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flufffysocks · 3 years

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let's talk about andi mack's worldbuilding

sorry this took forever to make! i've been pretty busy with school stuff and i kind of lost my inspiration for a bit, but i ultimately really enjoyed writing it! i wish i could've included more pics (tumblr has a max of 10 per post), and it kinda turned from less of a mini analysis to more of an extremely long rant... but i hope it's still a fun read!

i've been rewatching the show over the past few weeks (thanks again to @disneymack for the link!), and i’ve been noticing a lot that i never did the first time around. this is really the first time i’ve watched the show from start to finish since it aired, and it honestly feels so different this time - probably a combination of the fact that i’m not as focused on plot and can appreciate the show as a whole, and also that the fandom is much, much smaller now, so there’s a lot less noise. so the way i’m consuming this show feels super different than it did the first time, but the show itself doesn’t - it’s just as warm and comforting to me as it was the first time around, if not more so.

i think a lot of that can be attributed to andi mack’s “worldbuilding”. i’m not quite sure that this is the right word in this context, to be honest, because i mostly see it used in reference to fantasy and sci-fi universes, but it just sort of feels right to me for andi mack, because you can really tell how much love and care went into constructing this universe. for clarity, worldbuilding is “the process of creating an imaginary world” in its simplest sense. there’s two main types: hard worldbuilding, which involves inventing entire universes, languages, people, cultures, places, foods, etc. from scratch (think “lord of the rings” or “dune”), and soft worldbuilding, in which the creators don’t explicitly state or explain much about the fictional universe, but rather let it’s nature reveal itself as the story progresses (think studio ghibli films). andi mack to me falls in the soft worldbuilding category. even though it takes place in a realistic fiction universe, there’s a lot of aspects to it that are inexplicably novel in really subtle ways.

so watching the show now, i’ve noticed that the worldbuilding comes primarily from two things - setting and props, and oftentimes the both of them in tandem (because a big part of setting in filmmaking does depend on the props placed in it!).

one of the most obvious examples is the spoon. it really is a sort of quintessential, tropic setting in that it's the main gang's "spot", which automatically gives it a warm and homey feel to it. and its set design only amplifies this:

the choice to make it a very traditional 50s-style diner creates a very nostalgic, retro feel to it, which is something that's really consistent throughout the show, as you'll see. from the round stools at the bar, to the booths, to the staff uniforms, this is very obvious. the thing that i found especially interesting about it though is the choice of color. the typical 50s diner is outfitted with metallic surfaces and red accented furnishings, but the spoon is very distinctly not this.

instead, it's dressed in vibrant teal and orange, giving it a very fresh and modern take on a classic look. so it still maintains that feeling of being funky and retro, but that doesn't retract from the fact that the show is set distinctly in modern times.

of course, this could just be a one-off quirky set piece, but this idea of modernizing and novelizing "retro" things is a really common motif throughout the show. take red rooster records. i mean, it's a record shop - need i say more? it's obviously a very prominent store in shadyside, at least for the main characters, but there's no apparent reason why it is (until season 2 when bowie starts working there, and jonah starts performing there). a lot of the time, though, it functions solely as a record shop. vinyl obviously isn't the most practical or convenient way of listening to music, but it's had its resurgence in pop culture even in the real world, mostly due to its aesthetic value, so it's safe to say that it serves the same purpose in the andi mack universe.

the fringe seems to be nostalgic of a different era, specifically the Y2K/early 2000s period (because it's meant to be bex's territory and symbolic of who she used to be, and its later transformation into cloud 10 is representative of her character arc, but that's beside the point). to be honest, exactly what this store was supposed to be always confused me. it was kind of a combination party store/clothing store/makeup store/beauty parlor? i think that's sort of the point of it though, it's supposed to feel very grunge-y and chaotic (within the confines of a relatively mellow-toned show, of course), and it's supposed to act as a sort of treasure chest of little curios that both make the place interesting and allow the characters to interact with it.

and, of course, there's andi shack. this is really the cherry on top of all of andi mack's sets, just because it's so distinctly andi. it serves such amazing narrative purpose for her (ex. the storyline where cece and ham were going to move - i really loved this because it highlights its place in the andi mack universe so well, and i'm a sucker for the paper cranes shot + i'm still salty that sadie's cranes didn't make it into the finale) and it's the perfect reflection of andi's character development because of how dynamic it is (the crafts and art supplies can get moved around or switched out, and there's always new creations visible).

going back to the nostalgia motif though, the "shack" aspect of it always struck me as very treehouse-like. personally, whenever i think of treehouses, there's this very golden sheen of childhood about it, if that makes sense. i've always seen treehouses in media as a sort of shelter for characters' youthful innocence and idealistic memories. for example, the episode "up a tree" from good luck charlie, the episode "treehouse" from modern family, and "to all the boys 2" all use a treehouse setting as a device to explore the character's desire to hold onto their perfect image of their childhood (side note: this exact theme is actually explored in andi mack in the episode "perfect day 2.0"!). andi shack is no exception to this, but it harnesses this childhood idealism in the same way that it captures the nostalgia of the 50s in the spoon, or the early 2000s in the fringe. it's not some image of a distant past being reflected through that setting; it's very present, and very alive, because it reflects andi as she is in the given moment.

some honorable mentions of more one-off settings include the ferris wheel (from "the snorpion"), the alley art gallery (from "a walker to remember"), SAVA, the color factory (from "it's a dilemna"), and my personal favorite, the cake shop (from "that syncing feeling").

[every time i watch this episode i want to eat those cakes so bad]

these settings have less of a distinctly nostalgic feel (especially the color factory, which is a very late 2010s, instagram era setting), but they all definitely have an aura of perfection about them. andi mack is all about bright, colorful visuals, and these settings really play to that, making the andi mack universe seem really fun and inviting, and frankly very instagrammable (literally so, when it comes to the color factory!).

props, on the other hand, are probably a much less obvious tool of worldbuilding. they definitely take up less space in the frame and are generally not as noticeable (i'm sure i'll have missed a bunch that will be great examples, but i'm kind of coming up with all of this off the top of my head), but they really tie everything together.

for example, bex's box, bex's polaroid, and the old tv at the mack apartment (the tv is usually only visible in the periphery of some shots, so you might not catch it at first glance) all complement that very retro aesthetic established through the settings (especially the polaroid and the tv, because there's really no good reason that the characters would otherwise be using these).

besides this, andi's artistic nature provides the perfect excuse for plenty of colorful, crafty props to amplify the visuals and the tone. obviously, as i discussed before, andi shack is the best example of this because it's filled with interesting props. but you also see bits of andi's (and other people's) crafts popping up throughout the show (ex. the tape on the fridge in the mack apartment, andi's and libby's headbands in "the new girls", walker's shoes, andi's phone case, and of course, the bracelet). not only does doing this really solidify this talent as an essential tenet of andi's character, but it also just makes the entirety of shadyside feel like an extension of andi shack. the whole town is a canvas for her crafts (or art, depending on how you want to look at it. i say it's both), and it immensely adds to shadyside's idealism. because who wouldn't want to live in a world made of andi mack's creations?

and, while it's not exactly a prop, the characters' wardrobe is undoubtedly a major influence on the show's worldbuilding. true to it's nature as a disney channel show, all of the characters are always dressed in exceptionally curated outfits of whatever the current trends are, making the show that much more visually appealing. i won't elaborate too much on this, because i could honestly write a whole other analysis on andi mack's fashion (my favorites are andi's and bex's outfits! and kudos to the costume designer(s) for creating such wonderful and in-character wardrobes!). but, i think it's a really really important aspect of how the show's universe is perceived, so it had to be touched upon.

