows nearer to me. But I can see what he cannot.
Three men carrying assault rifles are gaining on him. Two turians, one krogan.
I know something that Tertus doesn't. You can't outrun a bullet. The world slows to a crawl. Fear roots me to my spot until it is too late to do anything to save him. I have never heard a gun fired outside of a range or without protection for my ears before. Three, four, five muzzle flashes. Cobalt blood like rain splatters across the ground, Tertus falls forward as though he has been pushed.
My training spurs me to action. I’ve never actually taken a life before, but these men hurt my Tertus. I run towards them, using my very unimpressive biotic talent to generate a barrier. Dodge to the right, jump onto the railing of the bridge, leap from the rail, use the momentum to snap the neck of the turian closest to me. Maintain my momentum, stay in fluid motion. There's a gun in my hand and the second turian falls with the sound of automatic gunfire filling my ears. It's too fucking loud.
Something burns in my leg and my stomach, but I can’t stop moving. If the krogan gets his hands on me, I'll die. I leap onto his back, I nearly drop the assault rifle, it’s too big for me. I launch myself from his crest plate and fire down into his neck while I’m still in the air. It's sloppy, it's messy, it's too fucking loud. He’s still coming, and I just keep firing. It's over. I'm covered in blood, indigo, cadmium orange, and my own emerald. A cruel painting in brilliant organic color. I run to Tertus.
He's already dead. Honey eyes glassy. Jaw lax, mandibles hang limp next to his dear, sweet face. I scream, everything hits me all at once. The fear, the anger, the heartbreak. But I have no time, I hear more boots on the ground, and I am surrounded by bodies and covered in blood.
I don't hesitate. I leap into the river and follow the current to somewhere new.
Please, don't apologize. Everyone on this station has a tragic backstory. I bet you have one that's a real doozy. The river flows out to the sea, and so too I've learned that you have to keep living. You humans have a saying, "Go with the flow." It fits very nicely with my personal philosophy. Which is why I have to insist that you keep your pants on and stay calm, our time will come. If you try to take your chance too soon, it fucks things up. Swim with the current, not against it, friend. You'll just make yourself tired fighting the undertow, and then you'll sink to the bottom.
We wouldn't want that, now would we?
Star System Hopping Woman of Mystery Thief
If you have to ask how or why I ended up on Omega, I'd have to ask you if you've been listening at all. True, I don't live here full time. I'm sort of a star system hopping woman of mystery. But I do end up on Omega very often. You'd be surprised how many art sellers and antique collectors are just straight up criminals. Or maybe you wouldn't be. You are in the same basement holding cell as I am, after all. Or did you come here for something other than stealing priceless relics from a murderer?
Please don't tell me you came here to steal his weapons! How uninspired.
Anyways, of course I mourned Tertus. But I was scared, possibly wanted for the murder of three people, maybe four if you account for the possibility that it would have been very easy for the local police force to pin the whole disaster on me. I was naïve, but I wasn’t stupid. So I did what every young, unfortunate fool who gets tangled up in big time criminal activity and is too stubborn to ask dad for help does: I caught the first transport to Omega I could get. (I snuck aboard some mercenary gang’s smuggling vessel. I fit into crates quite nicely, don’t you know?)
Here's what I learned my first week on Omega:
No one gives a shit about you. They don’t care who you are, who you were, or what you did. Minding your own business is a matter of survival here.
The pickpockets here don’t even try to hide what they’re doing. They just run real fast when they get caught. I always catch them.
The bartenders here have never heard of a Rough Tide. At any of the bars and clubs.
There are a lot of assholes here who think they’re hiding the fact that they have goods that are worth something.
Hallex is a great time if taken in moderation and while dancing with bright lights and pretty girls.
Oh, don’t give me that look. Go back to lesson number one and mind your own fucking business. I was dealing with the traumatic death of my boyfriend, and the guilt of killing people. Besides, you learn to have a more relaxed view of party drugs when your own skin secretes a toxin that makes people see sounds and hear colors. I’m a walking party drug. What? No, you can’t try! What, am I supposed to let a stranger suck on my fingers or lick my face just because they’re curious? I don’t know you well enough for that. There’s a two drink minimum for that kind of talk.
Besides, you’ll need a clear head to get out of here. Or did you forget that we’re in a warlord’s torture cave?
It didn’t take very long for me to grow bored of partying my feelings away, and even less time for me to start planning a heist. Eh, less of a heist, and more like I broke into some rich pirate king’s hideout and stole anything I could carry that was worth something. I also hacked his terminals and wiped all of his accounts and infected everything with a computer in the building with a virus. His operations came to a screeching halt, and I gleefully lined my pockets with his ill-gotten gains.
Oh, you thought I was one of those do-gooder thieves who robs the rich to feed the poor or whatever? You’re too funny! I have rules against stealing from poor folk, and I don’t use street kids and beggars in any of my schemes like some others of my ilk. But I’m in this business for myself.
Breaking into low security hideouts and penthouse suites when no one was home lost its luster very quickly. I’ve always loved a challenge, and I’m prone to acting unwisely when I’m bored. I started traveling again, I’ve hit museums, government archives, art galleries, even corporate research facilities. Sometimes, someone pays me (I come pricey) to steal something for them, but mostly I hear about something I really want to touch (or fence, whatever,) and I go and take it. If my marks don’t want me to steal it, they should secure it better.
Oh, you’ll love this. Once, I received word that a relic of one Earth’s ancient royalty was going to be up for auction at some high society party in Paris, yes that Paris. Collectors have been shuffling around Marie Antoinette's pearl and diamond pendant for literal centuries. It was one of those “benefits” that the rich and famous throw that never actually benefits anyone but their own image. Stealing it was surprisingly easy. I stole it before the display case ever made it to the auction floor, but they didn’t even notice it was gone until they unveiled it to start the bidding. It was my first, and only, taste of champagne.
A waiter wearing a tuxedo hands me a fluted glass filled with golden, bubbling liquid. I taste it, and I’m very unimpressed. It’s very bitter for something that looks so tempting. A warm chuckle takes me by surprise, and I turn to see a handsome young man, dark curly hair, very dark skin and wide brown eyes, who is watching me. “Not a fan of the beverage offerings, I take it?” he asks jovially.
“No, I’m afraid not. The drinks on the homeworld are much sweeter,” I respond. There’s a slim-to-none chance that a random human on Earth would know anything about Kahje, and an exactly zero chance that he would know about Rakhana at all. I could tell him literally anything about my “homeworld” (one which I had not been to since I was ten, the other a place that was more cautionary tale and myth than homeworld), and he would have to believe me. I set the glass on a nearby table.