[^ some of my favorite outfits from the show! i am so obsessed with andi's jacket in the finale, and i aspire to be at bex's level of being a leather jacket bisexual]

and lastly, phones. this is a bit of an interesting case (pun intended), because the way they're used fluctuates a bit throughout the show, but i definitely noticed that at least in the first season terri minsky tried to avoid using them altogether. these efforts at distancing from modern tech really grounds the show in it's idealist, nostalgia-heavy roots, so even when the characters start using their phones more later in the show, they don't alter the viewer's impression of the andi mack universe very much.

so, what does all of this have to do with worldbuilding? in andi mack's case, because it's set in a realistic universe and not a fantasy one, a lot of what sets it apart from the real world comes down to tone. because, as much as this world is based on our own, it really does feel separate from it, like an alternate reality that's just slightly more perfect than ours, which makes all the difference. it's the idealism in color and composition in andi mack's settings that makes it so unmistakably andi mack. even the weather is always sunny and perfect (which is incredibly ironic because the town is called shadyside - yes, i am very proud of that observation).

the andi mack universe resides somewhere in this perfect medium that makes it feel like a small town in the middle of nowhere (almost like hill valley in 1955 from "back to the future"), but at the same time like an enclave within a big city (because of its proximity to so many modern, unique, and honestly very classy looking establishments). it is, essentially, an unattainable dream land that tricks you into believing it is attainable because it's just real enough.

all this to say, andi mack does an amazing job of creating of polished, perfect world for its characters. this is pretty common among disney channel and nickelodeon shows, but because most other shows tend to be filmed in a studio with three-wall sets, andi mack is really set apart from them in that it automatically feels more real and tangible. it has its quintessential recurring locations, but it has far more of them (most disney/nick shows usually only have 3-4 recurring settings), and it has a lot more one-off locations. it's also a lot more considerate when it comes to its props, so rather than the show just looking garish and aggressively trendy, it has a distinctive style that's actually appropriate to the characters and the story. overall this creates the effect of expanding the universe, making shadyside feel like it really is a part of a wider world, rather than an artificial bubble. it's idealism is, first and foremost, grounded in reality, and that provides a basis for its brilliant, creative, and relatable storytelling.

tl;dr: andi mack's sets and props give it a very retro and nostalgic tone which makes its whole universe seem super perfect and i want to live there so bad!!

#andi mack #buffy driscoll #cyrus goodman #jonah beck #tj kippen #tyrus #ambi #bex mack #analysis #film analysis #disney channel

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sheriff-caitlyn · 3 years

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I started this blog in 2014, as the first Caitlyn on tumblr, and obviously I’ve been through a lot of retcons and changes myself, not only adapting to Riot’s own public retcons (from the minor, like her aesthetics, to the major, like the removal of the Institute of War as an integral part of their lore) but also to my own. That’s the thing about playing a character as complex as this, is that you learn more as you go. In your interactions with others and the creation of backstory, history, and other bits of worldbuilding to better understand the world you’re in, a character goes from a handful of images and some in-game voicelines to a fully-fledged person with a complex narrative. Sometimes things change, and that’s fine. But there are some changes which... aren’t.

For all the fingerprints I’ve put on her, she is still not my character. But I care. Sunk-cost fallacy, maybe, but I care about this character I have been involved in and I care about the direction she has been taken. So, without further ado, I’d like to delve into:

The Recent Caitlyn Update In Piltover’s New Context or, We Gotta Fetishise Police Violence, I Mean, Look At Her, She’s So Hot

Back in August 2015, I went, ‘Oh No, they’re going to try to turn Piltover into Gotham City, aren’t they?’, and lo and behold, suddenly we have Poison Ivy now. But I will get back to that, later. In this particular thread, I noted that many of the characters in Piltover seemed destined for a revamp that would rob them of what originally drew us to them in the first place, and that Piltover seemed destined for a rework that would wash out much of their character. Piltover and Zaun were always meant to be polar opposites, but suddenly we were seeing glimpses of Piltover being ‘not as good as everyone thinks’, which hinted that Piltover and Zaun were destined not to be polar opposites in the future, but indistinguishable from each other. It worried me that the only thing telling these two fascinating cities apart would be the sunlight.

So, when we have so much potential for a clash between Zaun and Piltover, between ‘Science No Matter The Cost’ and ‘We Must Advance The World With Care’, why change Piltover to some murky middleground, turning peace and security into wartime capitalism? A world where the people are shitty, where weapons and profit come first, and the only ones making a stand are the ones who are so embittered they have nothing better to do?

Because it has to be ‘interesting’. We’re going to lose bits that we like, that we’re familiar with. And that’s why I’m concerned.

This was before Piltover and Zaun were squished together in an ugly - and utterly ham-fisted - method of showing How Complex The Future Is. There’s layers, guys! Literal layers to this one single city! That means it’s deep! But when I say ‘bits that we like, that we’re familiar with’, I’m not clinging to a fanon interpretation. I’m saying the things that drew us to the world and to the characters to begin with. I could adapt from Caitlyn turning from brown-haired and brown-eyed to black-haired and blue-eyed, because even through I had been doing art, at that point, the change gave me an opportunity to express and discover more about her character (her eye colour being influenced by her mother’s magic, for one). But some of the more stark changes - to family, to job, to personality, to the city of Piltover itself - these result in a character changing completely. I was worried that the cool detective who literally made the world a better place would be chopped and changed into something unrecognisable. I even expounded on my concerns in November 2016, where I could see some of the ways the writers at Rito might make adjustments in the direction of their lore updates.

All this to say, I’ve been working on her for a while, and I was bracing for some bad news. This? This is kind of the worst.

Caitlyn has always been the Sheriff of Piltover, an authority figure, a representative of the law and order that Piltover is famous for. Piltover’s peace and financial prosperity has been directly linked to Caitlyn’s concerted effort to eradicate crime (not criminals, crime! Which, as I have mentioned particularly in this post from 2014, means she upended and reformed the justice system, from the legal process to the prisons to how people are treated as citizens). The city is safe, people have greater access to personal wealth and development, classism is erased, society is flourishing. Zaun, as Piltover’s polar opposite, is a corporate nightmare, with ‘do as thou wilt’, private bodyguards for the rich and powerful while the poor scramble to survive in a system that barely treats them as human. Vi, as a Zaunite, brings a lot of her ‘violence as a problem-solver’ methodology to Piltover’s law-enforcement, though she seems to have no intention of returning to Zaun and seems to have bonded with Caitlyn (‘teamwork!’) to Get Shit Done. And, apparently, there is still shit that needs to be done, though nowhere near as much as there had been in the Bad Old Days.

Vi was, at the time, the awkward-grit-teeth-grin-ha-ha-um-yeah representation of police violence. ‘Resist arrest’, she cries gleefully, as she beats people and breaks down buildings, and we are supposed to go ‘ha, isn’t that funny’ with varying degrees of sincerity. Of course Piltover is going to have problems: anywhere that has wealth and stability is going to be targeted by the envious and the needy. Peace needs to be protected. The problem lies in how that protection is enacted.

So now we have the recent Legends of Runeterra update to Caitlyn, an update which looked at the context of Piltover needing protection, as well as the modern context of Riot’s California location in the Years of Our Lord 2020-2021, and then decided ‘you know what we need? Police violence, everyone loves police violence’.

MAN I thought the stripper-cop skins were bad but here we go!

Her Yordle Snap-Traps (which I envisioned as from the Yordle Military, rather than a racially-profiling weapon as, y’know, they work on human-and-larger-sized people as well) have now been replaced by electroshock grenades, the intent gone from incapacitation and observation to outright paralysis and destruction. Her net-short is now apparently electro-conductive (admittedly, I have had one (1) single RP where that happened, but it came at both a cost to Caitlyn and to her weapon’s efficiency as a result, a last-resort against a dangerous opponent). Caitlyn’s cards in LoR take her from being a detective coordinating ideas and people and putting together a case to a SWAT team leader. This might be the biggest problem in working for a non-combat-oriented character in a MOBA, or in any fighting game: the game needs to find rationalisations for all of their characters being there, being combatants, being able to kill (even if, as Riot says, the lore is separate from the game). We have monsters and soldiers and ancient powers who of course they know how to spill blood and relish in doing so. But pacifists, like Karma or Bard? Explorers like Ezreal? And a sheriff, a peacekeeper, a law-keeper, someone mindful of responsibility and the importance of saving every life possible, like Caitlyn? They’re stripped of that depth and complexity in-game, but there was always the lore that backed them up. But they’ve done away with that completely. Caitlyn was never special operations. She was never military. But now she is, because she had to be changed to fit better into a fighting game. They had to make her violent, and as a result, they have undermined not only everything about the character that made her interesting to begin with - turning her now into a representative of police brutality, but with long hair, pouty lips, and a thigh gap - but they’re also re-writing the context of Piltover. It was bad enough to squish Piltover and Zaun together. But now, Caitlyn’s update is proof that Piltover has gone from a steampunk utopia to a violent, oppressive and cynical post-industrial world. The depiction of Caitlyn as a SWAT team leader (complete with special-forces beret, because hat! Caitlyn wears a hat! Nevermind the fact that she’s no longer wearing a distinctive tophat but instead a symbol of extreme state-sponsored force!) shows us that Piltover’s ‘army’ is not designed as a defence against outsiders, but as an offensive force against their own people. Caitlyn is supposed to be the representation of how peace and order is maintained in one of the largest factions in League of Legends, and if her method of maintaining order is straight-up police violence against their own citizens, then it’s not really peace and order. It’s authoritarianism at best, and facism at worst.