"Are you here for the auction? There aren't very many aliens here." He nods his head back toward to crowd starting to form on the bidding floor. He's right, there are a few asari here and one salarian, bright yellow skin with emerald speckles on his horns and the backs of his hands. I know my time is coming soon. The man smiles, teeth shining pearls, his left incisor is too high on his gum, giving it the appearance of an animal's fang. I like it. It's a shame I'll be leaving soon. I never learn his name.
"I am as a matter of fact, here on behalf of a hanar friend. He has an interest in antiques from other cultures, but sadly, could not make the trip himse-" My lie is cut off by first worried tittering up at the stage and the chaos and panic erupts as they open the secure vault container and find it empty.
The man looks around frantically, trying to piece together what is happening until his eyes fall on me again. More specifically, to the necklace hanging framed by the daring neckline of my suit jacket. A single tear-shaped pearl hanging beneath diamonds arranged in a ribbon’s bow, and above that one large round diamond, all hanging from a cheap silver chain I nicked from a department store jewelry counter earlier that day.
I press my finger to my lips and whisper, "Watch this." I take off running for the open balconies, pushing party goers out of my way, one, two, three strides before I am standing on the balcony rail, the small barrier to a long drop and a messy death. I rip the pendant free of the necklace and place it in a secured pocket sewn inside of my suit and step off the balcony.
With a twist my body I am hurtling towards the ground in a dive. A press of a small button on my bracelet as I spread my arms, my daring fashion choice turns from a strange, webbed cape sewn into the arms and body of my jacket, into semi-rigid wings. Soaring between skyscrapers is one of the most freeing experiences I have ever had.
It took a little doing, but I managed to sneak off Earth the next day. I still have the pendant. I wear it to parties sometimes. What do you mean, why do I wear it? It's jewelry, isn't it? I don't have an art gallery, friend. I don't typically keep things in glass cases. But don't get it twisted, even if you found out where I keep my things and occasionally live, you wouldn't be able to get in. That pearl stays mine.
Oh! That's our cue. That sound that just rocked the very foundation of this building is how I'm getting out of here. If you would be so kind as to press down on the bench over there with your boot while I - uh - change positions here to - uh - get better leverage with a good kick. There's a cotter pin in there I can use to break the lock.
Alright, on three be ready so you don't eat it when the bench collapses. One, two, three!
Beautiful! Now while the guards are all going to check out the giant hole in the wall- why did I plant bombs? Rule number one of thieving, always have a plan for if you get caught. I wouldn't have been caught if it weren't for some clown getting caught with their grabby little hands in Epirian's weapons cache just as I was heading to my original escape route. Funny that. But it’s no sweat off my back (mostly because I don’t sweat) but also because I always have a secondary escape plan.
Though they aren’t usually quite so … explosive.
But all is not lost. These idiots couldn't do a successful pat down on me even if I was naked as sin. There's an OSD in a hidden pocket with clones of all of Sitis' terminals and datapads.
What? Oh, you thought I was here for the art or his antiques? Ha! I guess I did allude to the art quite often. No. Dear old dad needed a hand. Family business, and all that. Do you know how many creds those corporate bigwigs at companies like say ... Armax Arsenal will pay to keep proof that they've been dealing super advanced weaponry to pirate king arms dealers an ugly little secret?
So much it would make your head spin. Let's say that good ol' Sitis deals with a few of these bigwigs. Papa dearest collects the blackmail money from those nasty weapons manufacturers, and dear, sweet Inonsi helps collapse Epirian's little criminal empire. For purely selfish reasons, of course. (Dear, sweet Inonsi also makes a fat stack of creds in the process.)
Now, stop interrupting. This is a Saronis Applications Securitron-X78 model haptic interface lock. A baby could open this with the right tools, but I do still need to focus. Just insert the pin into this little gap here, use it as a conduit for a little biotic pulse like such and bingo! We're almost home free, my friend.
If you’re going to stick with me to get out of here, you’ll need to do what I say, when I say it. We go with the flow, take our opportunities as they come to us, not a moment before, not a moment after. If we play our cards right, we’ll slip out unnoticed. And hey, if you impress me on our way out, maybe you’ll get the pleasure of being another one of my best bad decisions. What do you say?
13 notes
·
View notes
Note
i’m curious as to whether your “live and let live” approach to non-normative behavior applies to those whose ‘kinks’ arguably cause material harm to themselves and others. i’m talking here about people who produce written or drawn CSAM, people openly fetishize rape in spaces full of abuse survivors, bdsm guys who get off on hitting women, and the like. are we to ignore them on the grounds that all parties involved gave consent? anyone who’s ever been in an abusive relationship can tell you that consent does not imply the absence of coercive dynamics, and all human behaviors, including sexuality, are influenced by & capable of upholding oppressive societal power structures. i suppose i’m just confused considering it’s generally accepted in leftist circles that we should critique and self-reflect upon the ways that our behaviors and interpersonal interactions are influenced by the society that we live in, but kinks are frequently treated as simple personal quirks—as if they exist in a vacuum.
This is frankly a very accusatory and passive-aggressive ask to drop into a complete stranger's inbox so I can only assume something I posted upset you, even though you haven't given me further context on what that might be. Are you "curious," or are you looking for a target to work out your discomfort or anxiety or frustrations around this topic? Because while I'm genuinely willing to have this discussion with you, I'm not optimistic that it will be a productive one if (my impression from the general tone here) you're solely looking for a fight.
That said, maybe I'm reading you wrong! Or maybe I'm reading real frustration and anxiety over some understandably fraught topics, but the curiosity and confusion are sincere. I'm not trying to dunk on you here; I'm just not interested in being a chew toy, and tone can be tricky on the internet.
What I will say for now is this: I need two hands to count the people I personally know (offline. that I know of.) who have been raped. I live in a country that locks away nearly 1% of its population in a prison system where rape is so endemic - and societally recognized as such - that it's the punchline to shitty jokes. Arguably rape is normal - or at least, the systems and attitudes that perpetuate it are normal. Which of course does not and could never make it moral, and which is exactly why I object to conflating normality with morality.
If someone is harming others the problem is that they are harming others, regardless of how normative or not their actions may be. "Nobody else is doing it," is not in itself an ethical condemnation, any more than "Everybody else is doing it," is an ethical defense. In fact, "normalcy" and respectability and the social power derived from upholding the status quo are frequently among the best weapons and shields of abusers.