Piltover was different from every other nation in Runeterra because it didn’t have a military. It had defenders, and it had a powerful economy, and it had a democratic political system. But the Piltover update retconned Caitlyn’s hard work. The gangs were back - though now they’re big powerful families like Clan Ferros - and Caitlyn has been de-aged so that she’s still new to the force, that she hasn’t even had her chance to change anything. Her importance to Piltover is minimised... and why is Vi even there? (Oh boy I guess you’re going to have to watch Arcane to find out! Coming to a Netflix near you soon!) With a younger Caitlyn in a violent society, she has no choice but to be violent herself... even if that undermines everything previously established about Piltover and about Caitlyn. This update has made Piltover just as ugly and oppressive as Demacia, Noxus, and Zaun. It’s just another army equipped to do violence, but now that violence is turned inwards. This isn’t protection, it’s control. It’s fear. It’s oppression. Caitlyn is no longer a peacekeeper. She’s a monster. Chopped and changed, as I feared, into something completely unrecognisable from how she began in a world that no longer looks like what it had been... or should be.

It’s hard to tell what came first, the change to Piltover or the change to Caitlyn. Either way, the changes are inextricably linked. Caitlyn was integral to Piltover’s modern state, and Piltover is integral to Caitlyn as a character. Her (original) drive was to make the city and all its people better; Piltover was a utopia because of the effort of Caitlyn, and of people like her, people who wanted a better world. This new iteration of Piltover - full of fear and violence and hypocricy, layered over Zaun in such a way that makes ham-fisted commentary about the wealth/class divide - undermines the value of the individual. It removes agency. It removes hope, which had been integral to Piltover. Piltover is no longer the CIty of Progress... it’s the City of ‘you better be rich and pretty if you want to progress’. And Caitlyn is no longer a force for good or a representative of responsibility, because those things don’t exist in Piltover anymore. Legends of Runeterra has turned Caitlyn into a bitch, someone to hate. She has a marked lack of respect for people, as demonstrated in her new character traits of ‘casually-racist’ (her lines to Veigar), ‘condescending’ (her lines to Viktor), with some added pride in her violence (’here’s my calling card *shoots gun*’ and ‘I aim to win and my aim is excellent’). She is a representative of her city, and she is a terrible person now. Piltover is terrible. Piltover is ugly.

But Caitlyn avoids that last part. And she’ll get away with it, because she’s a hot twenty-something.

In 2015, I drew Caitlyn-as-Swain, as an AU for what might have been. The overwhelming response at the time was ‘aaa she’s so hot I’d follow that leader of Noxus’, prompting a good friend Swain RPer to comment that Swain - who was, at the time, the withered man in green and gold who needed a cane - was just as smart as Caitlyn if not more so, a proven capable leader, but when it comes down to it, sex-appeal will always trump characterisation and storytelling, and that’s disheartening for someone who puts so much work into stories, to context, to something deeper than ‘Just another MOBA’. And here I am, in 2021, looking at how Caitlyn has been stripped of her fascinating and complex characterisation while maintaining her long legs, long hair, and corsetted figure. Now, I do appreciate the fact they’ve given her a better costume than miniskirt and boobtube. She deserves so much better. I even commissioned back in 2015 for a Better Look for Caitlyn; Tom aka FaerieFountain went on to make her new look canon. But she’s supposed to be a detective. She’s supposed to be careful and methodical and mindful of her status and power. Instead, she’s been made gleefully violent, leaving a lot of depth behind in order to become just Hot Cop With Gun. (As an aside, was anyone else uncomfortable with Caitlyn’s high-school skin? Especially when the writer actually tweeted ‘step on me’? Hello? Ma’am? That is a high school student, that is a CHILD you are talking about? But Caitlyn is hot so it’s fine! Sexualise a child! it’s fine, she’s hot, it’s fine!) Almost everyone who has contacted me about Caitlyn’s LoR cards has been excited to see her. Good! She’s a great character! Or, she was. But the enthusiasm about her is tied to how she’s so violent, how she uses her power to abuse those who don’t conform. But she looks great, smoking hot, you know? And when she’s smoking hot, her dangerous and abusive behaviour and attitude are completely excused. An update to a character needs to take into account characterisation as well as the visuals. Her update, sadly, has focused on the all-too-prevalent problem of the viciousness of state-sponsored violence, rather than the complexity of detective work, of puzzle solving and intellectualism, but because she looks hot and speaks in that British accent, no-one’s going to care. Hot ladies can get away with so much, because legs and pouty lips, but I guess she’s also a cop or whatever.

And, as a momentary aside, why is an eco-terrorist suddenly Caitlyn’s longtime foe? It makes zero sense for Piltover and for Caitlyn that someone who plant-based powers is her biggest rival and the city’s biggest threat. Zero sense, until you take into account that Piltover has been stripped of its character and made into something more aligned with modern authoritarianism than the hopeful vibes of steampunk. Environmentalism? Not on my watch! Deploy the police (the good guys!) to silence the protesters (who are obviously the bad guys becase they’re protesting)! Because Piltover and Zaun are one city now, and therefore indistinguishable, we have a fucking Poison Ivy character causing enough trouble in Piltover to warrant entire fucking SWAT teams opening fire within the city limits and around peoples’ homes! Not Zaun, which is the environmental nightmare, but Piltover! With its fresh air and open skies! Yes, that’s a great place for an eco-terrorist to blame and/or try to fix! The whole thing is honestly so backwards! Like they’ve decided to make a cool character in the form of Corina and just shove her into the story, rather than finding a place in the narrative that suits her. The idea that Corina is C makes no sense. Caitlyn vs C is supposed to be Sherlock versus Moriarty, Ganimard versus Lupin, ACME versus Carmen Sandiego, world’s greatest detective against the world’s greatest thief. It focused on the intellectual battle, the need for self-improvement, and - most importantly! - that this was a fight that didn’t result in gunfire or people being put in bodybags. But we can’t have that in our fighting game! We can’t have people thinking, because that’s not the kind of game we have, it’s left-click-shoot out here on the Rift or in the cards. So now we have a woman with plant powers bombing Piltover, and a policewoman kicking down doors and opening fire. And she’s right there, in Caitlyn’s new splash art, within reaching distance of the sheriff!

She’s right there! In hot pink with a flower in her fucking hair! And Caitlyn doesn’t even notice? Looks like one of my major gripes about Caitlyn being updated - Incompetence - is rearing its ugly head. She cannot even see someone not five feet from her. Oooh, look out, Piltover, no-one can figure out why this single eco-terrorist is causing problems for years, but Caitlyn will figure it out! With her gun! Because she’s a cop with a gun, and cops with guns never cause more problems than they solve, right?

Look... I know. I know she’s not my character. I know that everything I’ve done is fan-interpretation. But I’ve worked for so long and hard and done so much research, and things I’ve done have even been seen by - and used by! - the company itself (not just in the ‘oh what a coincidence’ sense, either, I know my link on Hextech as a form of magic made it to several of the writers, some of whom later contacted me). I might be too jaded by all the disappointment to take it personally anymore, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still happen. We know Riot Games could be and should be better. So many people in this community - and people who have since moved on - put so much love and effort into the characters and the world, building up from scraps and guesswork and extrapolation. It wasn’t our world, but we enjoyed playing in it. We enjoyed struggling in it, because it pushed us to be thoughtful, creative, to be engaged and interested. Critical Theory doesn’t have to be negative... but this recent update to Caitlyn’s character and to Piltover as a whole is... it’s a step backwards. They’ve gone for the ‘ooh isn’t this gritty and dark’ approach, and swept away so much of what made the original so interesting, creative, engaging to begin with. They’d rather have controversy than people genuinely enjoying the thing that they’re opening their wallet for.

Caitlyn was a detective who focused on responsibility, intellectualism, and care. What she is now is not the same Caitlyn they started with, and expresses a set of values that I do not support. This blog will continue to be focusing on the old lore, on what Piltover has been and what it should be: a hopeful utopia, a place for people to grow and be responsible and thoughtful and mindful of their place on the world stage. It’s not going to be perfect, but there’s hope, and there’s people here who want the world, and everyone in it, to be better than it is. I hope you join me, no matter who you are.

#oops I essayed again #Not Your Piltover #caitlyn #riot please #character development #piltover

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maareyas · 4 years

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sonic oc draws......2!!!

left column is first set, picked from lookin through the tag. right column is 2nd set, from people who sent in requests!