Weirdness is not violence. Violence is violence, and frequently it's entirely "normal" (common, unremarkable, systemic) in everything but the minds and words of people who NEED it to be other and aberrant, lest they have to reckon with the radical social changes it would take to solve it.
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
On the Mayor and the (Now Dead) Head of Guild
Man, now I've just been thinking of what's going on in the city while Phil and Techno have been chilling in a train car between the mayor and the head of the Guild because it's just two horrible people who are horrible in different ways fucking up each other's horrible plans for the city. And it's hilarious.
Mayor: You need to hire these (horrible) people as superheroes and promote them.
HoG: No.
Mayor: Yes. I’m the mayor and I’m telling you to do this.
HoG: Ma'am that's nepotism. We don't do that here.
Mayor: ...
HoG: Anyway, I've got to get to court. I think my testimony in that robbery case will help give the 12-year-old who thought his older brother was taking him to McDonalds life in prison.
Mayor: Wait? What? No!
The HoG is specifically designed to be the one person the mayor cannot do anything about. (Except, ya know, murder him eventually.)
The head of the guild is the type of person who eats a plain boiled egg and coffee for breakfast every morning.
If you ask him what he thinks of the Filet-O-Fish from McDonalds, he says he's never tried it because he only orders Big Macs. Not because he likes them, but because it is the first thing on the menu.
He hates crime. He hates crime so much that it makes him evil. He'd give your grandmother the death penalty for accidently backing over a mailbox because it's government property if he could.
He's made the criminal justice system absolutely horrendous during his time as HoG and so many shitty power hungry gross people have thrived under his rule.
He sucks, but the villains don't claim him either. He's just an asshole.
The mayor can't even do anything to control him. You can't even threaten him. He's not married. No one would want to marry him; he's gross. He doesn't have kids because no one would get close enough to him because of the above. He'd send his mother and the cashier who allowed it to jail for using an expired coupon. He had a cat once. It bit him so he sent it to the pound.
He's a horrible, horrible man and he's the only thing standing between the city and total destruction for a few years.
The mayor had criminal lackeys who are supposed to put pressure on the city so she can get even more control, but he proceeds to always not throw the book at them, but beat them with the book and hang them with the bookmark.
Which is bad! There is a lot of police/superhero brutality and the prison system is a mess. But man does it make taking over the city hard as hell.
15 notes
·
View notes
Note
I bet you support prisons and cops and retributionary justice and the death penalty despite fancying yourself a “progressive” smh. Don’t you see the themes of abuse embedded in the show thru Henry, Max, Will, etc. Don’t you see that young Henry was treated poorly and failed by the 50s nuclear family and society that was meant to protect him? This is canon. His mother thought he was sick, she wanted to fix him. You’re not supposed to cheer when Brenner abducts him. You’re supposed to grieve. Henry is queercoded just like Will but you only have sympathy for “safe” displays. One’s takes on Henry always lead to shitty politics that lead to palpable harm in the justice system. But yeah, stick to your bad seed black and white Tom Riddle cosplay Satan child bloodlust 🙄
You are literally insane, I don't support the current prison system and cops but I also don't support serial killers, they need to be stopped in a way or they will literally keep killing.
Henry is not going to stop because you feel sympathy for him, if he had you in front of him he would say you're weak and kill you without a second thought behind and people like you that want to assume my morality from how I feel what should happen to a FICTIONAL character are out of their minds completely
He was treated poorly and this still doesn't justify him being a fucking serial killer??????? He should not be forgiven.
Henry may be queercoded but he's also coded as a literal pedophile so yeah, I wouldn't really be happy about him being queercoded if I was you!
But stick to defending serial killers online I'm sure they will spare you and you can hold hands with them walking over a rainbow
When people have the predator - victim mentality you are in danger and they do not have empathy for you even if you have some for them, it's you against them, the world is not black and white but people with Henry's personality disorder think in black and white for what they do in this world and that's what you will get when you meet them and that's why when this scenario happens irl people need to be reclused somewhere so they don't keep killing innocents, IN REAL LIFE they should be cured and supervised and treated as humans still
In a fictional world I want them dead and don't care because they are CHARACTERS not real people and I want my favourite characters to be safe not that asshole
#anti henry creel#stranger things#Vecna#Henry's supporters are something funny#bet you support billy too lmao#will byers
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
Tell me about this thing you like! I'd love to listen 💜
Omg omg okay no one is ready for me to go on a full rant about Scum Villain Self Saving System but I’ve been OBSESSED with the dead characters for NO REASON for since I read it and they r so so special to me but I’m slightly more obsessed with the build up for the reason for everything that happens in the story
FOR CONTEXT, there’s the Old palace master who’s an old as fuck immortal, Tianlang-Jun who’s a heavenly demon which are supposed to be like the WORST but he high key does nothing but read shitty porn and watch romantic plays and be broke despite being an emperor and was unbearably in love with Su Xiyan and Su Xiyan who was in love with Tianlang-Jun and was also an immortal and disciple to the Old palace master. And then there’s also Zhuzhi-Lang who’s Tianlang-Jun’s nephew and had to sit through all of his and Su Xiyan’s embarrassing ass dates and PDA
So, imagine being super powerful and old and a palace master and then you have this disciple right (Su Xiyan)?And she’s the best. The absolute greatest, bestest disciple ever. You’d think you’d be normal about her if you were like 100 years old but no. The palace master starts having all kinds of perverse intentions towards her like a fucking creep
And then there’s this heavenly demon, right (Tianlang-Jun)? He has done NOTHING at all to you, he’s just obsessed with humans and their literature and goes around being broke as shit and watching plays and reading the worst porn imaginable. Despite that, you (the old palace master) think he’s the worst, an absolute bitch, a complete plague on humanity but your disciple falls in love with him and gets pregnant and you do not like that. She should NOT have fucking done that
Because, coincidentally-but-not-really, the old palace master sent her to kill this guy who has, again, done absolutely fucking nothing. So you (the old palace master) kidnap your fucking disciple, trap her in an under water prison, give her poison to kill the fucking kid which she decides to absorb instead of taking you up on your, ‘kill the kid and keep your loyalty to me or keep the kid and never see the light of day again’ threat
But no, that’s not enough. So you get the entire cultivation world against this demon who is literally just some guy and then send him a fake letter pretending you’re your disciple and then you fucking trap him under a mountain because what else are you meant to do with this guy who is extremely powerful and could wipe you out in seconds
Not like you could just leave him alone. Nope not possible. And now he’s trapped under a mountain and wants to kill all of humanity. Great job. You could not have fucked this up more. Imagine making the most powerful guy ever hate you. Absolute stupid bitch behaviour.