Sky the Bobcat by @shillelaghofjustice | Vexare & Dusty Rose by @neon-binary

Dimensi the ant by @mysticaeternity | Emily the hedgehog by @sonicanon (tumblr wont let me tag them for some reason??)

Rook the lynx by @snoozebox | Valir the lioness by @gojira007

thoughts on them and extra stuff below cut!

Sky - loves his aesthetic and whole “pulp adventure” thing going on, and the way his artist draws his expressions. I unfortunately, don’t know how to draw guns;;;;;

Vexare & Dusty Rose - couldnt pick between the two of them so i did both! love how chill their eyes look especially. Vex’s bio mentioned they liked sweets, so i drew the two of them with lollipops!

Dimensi - dont see insect sonic ocs very often, so she was surprise. I went ham with the smug smirk bc it just kinda fit her lol. Her robotic arm things were based off this official art

Emily - she had a cocky expression in the ref image sent to me by sonicanon + her made-in-mobius post, so i wanted to keep that. here’s a sort of fighting pose + using her hydrokinesis. i actually made a bit of a mistake while inking her mouth rip

Rook - not much to say here! i just really liked how cozy their design + colors looked. they seem very chill

Valir - the most unique in this set imo! originally her pose was more dynamic + she had a sword but i uh, ran out of steam and decided to do something easier. I wanted to keep that stern, intimidating but wise aura from her original art. Her original look strayed from “traditional“ sonic style so i tried pulling it back a bit for the sake of consistency lol. i almost forgot to draw her tail

i actually switched sketchbooks with different paper thicknesses between the 1st and 2nd sets, so i decided to experiment with markers for the 2nd set. It uh, didnt come out as clean as i hoped but i don’t think its too bad either?

compared to the 1st round of draws, this looks messier because the paper i used is much softer. I REALLY need to learn how to sketch more cleanly lol

#sonic #sonic oc #sonic fan character #my art #*blows a kiss* for all your ocs #you guys think up some interesting concepts and i LOVE it #LOVE the creativity in this community uwu #im using words

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vanxcks · 3 years

Text

all my bones coming back

Slowly, Jon and Martin grapple with things, tie up loose ends. It's a lot to get used to.

OR, a safehouse fix-it, because they deserve it.

Word Count: 6576

AO3 link in notes because tumblr hates me

It feels like they only actually start to breathe once they’re on the train. They’re frazzled, cobbled together, and wearing the clothes that they’d had stashed at the institute. Their bags are packed with a mess of objects—sweaters, money, two umbrellas, a flashlight, and no tapes. They’re exhausted and the brightening sky outside continues to remind them how long it’s been since they last rested, but at least there are no tapes.

No tape recorders, either. Although the click of the recorder stays in Martin’s head, makes his fingers itch and—

“Martin, there aren’t any in there,” Jon says from beside him, placing a hand on Martin’s arm.

Martin pulls it out of the bag, zipping it up again and sighing. “I know. I know, I just—”

“You just can’t stop thinking about Elias.” Jon meets his eyes. “Yes. I can’t either.”

“He was there. In the panopticon. I mean, I could have killed him. I should have killed him. I wanted to kill him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. And I...I know it was the right choice. But it feels—it feels like a loose end, and I hate it.”

“There are so many loose ends. It’s...terrifying,” Jon says, and his voice shakes on the word. Martin wants to put his arms around him. Then he realises he can, and he does. Jon leans into the embrace. “We’re out, though. That’s good.”

“I still want to kill him.” Martin laughs a little. “Next time we see him, I’m not letting that—that weasel say anything. It’s just: bam bam. Done.”

Jon’s facing away, but Martin feels him smile against his arm. “Yes?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Maybe Daisy and Basira should have taught you how to use a gun.”

“Maybe they were scared of me.”

Jon laughs at that. “They should have been.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t know what’s coming.”

For a while, it’s comfortably silent. The countryside races by, sun now well and fully risen, sky that specific and gorgeous shade of pale blue. Jon shifts slightly in Martin’s arms, and Martin feels a wave of something , something big, wash over him, and he needs to shut his eyes so the tears won’t spill over.

It’s still fresh in his mind. The fog, Peter Lukas, Jon’s face piercing through it all. I’m here. I came for you. I thought you might be lost. And then Jon’s hands cupping Martin’s face, Look at me and tell me what you see. He’d tipped Martin’s head up so their eyes met, and—

So much. The years gone by. Small favors, milk and sugar, hands brushed together over desks. Quiet admiration, adoration, and then love, so much love, pent up and chained and threatening to spill over like a tidal wave.

Martin saw. He understood.

Jon really had liked the tea, the whole time.

Now they’re here, and Martin knows Jon is still afraid, hell, Martin’s afraid, but they’re here, and they’re together and it’s...it’s almost too much. Too much happiness. But it doesn’t feel wrong.

The movement of the train is calming, and Martin finds himself realising how long it’s been since he’s felt something like it. How long had it been since he’d left London? Left the institute, really, other than to go to his apartment? How long has it been since he’s seen actual grass? Then something occurs to him.

“Jon, where are we actually going?”

“Hm? We’re going to Scotland. You bought the tickets.”

“No, yeah I—I know that, but where are we going? What’s in Scotland? You said there was somewhere safe, but you never said what.?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I hadn’t told you. Daisy has a safe house, for when she didn’t want to be tracked down. She has several, but this one’s far away enough. I think. I hope. For the monsters not to reach us.”

“That’s good. Scary, but good.” Martin glances down at his wristwatch. “Shouldn’t Basira have called by now?”

“I don’t know. The attack was bad, I think. We’re just going to have to be patient.”

Martin sighs. “I know. I just...I want to hear what’s going on. I want to know.”

“We will soon. I hope. Right now...I can’t see, but after it clears up, we’ll call in. See it in the news or something.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there for a moment, and then Jon shifts a little, threading their fingers together. “This is good, though,” he says, half muffled by Martin’s arm.

“Yeah. Yeah, it—it is.” And Martin leans his head against Jon’s, letting the rhythm of the train lull him to sleep.

Later that morning, Martin’s phone finally buzzes. It’s eleven or so, and he and Jon are sitting in the station cafe, inhaling cheap ham and cheese sandwiches. It feels like it’s been hours since either of them have eaten. It has been hours since either of them have eaten. Even Jon, who’d made a slightly off-color joke about missing his regular statement diet, seemed happy with it.

The phone’s been sitting on the table, screen up, and Martin picks it up shakily on the first ring.

“Basira—”

“Martin,” she said, by way of greeting.

“Basira, what’s—what’s going on? Are you okay? Is the institute alright, where’s Daisy, what’s happened with the monsters, are you…” he makes himself slow down (Basira waits, and he’s grateful). “Are you okay?”

“I’m safe.”

“Daisy?”

“Yeah, she’s here. She’s not fine, but she’s here.”

“What happened?”

“She went full Hunt. But she’s back now.”

“Okay. That’s—that’s good.”

“I’m glad, because the rest of my news isn’t.”

Basira hangs up, which Martin’s glad of because he’s not sure his hands are steady enough to press the button. He turns to Jon, whose face is grim.

“I take it I don’t need to explain all of that to you.”

“I heard enough,” Jon says, eyes tired.

“At least the Institute is alright. I mean, by our standards.”

“A little monstering isn’t too new, yes. And the police-men getting lost—”

“Bad. But apparently fairly normal for Section 31. Which means they’re not likely to cause a big stink about it.”

“And Daisy…”

“Yeah. I’m glad.”

“I couldn’t really hear, did Basira—did she tell you anything else about her? Anything in more detail?”

“No. She didn’t. She didn’t want to talk about it.” Martin looks at Jon, who shuts his eyes for a moment. “Do you think that’s a bad sign?”

“I think…” Jon sighs. “I don’t know what to think. Do I think it’s good that she came back at all? Yes. It’s miraculous, really. I didn’t think it was even possible, not after going all the way like that. But…” he shakes his head as if ridding himself of the thought. “I don’t know. It’s good.”

“Jon.” Martin says, reaching across the table and tilting Jon’s chin up so he meets his eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t cut me off.”

Jon looks at him for a moment, and something behind his eyes breaks. “I’m scared, Martin.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wish I knew what she had to do. To come back. I want to know what I...what I need to do.”

“Hey,” Martin says, taking Jon’s hand in his own. “Hey. I love you, okay? We have time.”

“Yes,” Jon murmurs. Then, as if shaking something off, “yes. Yes, we do.” He raises Martin’s hand, kisses it briefly on the knuckles. Martin still isn’t used to it—this casual onslaught of love. He’s not sure he ever will. “I love you, too, Martin. Thank you.” He smiles, sadly, and Martin does the same.