And THEN your disciple escapes and then gives birth by the Luo river and has no choice but to bundle the kid up and send him down the river in the hopes that someone will find him because the poison is gonna kill her in like 2 seconds. And it does! Which is relevant later because that kid grows up and gets outed as a half demon and thrown into the abyss!!
And then you find her son several years later after he’s crawled his way out of the abyss who is resentful as shit towards his parents because you’ve convinced him that his mum didn’t want him and that his dad was the worst, even though both wanted him more than literally anything in the world and his dad would literally tear you apart if he found out that he had a very much alive son that he lost an entire lifetime with.
And then you decide to keep said son around and call him your son like you actually care about him but you’re actually just a freak who still has perverse intentions to him because he looks soooo much like his mum and the only thing that looks like his dad is the eyes and the demon mark which piss you off SOOOOO bad. And you’re just wandering around like nothing's wrong while his dad is still trapped under a mountain.
And this all results in some shitty little millennial getting transmigrated into an alternate version of your world and experiencing situations surrounding the half demon kid who is joined in his situations sometimes by other shitty little millennial because it was all a book and both of the shitty little millennials died because they were sooooooo obsessed with something regarding the book in different ways and inadvertently caused each others deaths
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I'm actually writing the script for the pilot of that zombie apocalypse in a juvenile detention center show and the ideas are just flowing out like I know the emotions of the scenes, the characters, the little things the kids and teens do to cope with their trauma, how they get supplies, how they compel themselves to be quiet, what the other societies are doing, what the parents of the kids there are doing.
I've got a plotline of two parents of a kid who got arrested for prostitution (she was being trafficked and had zero choice but it's common for sex trafficking victims to be arrested for prostitution and the same goes for other human trafficking victims) and she got arrested and sentenced to prison in a different state so halfway through the season, the point of view switches for an episode or two to the parents traveling across the country so they can see if their daughter is safe. This character is also supposed to represent the sexual abuse that happens in prisons caused by the officers in charge of the imprisoned people. And also age regression as a response to trauma.
I'm still working out a few kinks and if this is able to be picked up by a studio, I want to hire sensitivity readers who have cluster b personality disorders to provide accurate representations of those disorders instead of having them be the stereotypical creepy serial killer kids or the explosive, abusive kids. All the kids in juvenile detention are traumatized and screwed over by a shitty justice system.
The show is supposed to be about society collapsing due to an apocalyptic event and how the new society that emerges is healthier and stronger and prioritizes everyone not just the "stronger" people.
There's also going to be an encampment under martial law that becomes an antagonist. One of the characters leaves for a few episodes with their parents until they escape and return to the detention center to tell everyone what's going on.
I'm gonna write this for real and figure out how to get a network to pick it up. It's gonna be really hard to get people to understand the vision I want that is evidence-based on actual psychology and sociology and a critique on the justice system and society as a whole not just the "haha, teenagers are impulsive and wreckless" but the psychology of kids forced to mature due to trauma. And yeah, there will be impulsive and wreckless moments where the kids have to learn how to survive the hard way.
Okay y'all get the picture. I'm gonna go back to writing the pilot.
#prison reform#prison abolition#childhood trauma#trauma#psychology#tv show#tv show idea#creative writing
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
dungeon23 challenge accepted!
So, confession time:
In spite of hurling myself headfirst into the TTRPG space and the GM's chair more than a year ago, I have never created my own dungeon from whole cloth. I've always used modules with premade maps or the donjon dungeon generator. However, I figure that making dungeons purely from my own imagination is a valuable skill for a GM to have, so here I am, making a fool of myself on the Internet once again by sharing my amateur attempts at... well, everything tabletop related.
It's okay, though; I'm going to learn a lot about dungeoneering in 2023.
I'm going to assume that 90% of the people reading this post know what a dungeon is and are familiar with tabletop gaming. For those who are unfamiliar, however, a dungeon in a gaming context isn't solely a medieval term for a place where prisoners are held, but rather any enclosed space with a limited number of entrances/exits, typically containing opponents for the player characters to overcome + material rewards. That's my definition, anyway. A dungeon can be a mine, a cave system, a castle, a hedgemaze, a forest, et cetera.
Dungeon23 is a challenge created by Sean McCoy over on Twitter to map a megadungeon with 12 levels and a total of 365 rooms over the course of 2023. There's a list of official prompts (accompanied by a helpful resource compilation). In addition to the map, each room is supposed to have a (ideally short and sweet) description of its contained perils and potential rewards.
I'll be honest: I'm not going to do the challenge properly. Instead of a singular megadungeon, I'm going to try and map 26 individual dungeons, 1 for every other week of the year. I am notoriously shitty about remaining committed to long projects, so giving myself an opportunity to switch things around and explore different kinds of dungeons seems like it would help keep me engaged.
I decided to splurge a little bit and gifted myself a special notebook for the challenge for Christmas, and then got to bust out my papercraft skills (such as they are) and make pockets on the inside covers to hold my notes.
On the right is the first draft of my first dungeon, a hollow tree for mousy adventurers to explore. (I've wanted to play Mausritter for quite some time now; it's just getting my regular D&D 5e players to agree to learning a new game).
In the pocket is a sheet of stickers + the tables and day tracker of the Dungeon Year Design Journal from @pandiongames. I printed out the generator tables + trackers as spreads and bound them into a little booklet with some homemade bookcloth, washi tape, and glue. The tables are very thorough, and I'm really excited to use them!
That's just about it for now. If you've read this far, thank you for taking an interest in what I'm doing. May you have a gentle entry into 2023, and may the new year be kind to you!
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Eddie saves Chrissy from Vecna
TW: Mentions of drug abuse
For @short-rain sent me it, and so I’m going to post the head canon. So it’s my version, but hopefully it makes you happy reading it? Anyways.
So, Chrissy does not die from Vecna. There is a reason why and it’s rather simple: Eddie saves her. This is both on accident and on purpose. So I want to say it’s talked about that Eddie’s biological dad has been in and out of prison. Assault, drunk driving, drug possession- the things that would lead to a very complicated life in the legal system. With this it would also play in hand with why Eddie has and knows people with access to drugs. Let’s not forget that he was going to sell Chrissy Ketamine, which if you’re not aware of it:
Ketamine is a medication primarily used for induction and maintenance of anesthesia. It induces dissociative anesthesia, a trance-like state providing pain relief, sedation, and amnesia.
Now that we understand what Ketamine is, we know that it’s powerful and it would leave Chrissy zonked the fuck out! So Eddie is both good guy, and not. The unfortunate misunderstood kid that was dealt a shitty hand in life. So onto the head canon!
So. Eddie saves Chrissy from being Vecna’d.
Eddie has quote unquote been a mediocre dealer through his 19-20 years of life. It is Hawkins. The city is small, everyone is judgmental and depressed, most people want to get blitzed out of their mind and not think for a few hours. So that is where he’s figuring Chrissy wants to be. He saw it in her eyes were they were in the woods. She was exhausted, she was stressed, she wanted to get out of her head. When she mentioned something strong than weed, he knew that he could get her hooked up with something. Equally he also knew that she would be safe with him while she’s out like a light! That was his train of thought though when he went searching for this. At the time he didn’t realize that Vecna had managed to get into Chrissy’s mind. So our boy Eddie, he’s searching. He wants to help.
He’s had a crush on Chrissy for YEARS. Now he gets to be her unconventional knight in shining armor, and they get to be high together. Intimate stoner thoughts, and he’s giddy in his sneakers for it. But he comes back to see her... spaced out. He’s seen something similar to this a few times in his life.
While Eddie’s dad is a piece of shit, he was still in and out of Eddie’s life. Those times always left their mark on Eddie. The one time he can remember is when his dad was holy shit high, and near blackout drunk. Eddie didn’t know what to do as a child while watching his father unable to function correctly. He was a grownup! Grownups are supposed to grownups and supposed to know what to do, and yet his dad is not doing that. Any time that this happened and his dad was in this state, Eddie would find something to play music with. Eddie would either use cassettes, record players, later on would be a guitar when his dad would be in this state. This would always calm Eddie’s dad down, and he’d usually collapse onto the couch and it’d buy Eddie time to call his uncle Wayne who would be there to help.
So when Eddie comes back from looking for something for Chrissy and sees her like this, he’s trying to figure out what to do when she won’t respond to him. She’s not high, he knows this. They haven’t even been able to smoke a bowl, or have an edible etc. He knows she’s sober, so why are her eyes rolled back in her head? Why isn’t she responding to him when he tries to get her to snap out of it? What the fuck is the girl he’s had a crush doing this? What. The. Absolute. Fuck!!!? He’s sort of panicking right then when she doesn’t snap out of it no matter how many times he snapped his fingers, clapped in front of her face, or shook her shoulders. If Wayne got home from work and saw her like this- he was fucking dead!
Eddie then tries to think over what he can do. Should he call an ambulance? No. No! Most certainly not! Okay so he can’t call the ambulance because he’d be immediately arrested, and the city would want to see him hang. Even if capital punishment wasn’t the thing in 1986; wouldn’t stop people like Jason from trying to hang him! Okay can’t do that. He doesn’t know her folks phone number, so can’t call them. Not like he would, they’d probably kill him. FUCK! Eddie is panicking, he’s trying to think fast, he’s trying to figure how to get her to snap out of it.
Wait... wait.... what helped his dad? WHY THE FUCK IS SHE FLOATING?!
I would think his reaction of going what the fuck is appropriate. I personally would go what the fuck. In his living room he has his ultimate crush, she is not responding to him, her eyes are rolled back, and now she is floating in the air. I would have tripped and fell on my ass as well. We are with you Eddie, we’d freak out as well.
Eddie is in a legitimate state of shock watching her hang suspended in the air. For a brief moment he feels like he’s a child again watching his dad unable to stand upright, unable to form coherent words, and he finds himself helpless and useless. But, what’s different from that first time to now is that he’s not a useless child anymore. There is desperate attempt to get back up to his feet and he starts to try to find something to get her attention. First it’s cranking the radio on to whatever country radio station Wayne has. Nope. Nothing. Chrissy is actually floating higher and that panic is now fear that something terrible is going to happen to her!
Country music isn’t helping, so he he turns it up louder hoping that will help to get her attention and snap her out of whatever is happening. It doesn’t. Okay, what about different radio station? Music! Music helps him to calm down, and helped to make his dad stop being unpredictable. He is fumbling with the dial switch on the radio until it lands on something, and he pauses before he’s frantically trying to find a different radio station.
And when she knows what
She wants from her time
And when she wakes up
And makes up her mind
God he hates that song, but in that moment it’s the best song in the world because he swore to God he saw her face twitch. He turns that volume up as loud as it can go, and he’s trying to remember the lyrics. He’s mumbling/half singing- mostly screaming those lyrics at her. There is a moment of real genuine disbelief when he sees her head shaking, and her face contorting to a focused expression. He’s praying that this works, has to!
Uptown girl
You know I can't afford to buy her pearls
But maybe someday when my ship comes in
She'll understand what kind of guy I've been
And then I'll win
He remembers those lyrics because his aunt used to sing them before she divorced Wayne. He screams those at Chrissy with all the absolute desperation that his vocal cords can endure. Suddenly... she’s falling from being the world’s most fucked up chandelier in his uncle’s trailer.
Eddie runs forward and partially catches her. They both land on the ground, he helps to dampen the harsh landing on old trampled carpet, and she’s breathing. She’s blinking and looking wildly around, and then looking at him. He’s looking at her face, pushing her hair away trying to make sure he’s not losing his mind and that she’s -back-. Eventually that immediate shock of realizing that she’s not going to be Vecna’d falls over her, and she breaks down, SOBBING into his chest. Eddie is still trying to figure out what happened, and he’s trying to figure out from having that ever happen again. He holds onto her, and silently vows to never let that happen to her, or anyone else.
#stranger things#stranger things head canon#eddie#eddie munson#chrissy#chrissy cunningham#eddissy#hellcheer#vecna#I do hope you like it!
17 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ok, sonic au, it’s called the yearwounds au because I have worms in my brain
Basically, it’s just an edgy reboot of sonic. All of the characters have trauma, there was a goth girl in space in the 1940s, and I reduced the number of hedgehogs in canon by 2/5ths for no discernible reason.