The safehouse is small, and far enough off the grid that their cab almost misses it. It has a small kitchen, a living room, a balcony, and an office, although Martin can’t fathom what Daisy would use it for. Her interest in policing seemed less focused on the paperwork side and more on the murdering innocents one. Although she’d gotten better, he knows that. He shouldn’t be so harsh. And she did provide them with this house, after all.

The balcony is nice, though Martin’s only seen it briefly. It’s pleasantly cool outside, foggy and wet, but in less of the oppressive London way he’s used to. It’s more refreshing. He doesn’t think about the comparisons to the Lonely—the small town, the rolling mist, the empty countryside mere meters away. He doesn’t. Jon is here, and he doesn’t think about it. Anyway, Martin’s more the type to read in an armchair by the fireplace.

The living room is more like that; it’s sparely furnished, and he’s pretty sure Daisy doesn’t know the definition of a throw blanket, but it has a fireplace and a sofa, as well as a dusty, near-empty bookshelf.

“Shame,” Martin had said when they’d walked in, “I know books are important to your professor aesthetic.”

Jon had scoffed. “My professor aesthetic ?”

“The tired, angry professor thing. Do you not do that on purpose?”

“I absolutely do not have a professor aesthetic. Academia, if anything.”

“You’re not telling me those are two different things.”

“They are!”

“Okay, Jon, I believe you,” in a tone that said he didn’t.

Jon hmphed. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already seen enough books for this lifetime, anyway,” he’d said, and then he’d gone upstairs to put their bags away.

Martin, meanwhile, made a quick stop in the kitchen. It’s small, sparse, but there’s a large window over the sink that lets just enough sun in for it to be cozy. There’s not much food, no, but they’d stopped at the minimart on the way to get some of the basics.

Of course, that wouldn’t be enough for long. Martin made a mental note to ask Basira to send up some statements.

During the nights, Jon and Martin wake up. Sometimes screaming, sometimes crying. The monsters that can’t follow them through the safehouse doors make it into their dreams, take hold, infest.

Martin will wake up crying, silent, heaving tears, shaking shoulders. He curls in on himself, trying to brush off the fog that clings to and sinks through his skin. Peter Lukas’s voice echoes in his head. Jon pulls him in, turns him around so they’re facing each other, holds Martin’s face in his hands. Takes the whimpers of It was so empty, Jon, I forgot my own name, I forgot your name, Jon, and you couldn’t find me, and holds him in his arms, and Martin feels so, so small.

Jon has nightmares, too. Different, but just as often, just as terrible and monstrous. He’ll wake up crying out, clutching his chest or his neck or his arm. Screaming about doors, winding hallways, fracturing minds and mazes and fingers that cut. Gasping, clawing at his skin, brushing and swatting at it like it’s covered in worms. Sometimes, he’ll wake throwing the blanket off of himself, scrambling to the center of the bed so that he’s as far away from each wall as possible. Martin knows not to touch him, on those nights.

And then, there are the nightmares of the watcher. They both get them, but Jon’s are something else. Waking up clawing at his own eyes as if he wants to gouge them out, gasping and grabbing at Martin and telling him he can’t look at him, can’t open his eyes, because then he’ll know, he’ll know about all of it, he’ll come after them. Martin aches to see him like this, but he averts his eyes, holding Jon’s hands firmly so he stops scratching, rubbing them with his thumbs and going It’s okay, take your time, I’m here, until Jon’s breathing slows and he just cries, silent and shaking sobs.

Most times, they don’t go back to sleep. Not at first. Instead, Martin and Jon sit in bed, huddled against each other, and talk. Anything that will chase off the darkness. They tell each other about their childhoods, about college. They talk about the movies they’ve watched (in Jon’s case, virtually none, and Martin has an ongoing list of those he wants to show him), and the books they’d hated most in high school. Jon tells Martin about being in his high school play (Martin laughs out loud at that, Jon indignant), and Martin tells Jon about the sci-fi novel he was writing for years (Jon insists on reading it, Martin says, steadfastly, that he never will, absolutely not, and no, Jon, that pleading face isn’t going to get you anywhere, as adorable as it is).

On those nights Martin is filled with such a blistering rage he’s not sure how it doesn’t come out, flames licking at his hands and skin. He’s not even sure what it’s directed at.

Well, that’s a lie. He knows what— who did this to them. Who put them here, who warped them and destroyed them both. Plagued them with these fears, these dread powers, so deeply that even now, when they’re safe, they still come after them. And who’s probably sitting now, smug and comfortably in his tower. Martin wants to kill him.

But Jon is here, finally falling asleep in a sweater that’s far too big for him, and Martin finds himself tired too. Maybe, just maybe, they can relax. They’re here now. At least they have that.

The town itself is tiny, but oddly nice. Pleasant. Nice to walk through, like they’re doing now. There’s a certain charm to the squat little houses, to the paths winding in order to fit into the low and rolling hills. Martin likes the city, but he can’t help but fantasize, for a moment, about a life someplace like this. Quiet, serene. Trips to the farmers market every weekend. And highland cows everywhere.

“God, this place is freezing,” Jon grumbles beside him, and Martin looks at him. He’s shivering, arms crossed, and already wearing two sweaters. He’s thin, even more so than usual, and Martin knows why. The distance from the eye, from the statements, is eating at Jon.

Still, he’s allowed to poke fun a little. “How are you cold all the time?”

“Shut up, Martin. Aren’t you supposed to give me your jacket, or something?”

“Tough. I’m cold too,” Martin says, but he really isn’t. If Jon’s always too cold, then Martin’s always too warm. “Fine,” he says in a put-upon voice, shrugging off his hoodie and passing it to Jon, who squirms into it and resumes his shivering.

“How chivalrous of you.”

“It was against my will,” Martin says delicately. They walk for a moment more, looking around, and then he continues. “You can’t say it’s not pretty, though.”

“I guess it is. In a bleak, grey sort of way.”

“Oh, don’t.”

“The cows are nice.”

“They are! And isn’t it nice to have some space? Some peace and quiet?”

Jon smiles, without much humor in it. “That’s very Lonely of you to say.”

“Oh, shut up. Anyway, that’s not possible anymore. I have you.”

There’s a beat where Jon just looks at him, and then he smiles softly. “Yes, I suppose you do.” He reaches for Martin’s hand, threading their fingers together.

Martin flinches. “Jesus, your hands are cold.”

“ Martin, I’m an avatar of the Eye, it’s not exactly time to call me Jesus.”

“That’s not what I—” Martin starts, snickering, when out of nowhere a golden dog the size of a small bear barrels into him, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Jon yells. Then, “Where did that thing come from?”

Martin laughs in delight as the dog comes running back, sniffing him and letting Martin scratch its ears. “Yeah, good boy. Good boy, you.” Martin looks up for Jon, who’s standing a few feet away with his lip curled. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of dogs. ”

“I’m not—I’m not afraid of them, they’re just so... wet. Slobbery.”

“I have no idea what you—” the dog jumps up at Martin, who is now crouched down on a knee in front of it. Its paws land on his shoulder, and it starts frantically licking at his face. “Okay, I—” Martin sputters, laughing, “I guess I—I get that.” He finally succeeds in pushing the dog off, but it just dances in a circle and over to Jon, sniffing and licking and tail wagging at a hundred miles an hour.

“Oh, no no, I don’t like that, I’m not your friend,” Jon protests, putting his hands up. Then “Oh, god, oh god,” as it jumps around him enthusiastically.

Martin can’t stop laughing, but he claps his hands and the dog turns around, ears perked. When it gets close enough, he leans down to look at the tag hanging from its collar.

“Don’t tell me we’re taking it home, or something,” Jon says.

“No, I just think it would be good to see who the owner is. I mean, what if it’s lost?”

“Then that’s none of our business.”

“I want to bring him back before he gets hit by a car or something. Here, there’s a phone number on the back. It’ll only take a moment.”

“God, curse you and your...humanitarianism.”

It only does take a moment: the owner picks up on the third ring, frantic with worry, and she gives them her address. She’s only five minutes away. She thanks them, explains how her dear had jumped the back fence, rushed off and gotten completely lost. She offers them “tea, or coffee, or anything, money, or something, to thank you for bringing back my baby,” but they politely decline.

“So what, you don’t like animals?” Martin asks as they walk away.

“I don’t know. I mean, I like cats. The Admiral liked me.”