I’m just gonna explain the backstories first:
Ivo (Eggman)‘s backstory isn’t that important but I’m gonna use this time to point out that a) he’s trans in my au because I love shitty evil transmasc rep, and b) a lot of who he is during the main story was shaped by having been born in the wake of the murder of his older cousin Maria and military imprisonment and execution of his grandfather Gerald. He became resentful toward the military and the system in general and decided that he was going to use that resentment and his family’s prestige to exploit it and come out on top.
Shadow I wrote a whole fic about but it’s 3 thousand words and I’m not gonna try to make you read it. The long and short of it is that Ivo’s grandfather Gerald, a researcher on the Space Colony ARK where his chronically ill granddaughter Maria (the goth girl) was being quarantined as they looked for a cure, was commissioned by the military (known in sonic canon as G.U.N /srs) to create an ultimate lifeform during WWII. The project- Project Shadow- had several failed prototypes before Black Doom, the leader of a hivemind alien society known as the Black Arms, offered Gerald his DNA to finish Shadow, so that Shadow would be one of them. Yearwounds!Shadow, a genetically engineered porcupine, was created at the age of 8, since Maria had been 8 when they first made him, and Shadow lived with Maria on the ARK until he was 11 and she was 12, when G.U.N raided the ARK to terminate the project, and everyone involved in it, including Maria. Shadow and Gerald were seized and held prisoner for 5 years as Gerald secretly reprogrammed the ARK into a doomsday device and instilled Shadow with his anger and will to destroy the entire world for taking Maria away. At the end of it all, Gerald was executed, and Shadow was held in cryostasis for 50 years until he was freed by Eggman, and tried to obliterate the planet to avenge Maria even though she’d asked him to promise that he would protect it in her memory. Up until only moments before the ARK would destroy the Earth, Shadow was dead-set on it- but in the end, he chose to sacrifice himself to stop the plan and save the planet to atone for the damage he’d done. Though he survived, he was horrifically burned, and barely clinging to life when he was found by Rouge, his closest ally who had gone out to try and find him- dead or alive. While Rouge helped him through the initial healing process and disorientation which would later reveal itself as heavy lapses in memory, it was ultimately Sonic whose positive attitude and heroism helped Shadow find himself and make sense of his scrambled mind when Black Doom came calling hoping to use Shadow so the Black Arms could take over Earth. When he made the conscious decision to stay alive and protect the world at the same time, that set his moral compass in place permanently. Shadow will do anything to protect whatever or whoever needs it, even if it means near unfathomable violence against the threat.
Sonic was born on Christmas Island, and left after being abandoned by his parents during Eggman’s takeover of the island as G.U.N attempted to use his tech to seize the island so they could find a supposed “dangerous, possibly extraterrestrial or engineered individual” with high traces of unnatural energy. He was led to South Island, and lived there until he was ten, when Eggman invaded looking for the Chaos Emeralds to use their power for world domination. Sonic was led to them first by seemingly intuition alone, and used their power to defeat Eggman and protect the island’s natural habitat from Eggman’s industrialization. He found a lot of fun in the adventures and thrill of taking on Eggman, all while getting to protect the animals and nature he cared a lot about. Despite his irreverent, insolent and carefree behavior and tendency to make jokes out of everything, he knows that messing with extreme powers like the Chaos Emeralds isn’t a good thing to do, and he doesn’t like to play around with them. However, it seems wherever he goes to find adventure, the Chaos Emeralds aren’t too far away, almost like he’s drawn to them. And he’s also one of only 3 who can utilize their power to near the extent he can- the other two being the guardian of the Master Emerald, the one force that balances the Chaos Emeralds, and the literal ultimate lifeform infused with chaos energy. That… probably doesn’t mean anything.
Knuckles is the only surviving echidna- the rest of the species went on a dramatic decline 2000 years ago when their tribe’s leader Pachacamac invoked the rage of the god Chaos by attempting to steal the Master Emerald for its power. Since then, the species has just rapidly died off with no known cause. Knuckles’s mother left Angel Island, the home of the remaining echidnas who swore to protect the master emerald from being jeopardized or taken advantage of again, before Knuckles was hatched after his father died. His mother, who had another child in a different part of the world, died during childbirth, which was blamed on the child as they were a hybrid, and they were abandoned by their father. Knuckles never knew either of his parents- he was alone from the moment he could open his eyes. He dedicated himself to being someone his tribe would be proud of, trying to upkeep the memory of an entire culture. He trained himself in combat until he was strong enough to break literal boulders, taught himself to speak and converse (though he’s not the best at it, he knows parts of English and Spanish), and became the most dedicated protector of the Master Emerald in generations. While his prolonged isolation means he’s pretty socially inept and comes off as dimwitted, he’s a fast thinker with a strong sense of righteousness. He sees Sonic as a close friend and goodhearted person, if still infuriatingly laidback. He tends to clash with Shadow constantly and they rarely get along despite mutual respect, and he is highly protective of Tails, but it’s Amy who he cares about the most, seeing her as utterly indispensable and the most valuable person he knows.
Speaking of Amy, Amy’s mother died in childbirth, and her father abandoned her shortly afterward. She was moved around orphanages, but no one really knew what to do with her since they couldn’t even tell what species she was despite looking like a hedgehog. She also had scarily good intuition bordering on something clairvoyant, making her even more undesirable in the adoption system. She was eventually taken in by a couple from whom she got the surname Rose, however despite her surrogate parents caring about her a lot, things weren’t too much better. They took to calling Amy a hedgehog after about 20 library visits in a month for researching spiked mammal species had no other viable answer, but it was clear that was a farce and people were constantly questioning it. Having channeled her clairvoyance into tarot cards, Amy- who had now learned to tie up her quills the way hedgehog quills were supposed to move to avoid attention- left her home to see a small planet that orbited Earth, where she met Sonic, got roped into a literal race against time to defeat Eggman, and decided that since Sonic cared enough to rescue her, she never wanted to leave him, and became a part of his team. She met Knuckles not too long later, and he trained her to utilize her natural strength recognizing that she was unlike a typical hedgehog in that she specialized in strength and not agility, and should be trained accordingly. Looking up to Knuckles, she decided that she would stop wearing her quills tied back to force them to look like a “normal” hedgehog because her quills naturally fell like Knuckles’s. While Amy is very sweet and expressive, she has a lot of insecurities because of her upbringing and feels she doesn’t really belong anywhere, leading her to found her own “trio” team, Team Jubilee, which consists of her, a good natured and timid 6 year old rabbit named Cream who helps to protect civilians while the others take on the threat outright, and an 18-ish year old dimwitted gentle giant cat named Big who just loves his friends and wants to help. All three of them don’t really fit anywhere else, but want to help still.
Tails, just like everyone else, was also abandoned by his parents. I’m not joking when I say all of them are orphans. Knuckles’s parents are dead, Tails’s parents probably abandoned him as well if the movie is anything to go off of, Sonic X heavily implies Amy, who also has no present parents, has attachment issues and trauma from past abandonment, and Sonic’s parents are MIA. In some canons he was abandoned for whatever different reason, in some they’re dead, in most we don’t fucking know. Point is, Tails was abandoned by his parents, and heavily bullied for his two tails, both verbally and physically. He became an anxious and shy kid who always had his nose in some new invention trying to avoid his bullies until Sonic came to his home island, and Tails got the opportunity to be someone worthy to a rumored hero like Sonic. Being only 4 and not able to care for himself, he started following Sonic around- Sonic, being only 11 and not yet nearly as jaded as he is in the main story, welcomed Tails as a new sidekick and later a little brother.
So the backstories aren’t Super different in Yearwounds, I just, shall we say, flavor-blasted Shadow, Tails and Knuckles’s, and then made shit up that seemed fitting to their character in the AU for Sonic and Amy.
As for the main story, it mostly surrounds Sonic Adventure 2, which is all described in Shadow’s backstory, and a heavily rewritten version of Shadow the Hedgehog (see above), Sonic Forces, and maybe Sonic 06 but I don’t know if I’m ready to touch that dumpster fire, I just like Silver and Blaze and forgot what game Blaze comes from. Plus the juxtaposition of Shadow representing the past, Silver representing the future, and Sonic representing the present. But the big one is Sonic Forces. I’m just gonna… link this video on Sonic Forces sucking ass.
Basically, Yearwounds!Eggman hires a jackal named Zero and his crew as mercenaries to protect his base where he is constructing the Phantom Ruby, an artificial counter to the Chaos Emeralds, and offers to Zero to become the subject of an operation that would turn him into a being with unfathomable power. Zero, believing himself highly powerful already, rejects the offer, and then gets his ass handed to him by Shadow, who leaves with a bitter comment about how the doctor’s forces just keep getting weaker and weaker, leading Zero to realize how weak he really is and have a total breakdown leading to him accepting the offer from Eggman, who modifies him into a cyborg powered by the final Phantom Ruby, the prototypes of which have been merged with the Chaos Emeralds and thrown out for not working. At this point, Zero starts calling himself Infinite. Eggman, wanting to commit mass genocide, war crimes and borderline terrorism for world domination, and Infinite, wanting to prove how powerful he is over the world and reality itself, go about committing mass destruction and taking over the smaller islands inhabited by mobians (animal ppl). Sonic and Tails attempt to intervene, but Sonic gets his ass handed to him and is captured by Eggman and Infinite. With Sonic gone, his friends are thrown into disarray as there becomes a major split in what to do. The military is getting their asses beat, Shadow is nowhere to be found and a fuck ton of Shadows seem to be working for the Eggman Army, there’s a reality bending new enemy who seems unbeatable, Tails is MIA having left because he was upset that they couldn’t search for Sonic and had to focus on trying to hold their own, Silver is here from the future, meaning a lot rests on ending Eggman’s reign of terror, Sonic may be dead and there’s nothing they can do.
Until about three months in. Two things seem to change at once. One: the small group of rebel teens mostly consisting of Sonic’s friends decides they’re going to try to take on Eggman. Two: in the area where Sonic was taken, Tails appears, trying to see if there’s anything he can do. He’s been having headaches a lot since Eggman’s invasion started. And those suddenly spike when he’s attacked by one of Infinite’s “soldiers”, a virtual reality projection of Chaos, and yet another hole seems to tear in the fabric of reality- a portal starts to open, and out pops Sonic. But not Sonic, not quite. This Sonic is smaller, with brighter blue quills and happier looking eyes. He lacks the facial piercing Sonic got after Shadow sacrificed himself. The dark bags Tails hadn’t realized before that Sonic had under his eyes aren’t there. His voice is a bit higher, he speaks with a giddy tone, and his quips and jokes lack the cynical, jaded bite they have nowadays. It takes Tails a moment to realize this is the Sonic he’d first met four years ago. Before all of the changes, before all of the trauma he hadn’t realized had happened until now.
Tails decides to fully dedicate his time to finding some leads on Sonic’s whereabouts, and ends up in communication with Rouge, who’s working as a spy for the resistance but also secretly trying to track down both Sonic and Shadow, who’s also trying to figure out what the hell Infinite and Eggman did to Sonic.
Spoiler alert: it isn’t pretty. Rouge finds that out the hard way 3 months later when she finally gets into the network of Eggman’s base up in space and discovers Sonic is being held captive and being brutally mentally and physically tortured by Infinite and Eggman. In the recordings, Sonic is bruised and cut up and weakened like he’s been deprived of sleep, but the most disturbing thing is that no matter what they do to him, Sonic always finds a way to bite back, refusing to lose hope out of nothing but sheer fucking spite. Rouge, omitting the details, passes this on to Knuckles, the battle leader of the resistance, who shares the information with the other members, and they send out two members of a small detective agency working for the resistance because the third member is literally six years old.
Only once Sonic is rescued does Shadow reappear, helping in battle but seemingly just being antagonistic outside of it. He’s bitter about Sonic being sent out to fight and constantly berates Sonic for putting himself in danger, insists Sonic not be allowed to fight and recover from the physical trauma he experienced, only for Sonic to laugh the idea that this was anything even abnormal for him- unaware that the others are aware he was tortured, and that Shadow sought out the surveillance recordings and saw exactly how he was tortured.
It takes until near the end of the war for Shadow to be able to look at Sonic’s body again. Most of his more gruesome scars are covered by the black resistance t-shirt, torn jeans and varsity jacket he wears, and the one still visible on his arm ends up covered with a bandage. However, there’s still one on his face- right next to one eye, an eye that, compared to the younger Sonic, has so clearly lost its light. And even with his new septum ring, nothing really draws away from the obvious mark of the brutal torture he suffered.
Despite denying anything worse than normal happened to him, Sonic is clearly traumatized, being even more jaded and mentally fucked up than he’d become over the years already. The war and this trauma also throws a wrench in his “relationship” with Shadow as it becomes much more difficult for them to express their feelings for each other- they were never dating in the first place, but it’s become even harder for them to navigate how deeply they care about each other, especially Shadow, who blames himself for what Infinite did to Sonic and all of the destruction that happened. Shadow really feels like he’s caused so much destruction that he should have never been created.