“You know, I’ve heard so much about this Admiral character, and I’m still yet to meet him.”

Jon laughs. “Maybe you can, when we go back to London.” He quiets a little. “If Georgie ever speaks to me again.”

Martin looks at the ground for a moment. Then, “So no chance for a pet?”

He chuckles, once. “Jury’s still out on that one. Not a slobbery dog, at least.”

“But a cat, you’d be up for that.”

“You know, I think that would actually be rather nice.”

Martin nods. “A cat. We could have a cat.” He laughs, and throws his arm around Jon’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

What happens shouldn’t take Martin by surprise, but it does. It’s all so quick.

He’d just finished talking to Basira, had walked back to the cabin. Her words are still ringing in his ears. Police, terrorists, the tunnels. The only good news was Daisy. She was finally recovered enough to talk (although recovered from what, Martin still doesn’t know.) When Martin had called she’d been sleeping, but Martin made Basira promise to call again a couple days later. He’s not even sure if Daisy will want to speak to him, after how he yelled at her. But he wants to know she’s safe, at least.

The package is there, like Basira said it would be. Sitting in the mailbox.

He’s not sure what compels him to glance through the papers. Simple curiosity? Or was something pushing him? Whatever it was, he didn’t intend it to be anything more than a cursory skim, seeing what horrors Basira had so kindly provided.

What he notices first were the tapes, littered amongst the papers. And a tape recorder, which makes Martin’s heart skip a beat. But, well. Jon always seemed more... sated when he recorded the statements, anyway, so maybe that was just Basira being considerate. Good on her for remembering, he supposes. Even if he may or may not want to throw the thing out on the spot.

Then, though, the words, printed across the page of the first statement, right under the heading and name.

Hello, Jon.

Something seizes inside of him, and he flips to the next page, brow furrowing.

There, printed plainly in the professional cursive Martin knows so well. Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

Martin’s hands go limp, the pages nearly dropping to the ground.

Fuck.

Time feels slow as Martin walks up the stairs, chewing on the inside of his cheek so hard it draws blood. He doesn’t feel it. All he can feel is the paper slowly crinkling under his white-knuckled grip.

Jon is sitting cross-legged in an armchair reading, but he puts the book down and stands as Martin enters the room. “How was she?” he asks, smiling. Then he meets Martin’s eyes, and his face falls. “What happened?” he asks. Then, stronger, “Martin, what happened?”

“I—he—” Martin drops the statements as his tears spill over. Jon rushes forward, reaching out as if to help, and Martin yells. “No, don’t touch—don’t go near them. Please,” he says, voice breaking.

Jon stops in his tracks, but Martin can tell it takes everything in his power to do so. “Martin, what... what did Basira send us?”

Martin bites his lip, trying to hold back more sobs as he shakily gathers up the pages. “It’s not. It’s not Basira, Jon. Elias sent a statement.”

For a second it’s as if Jon’s mouth doesn’t work; he gapes, trying to form words but no sound comes out. “I—I don’t understand, she wouldn’t help him—how did it get in there? Why would he—”

“I don’t know!” Martin cries, finally stuffing them back into their envelope but not standing up again. He’s not sure his legs are strong enough. “I don’t know, but—but there it is, okay, Jonah Magnus, printed right there, no, don’t look, it’s not...it’s not safe. Christ.”

“But how—why now? Why would he—”

“I don’t have the answers for you, okay? I don’t know. I don’t know anything, I just. I don’t understand either.”

Jon’s eyes are wide, and he’s still for a moment. “Elias...Elias sent us a statement.”

Martin sobs again, clamping a hand over his mouth to stop another. “Yeah. Yeah.” Jon starts to sit down, and Martin puts a hand up. “Far away. Please. I don’t...I don’t know what this thing will do. What it’ll do to you.”

“Okay,” Jon says, softly, and moves back, settling down a few meters away from Martin. “Okay.”

For another moment it’s silent, Martin’s shoulders shaking and Jon staring, wide-eyed, at the floor in front of him.

Tentatively, Jon speaks. “Have you...read it?”

“No. No, and I’m not going to. I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Alright. Alright, that’s… that’s okay.” Jon inhales, rubbing his face with his hands. Then, quieter, “What are we going to do, Martin?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

In the end, they lock the statement up. In one of the disturbingly many lockboxes that Daisy keeps, in the back of the closet, on Martin’s side. Martin piles clothes on top of it, and they don’t make him any more comfortable, but at least he can pretend they do. He can’t get Elias’s face out of his head, his smug voice. Every time he thinks about what might have happened if Jon had read the statement, it stops him in his tracks.

If he’s suffering, though, Jon is faring even worse. The hunger, it seems, is finally catching up for real.

“Are you feeling alright?” Martin asks, passing Jon a mug of Earl Gray. Jon’s sitting in bed, blanket over his legs, and he looks pale and tired, but he still smiles up at Martin as he takes the tea. “The night of sleep do you any good?”

“Not really.” He sips. “But thank you. For this.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Martin sits on the bed at Jon’s feet. “How are you feeling, though? Give me details, I want to help.”

Jon laughs ruefully. “I’m not sure you can help with this one, Martin. I mean, outside of—”

“I know, I know, letting you read the statement. Which would be insane.”

“Yes. Yes, it would. I didn’t mean for that to come out so...passive aggressive.” He sighs. “I’m just tired. I mean, I’ve been tired this whole time, ever since we left the institute, but it’s more bone-deep, more... intense. I don’t know how to describe it. But I think having that thing here is making it worse.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

He breathes in, out, before he meets Martin’s eyes. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see.”

Martin puts a hand on Jon’s leg, then withdraws it, sighing. “Well, if real food will satisfy you in any way, I’m going to start breakfast. Eggs okay with you?”

Jon brightens as if shaking off a weight. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” Martin says, standing and walking over to the stairs. He stops with his hand on the railing, looking back. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

He smiles a little. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but...I’m sorry.”

“I’m back!” Martin calls, nudging the door open with his hip. His hands are occupied: in one hand he holds his satchel, in the other, he sorts through the contents. “They didn’t have your archaeology documentaries, but I did find one on the Vikings, which I hope will suffice. Also,” with a little laugh, “men in armor is a plus—”

He cuts himself off as he realises he’s talking to no one. The living room is empty. “Jon?” Jon is sick, but he’s not bed-ridden sick. So where is he?

Martin checks the kitchen, but that’s empty, too. Then the balcony. He clenches his fists, urging the rising panic back down. It’s fine. It’s probably fine, he’s just...taking a nap or something. So he goes upstairs to check.

What he finds freezes him in his tracks.

The closet doors are thrown open. Martin’s clothes are strewn across the floor, and Jon is crouched over the lockbox, fingers shaky and scrambling over the lock, turning it and turning it, too fast to even click.

“Oh no, oh no no no no,” Martin cries, and Jon doesn’t look up at him. Martin can see his eyes widen and his hands pick up speed. “Oh, god,” he whimpers, and rushes forward, crouching down and grabbing Jon’s hands. They continue to twitch and thrash, but Martin’s grip is firm. And still, Jon’s eyes stay locked on the box. “Jon, stop, Jon, Jon, wake up, please.” Martin bites his lip and then slaps Jon across the face.

Jon freezes, and then he shakes a little, falling towards Martin. Martin catches him by the shoulders, holds him up, grabs his face. “Jon, is that you?”

Jon grabs Martin’s hands, eyes wild and unfocused. “Martin.”

“Jon. Jon, look at me.”

“Martin…” slowly, Jon’s gaze turns toward the lockbox, and his eyes go wide. “Did I...oh god. Oh god.” He jumps up, scrambles backwards, hands shaking.

Martin stands up, stepping towards Jon, and Jon throws up his hands.

“No, don’t—don’t touch me, I’m not safe, I—”

“Okay, okay, just. Okay.” He stops, hands still up in a keep calm gesture. “ Jon, you’re still you. You didn’t do anything.”

“If you hadn’t shown up, if you hadn’t come home then, then—”

“But I did. I did, alright? You didn’t. Do. Anything."

Jon stares, then nods slowly. “Yes. Yes...I...yes.”

Martin moves forward again, slowly this time so Jon has time to protest, but he doesn’t. He crumples against Martin’s chest when he wraps his arms around him, tears shuddering out. “Shh, shh,” he murmurs, and he just holds him until Jon’s shoulders stop shaking. He pulls back slightly, takes Jon’s face in his hands. “Jon, tell me what happened.”

“Put it away, first. Please. I don’t want to be able to see it,” Jon says into Martin’s shirt.