This whole trauma actually fuels Tails’s development as he decides he has to be there for his brother and help protect him, and Amy has to face the idea of what she would do without Sonic, of course that’s not to say she’s not just as clingy when he returns. The remaining rebels from the resistance, in the face of the utterly useless military and the trauma that Eggman has caused, have to keep pushing forward and trying to rebuild and fight, because Eggman refuses to stay down and every attempt to regain power is either more pathetic than the last or dangerously close to the strength he’d had during the war, which makes it difficult for Sonic as he attempts to deal with and try to shrug off his trauma, because he’s an idiot who thinks you can do that.
There are some side plots such as the appearance of Tangle and Whisper from the IDW comics, several layers of exploring Shadow’s trauma, Shadow and Tails friendship, Sonic maybe being lost royalty from a destroyed kingdom, Amy possibly being the result of crossbreeding to save two dying species, everyone getting increasingly annoyed with the overcomplicated back-and-forth, on-and-off, never-official sonadow relationship because Shadow is so stuck in the past that Sonic getting past his emotional walls is terrifying to him because of the thought of getting attached and then losing Sonic too, and Sonic keeps trying to focus on the present and the “next day” and his overly nonchalant attitude to the point he’s basically trying to walk off his complex ptsd, sonic riders, all that shit.
It's times like this that I forget how batshit insane the Sonic lore actually is
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
For the longest time I thought I had gotten pretty lucky with the people who work with me on my mental health, knowing how abusive the mental health care system can be. Turns out that the people working with me on my mental health are pieces of shit. And the thing is I can't really just stop seeing them because they help me with things like phone calls and paperwork.
For some context I was talking to one of them about bad memories involving the cops. I made it pretty clear that I hate the cops, and they started defending cops. They couldn't even read the fucking room, like i was talking about bad memories about cops that's the worst time to be a boot licker bro. Their defense was that a lot of mental health professionals get treated like cops by people who hate them, and like I wonder the fuck why that could be? Maybe it's because they're oftentimes just as bad as the cops and use their position to harm minorities? Because they use that power over minorities as supposed mental health professionals to discredit said minorities because they MUST know better as college educated professionals even though someone with the mental illness will always know more about it than they ever will? I want to scream
And this isn't the worst thing to happen to me with this company. I remember the couple times I was sent to a ward when I was a pre teen going through some bullshit. That place was basically a prison. They had a isolation room they shoved you in if you dared go through emotions. You had to stay on the bed in the middle of the room the entire time or they would reset the time. Time was based on how old you were. It wasn't even a proper padded room, the walls had shitty thin carpet that might as well been hard wood, and hard tile flooring. As you can imagine a child going through extreme emotions did not like staying on the bed in the middle of the room, time would be reset a lot. I would ask myself why it took me this long to realize how shitty these people are when this happened to me as a kid, but trauma tends to push back memories until something comes up that reminds you of it all.
Honestly if I could get away with it I would just stop seeing both of the people I see and just go there for my medications. But I wouldn't be surprised if seeing them is a requirement for my disability insurance and thus my access to my medications. And I need the help with phone calls and paperwork, I am not good at phone calls and paperwork. I might be able to bullshit my way through paperwork. But I am honestly useless at phone calls, especially those complicated on purpose robo "press this button now" kinda shit.
#personal post#personal rant#personal vent#long rant#rant post#vent post#mental health#tw psychiatric abuse#tw psych ward#tw mental hospital#how much you wanna bet that the same people who are bullies in school that become cops and nurses also become mental health professionals#I am very isolated in real life right now. no one I know I can really trust it turns out.#I want to meet other Queer people. but that's easier said than done in the Bible belt especially when you are still new to being Queer#ask to tag
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
August 5th, 2024
They just keep coming.
When that portal first opened, when we first lost that key....I don't think any of us understood what was going to happen. Leo was certainly quick to laugh it off, say that we'd get it next time, but how could we possibly have known? We all went home, and the next thing that happened was the sky ripping open and those things coming out. Splinter says they're called the Krang. Intergalactic conquerors of a sort. The key apparently opened some kind of portal to release them from a prison dimension.
We thought if we could force them back through the portal....we didn't know they could assimilate people. Which reminds me WAY too much of that damn plant hivemind that Theatre and I fought. We didn't know that they could create more than three soldiers for themselves. That they can negate magic. Theatre and I have been hitting them with everything we have, and it's still not enough.
But there has to be some way to beat them. I'll look into it. There has to be some weakness we haven't exploited, some hidden information. There has to be.
I'll fix this. I'm going to fix this. Fixing things is what I'm good at.
***
November 5th, 2024
Supplies are running low. We have enough growing in my makeshift garden to make it through the rest of the winter, most likely, but....the climate is all out of whack now. Whatever those things did, it fucked with the growing season. It's either blazing hot or freezing cold half of the time. And there's no real seasons to speak of, anymore.
I'll have to go out to try and raid one of the few stores that are still standing, at this rate. Venus....Venus needs food. And Raph does, too. He's been giving his portions away to the kids in the camp. I berated him about it. He can't afford to be wasting food, none of us can. We have to eat what we can to get strong. To keep fighting. I know there's not enough food to go around for everybody, I'm trying to fix that, but the frontline soldiers have to have first pick if we're---
Fuck. That sounds so shitty and selfish. I'm supposed to be a good person. When did I start thinking like this again.
It's fine. It'll all be fine. I'm working on some food replication system or something, we just have to get through the winter on the vegetables and canned goods I managed to find. We just have to be careful. And then I'll fix this.
***
December 11th, 2024
He's dead he's dead he's fucking dead I went to check on him because he hadn't come to roll call in the morning and he almost looked like he was sleeping but he was COLD and he was SO THIN and how the fuck did I not notice how the fuck did I not see that he wasn't eating he was LYING to me--
***
December 20th, 2024
The funeral was a few days ago. But I can't. I can't accept he's gone. He promised he was always going to be here to protect us. He PROMISED.
Why can't I fix this. Why can't I find a way to fix any of this. There has to be a way. There has to be. People are suffering and dying and I can't fix it.
I need to fix it. I have to fix it. I have to. Otherwise people are going to keep fucking DYING.
THEY'RE ALL FUCKING DYING AND I CAN'T FIX IT WHY CAN'T I FIX IT--
1 note
·
View note
Last Seen Blogs