“Okay.” Martin picks up the lockbox, placing it back on its shelf and shutting the closet doors. He looks at Jon for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Come on. Let’s go downstairs."

They sit down at the little kitchen table, across from each other. Jon is slightly less shaky, and Martin does everything he can to stay not break down, to not let his fear show. “Tell me what happened.”

Jon puts his head in his hands, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know. I didn’t really feel it? I mean, I didn’t feel most of it.”

“Then tell me what you did feel."

Jon’s hands still cover his face, but Martin can see through the cracks that he’s covered his eyes. “I felt this need. This roiling, desperate need—I guess it wasn’t so different from the hunger I’ve felt for the last few days. Distance from the archive, from the statements, and all of that. It’s the same as when I was in America. But this was something stronger, yanking at me like,” he laughs mirthlessly, “like puppet strings, I guess.”

Martin’s brow knits. “Wait, are you saying the Web —”

“No, no, It’s just—just a turn of phrase.” He sighs, then continues. “I don’t actually remember what happened after that. I mean, you saw. But I didn’t actually feel it. It was just darkness, blank until you slapped me.” Softly, he continues. “I wonder if that’s what...I wonder if that’s what it’ll be like when I finally turn.”

“Stop,” Martin says firmly. “Don’t talk like that, I won’t hear of it. You’re not a monster, you’re not.”

There’s a pause, and then Jon simply says “Alright.”

“So, this hunger, your— roiling, desperate need —it can be satisfied with statements? Any statements?”

“I think so. I hope so.”

“So that just means we need to call Basira and have her send some more.”

“Right.”

“Well, we’re going out to town to call her today, anyway, so that works out just fine. Will you...will you be alright? To do that? To go out?”

“I think I will be. I mean, I’m just tired, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s good.”

Jon shuts his eyes. “Martin, the statement. Are we...what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” Martin asks, although he knows the question’s unnecessary.

“Are we going to read it? What, confront Elias? What are we going to do?”

“I really don’t know, Jon. I really don’t.” Martin fidgets, picking at his cuticles. “Can we figure this out later? It’s nearly time to go.”

“Fine.”

“I still can’t believe your favorite ice cream flavor is rum raisin. ” They’re at the ice cream shop in town. It’s tiny, the inside only a counter and one table, so Martin and Jon are sitting at one of the picnic tables outside. It’s overcast and downright gloomy, but at least the breeze is nice. Not exactly ice cream weather, but it’s fine.

“What’s wrong with rum raisin?”

“You’re thirty-one, not eighty-five. Where’s the fun?”

“It’s better than strawberry. I don’t know how you stand that brand of sickly-sweet.”

“Oh, you go so hard on the brooding, bitter old man thing—”

“Excuse me!”

“I’m Jonathan Sims, I hate dogs, I tell my coworkers I’m ten years older than I am and I eat rum raisin ice cream .”

“Okay, now this is offensive,” Jon scoffs, and Martin laughs. “Anyway, you know how much I love being mocked—”

“Of course.”

“...but wasn’t Basira supposed to call us? I thought that was the only reason we came here.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t love this place.” Martin glances down at his watch. “But you’re right. She did say she would call at three, and it’s—” The phone starts to ring in his hand. “Oh, there it is! Right on schedule, I guess."

He picks up the phone. “Basira, hi!”

But it’s not Basira’s voice that answers. “Hi, Martin.”

“Daisy!” he cries joyfully.

Jon’s jaw drops, and he makes grabbing gestures at the phone.

“Oh, hush, I’ll just put it on speaker.” He does. “Daisy, hi! How are you, how have you been?”

“I’ve been...good. I’m alright. Healing.”

Jon leans forward in his seat. “How are you and Basira?”

“We’re good. Better than good, really. I mean, we’re together, so we’re happy.”

Jon looks at Martin, eyebrows raised and clearly holding back a smile. Together? the expression says.

Martin shrugs. “Wait, like together together?”

“Yeah, together together,” Daisy says, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

Martin claps a hand to his mouth, smiling like an idiot.

“That’s great,” Jon says, “I mean, congratulations!”

“Finally!” Martin interjects.

“Let me guess, they’re being ridiculous about it,” Basira says, faint.

Daisy laughs. “Not so much, actually.”

“We’re just happy for you, it’s been a long time coming,” Martin says, grinning.

He can hear the smile on Daisy’s voice as she says “Right.”

There’s a short silence, and then Martin speaks. “Daisy, I'm so sorry, for—for everything I said. Telling you to, to bugger off, and all. It was—”

“It was the Lonely,” Daisy says. “Thank you for apologising, but it’s okay. You’re not the only one who’s done shitty things because of a power.”

“Y—yeah,” Martin says softly.

“Daisy, about that. Are you okay?” Jon asks. “I mean, I’m sorry, that’s a stupid question. I just mean...the Hunt is dangerous, it’s one of the most drastic transformations. And from what Basira said...did it leave any scars?”

“Yeah, it left some pretty massive ones, actually.”

Martin and Jon exchange a worried glance. “...like?” Martin asks tentatively.

Daisy sighs, but not in a frustrated way. “Basira had to shoot my legs. Can’t hunt if you can’t walk, right?” She laughs mirthlessly. “It’s alright, though. I mean, I’m in a wheelchair, but it’s not the worst thing that could have happened. At least I’m free of it.”

“Oh, Daisy.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says gravely.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Will it...heal?” Martin asks.

“I’m not actually sure. The doctors said there was some chance, but it’s not likely.”

“Basira really did a number on you,” Jon says.

“Yeah, she really went all out.”

“You’re welcome,” comes Basira’s voice again, then Daisy’s laugh.

“It’s good, though. At least it saved me.”

Jon speaks up again. “Do you have any news? Anything we should hear?”

“Here, I’ll give you to Basira. I don’t know anything.” There are sounds of shuffling, and then muffled words.

“Right,” Basira says, no longer muffled. She goes on to tell them about the institute—the official police declarations, the disappearances, the scattered sightings of monsters around London. Martin asks Basira to bring them some more statements, preferably in person this time. On the whole, Martin’s feeling rather relieved when he puts the phone down, so he’s surprised to see sadness on Jon’s face.

“Jon, are you alright?”

“Yes...yes, I am.” Jon says, but it’s slow and the expression doesn’t leave.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“No, really I—here, I’ll pay, I’ll tell you in a moment.”

“O—okay,” Martin says, a little taken aback. He clears away their paper cups as Jon pays at the counter, and then they walk out and onto the walking path, etched out along the road.

For a few minutes, they walk in silence, Martin glancing nervously at Jon, who’s clearly deep in some sort of brooding. He’s not sure if he should speak.

Eventually, he gets tired of waiting. “Jon, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Jon makes a frustrated face. “I don’t—”

“Because if you’re angry at me or something, there’s something called communication —”

“No, no, I’m not mad at you, Martin. I just didn’t know how to...how to put it into words.”

“Then try.”

Jon furrows his brow for a moment as if trying to form the words. “It’s just...They were so happy. They seemed so happy. And, I don’t know, maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I want that for us. I want us to be happy. To be free of all of this...this bullshit.”

“...Oh.”

“I know it’s...immature, or whatever. But I just want to be done. With Elias, with all of that. Done with the Institute, the panopticon, the end of the fucking world. And I know it’s not possible, but—”

And suddenly, Martin’s sure. He’s not sure why it took him so long.

“Let’s burn it.”

Jon looks at Martin, eyes wide. “What?”

“The statement. I want to burn it. F—fuck Elias, fuck the statements, fuck all of it,” he cries. Jon doesn’t answer for a moment, though, and Martin’s confidence faulters. “I mean, as long as you’re—”

“No, no,” Jon says, nodding quickly, “I’m actually kind of with you on that. Burn it, yes.”

“Yeah? Yeah!”

“The tape recorders, the tapes, all of it.”

“I mean, what were we waiting for, really? Basira’s bringing more statements next week. And it’s not like you were gonna have that one anyway.”

Jon laughs. “You know, I really don’t know.”

They walk faster after that.

When they get home, it’s already darkening, and it’s cold enough that they probably would have set up a fire anyway. Martin places the wood in the fireplace and Jon pulls out his lighter, prodding at the hearth until the fire is burning merrily.

Jon looks up. “So, time?”

Martin nods, inexplicably nervous. “Yeah. Probably best if I do the actual burning. Wouldn’t want you touching the paper itself, tempt your roiling, intense need, or whatever."

“You’re probably right.”

So Martin goes upstairs, retrieves the lockbox, takes the paper out. Statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding the Archivist. “Good riddance,” Martin says, staring at it for a moment, and then he folds the paper in half and heads back down.

“Any last words?” Martin asks, as he holds the paper near the flame.

“Not really. I mean, thanks a lot, Elias, for being a flaccid dick in a suit. But that goes without saying.”

Martin laughs. “Yeah, gotta echo the sentiment on that one.” Then, “Ooh!” as the statement catches, and then he drops it and the whole thing goes up.

From the bed, Jon cries out.

Martin’s bolt upright, rushing over in a second. “What was that? What happened?”

Jon shakes his head. “No, don’t worry, it’s…” he unbuttons his shirt slowly, and there’s a slightly smoldering spot above his heart. It’s in the shape of an eye.

“What’s that, a brand? An imprint, or something? Please tell me that’s not bad news, Elias watching us out of your chest or something.”

“No, I—” Jon smiles in what seems like relief, “I don’t think it is. Just another scar for the collection. Nothing more.”

“Oh,” Martin says, letting out a breath. “Well. Very classy, I think.”

“I’m sure that was the intention,” Jon replies, and Martin laughs, putting an arm around him as they watch the final bit of charred paper turn to ash.

“Do you think this will do it? Free us?”

Jon tilts his head, considering his answer. “I can’t be quite sure. I think a lot of Elias— Jonah went into that statement. And destroying it…”

“...destroyed Elias?” Martin asks hopefully.

Jon smiles. “Unfortunately no. But I do think it weakened him. And that very well might be enough.

“Okay.” Martin laughs, shaky but real. “Okay.”

They end up sitting in the living room until the flame burns out completely, cold and dead in the fireplace. The sky outside gets dark, wind howling, but it’s all distant, safe, Martin feels still for the first time in he doesn’t know how long. And Jon has fallen asleep in his arms.

Martin could get used to this. And it seems like he’ll be given the chance to after all.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #fluff #angst #fix-it #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonathan sims x martin blackwood #my writing #hurt/comfort #safehouse #daisy tonner #basira hussain #daisira #i rly meant for this to be fluffier than it is #but i wrote it in a blind post tma binge frenzy so this is the trainwreck yall get

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vanquishedvaliant · 3 years

Note

The sidedish is scrolling your blog and not finding you talking about new anime

I must not be hip enough to recognize precisely what you’re getting at by ‘sidedish’, but I just don’t usually post it much on tumblr unprompted anymore because writeups are a pain, they don’t usually get much traction, and I’m more than satisfied talking about it in discord with people that are actually going to listen and respond.

I DO have thoughts on new anime I can serve if it’s that in demand, though.

Here’s what I’m watching this season with some initial reaction ratings based on the first couple episodes

New this season;

Wonder Egg Priority 10/10

UraSekai Picnic 10/10

Kumo desu ga, nani ka 8/10

Kemono Jihen 9/10

Hortensia Saga 7/10

Soukou Musume Senki 7/10

Gekidol 6/10

Sequels;

Cells at Work 9/10

Cells at Work: Black! 9/10

Uma Musume Pretty Derby 10/10

Tensei Shitara Slime Datta Ken 8/10

Log Horizon 8/10

Dr Stone 10/10

Continuing from last season;

Higurashi ... Gou 10/10

Hanyou no Yashahime 6/10

Jujutsu Kaisen 10/10

I’m also watching the original Higurashi in between off days to catch up to where Gou is, since I’d never seen it before and it’s clear I’m not getting the full story in Gou anymore without it.

Deeper thoughts under the cut.

Wonder Egg Priority and Urasekai Picnic are the clear AOTS contenders. Both are at once extremely superficially similar but very different in practice, and both bring something unique and charming to the table.

Urasekai is extremely notable at being a well executed supernatural adventure anime that is also a yuri; as much as I love pure romances like Bloom into You or Adachi and Shimamura, it’s very rare that we get anime with lesbian main characters or WLW romance where the romance itself isn’t the focus, that includes a serious, intriguing plot alongside the elements of romance. You know, like straight people get without a question every single story ever.

It’s got this very classic cryptid / SCP / otherworld adventure feel and has the right comedic and tension beats to be quite good, though its long term impact will be determined by what kind of further message it has.

Wonder Egg Priority immediately comes off with extremely powerful vibes in the vein of things like Flip Flappers, which I mean in the highest compliment. A surreal, metaphor-filled story of dreams and desires and well laid subtext, with colourful, exotic action and a snappy pace. This one’s extremely interesting to me, and its first episode was masterfully efficient in setting up its premise both aesthetically and thematically.

The real test for Wonder Egg will come with time; this is a story that trades heavily in meaning; so it’ll have to run longer and come to a conclusion to really test what kind of impact it’ll have. For now, I’m VERY interested and cautiously optimistic.

Spider Isekai is a charming twist on the typical flood of fantasy game / isekai stories placing our protagonist at the extreme low end of the power curve, and quite UNLIKE Slime Isekai or most others on the market like last season’s Kuma Bear, this one seems intent on keeping her there rather than immediately granting her insane godlike powers and thrusting her back above the curve.

The parts of the show that focus on the spider herself are lovely; there’s a real tension and sense of stakes in her struggle to adapt, slowly getting used to her new body and gaining levels and abilities, making even simple conflicts against frogs or lizards seem life threatening and serious, giving us a real reason to root for her.

On the other hand, the show frequently switches focus to... the entire other classroom of isekai’d children which is by far less interesting. There’s potential in there somewhere for a story about mass isekai’d kids adapting, but other than some details like one girl being gender swapped, and another being the class pet, there’s just really not much interesting about them at the moment and these sections just feel like a waste of time while waiting for the Spider to come back.

I don’t doubt that they’ll eventually meet up and have their stories intertwine... but at the moment, I don’t think I actually want that to happen. We’ll see where this one goes.

Kemono Jihen took me by surprise, and I wasn’t planning to watch this one unti l saw some screencaps. But the first two episodes have been outstanding, giving us a fantastic supernatural mystery detective agency plot and characters with real emotions, eye catching action scenes, and a compelling mystery.

Definitely looking forward to more of this one.

Hortensia Saga seems like a fairly typical fantasy war chronicle RPG story. It feels very in the vein of early to mid era fire emblems, and I happen to like anime like this that are solidly executed, like Grancrest Senki a while back. It’s doing a good enough job so far to keep my interest. Nothing game changing here, but a decent offering.

Soukou Musume Senki; this one also comes across in the standard seasonal fare of superpowered teenagers fighting aliens, this time with power armor and mild isekai elements. The monster designs are good this time, and the second episode brought us some nice moral / political dialogue showcasing some level of self awareness and depth. It’s fun so far.

Gekidol this show wants really badly to be compared favourably to Shoujo Kageki Starlight Revue. They’re hamming up the theatre tropes, putting out specials, sliding in secret background lore. First episode was fairly interesting, but the second seriously dropped the ball with its half assed Idol episode, and incredibly tone deaf play at a heartwarming moment.

I’m gonna keep watching this one for now, but it really needs to prove to me it has some meat and isn’t going to just keep borrowing tropes from other shows to lend it superficial “deep” merits.

For sequels,

Cells at Work is as cute, wholesome, and info-taining as ever. I think the OP this time is missing a little oomph, but the show itself is still going strong.

Cells at Work: Black! is offering a new take on it with a slightly darker and mature setting with a stressed out alcholic smoker at risk of contracting STDS, with a little bleaker tone and harsher stakes. It relies on the background of the original Cells at Work to work both tonally and narratively, but with that support it provides something quite interesting and unique.

The usual Cells at Work metaphors and humanization of bodily processes are just as excellent as always, and I’m giving special credit to the sketch about alcholic liver damage being compared to drunken abuse of host club employees, displaying a perhaps obvious if natural juxtaposition of the physical and emotional damage the substance abuse is causing to both the body itself and others around them.

Uma Musume; Horse girls! Racing! Just as surprisingly excellent as last season, giving us a fantastic sports story anime with charming characters and balanced stakes, with a good helping of humour. Easy recommend.

Slime Isekai: This one’s still going strong but has diverged from it’s original premise quite seriously. There’s nothing intriguing about this being an isekai about being reincarnated as a slime anymore; and he’s way too overpowered for any of the combat to have any stakes. What it DOES have however is a fascinating look at the birth of a fantasy nation of monsters, politics, science, and social development of a varied and multicultural monster nation. And THAT I’m still in for.

I will seriously never forgive them for making Bobcut Lizardgirl into a regular ass human though. It has a serious problem with de-monsterizing its character designs and seriously reducing their appeal.

Log Horizon the true king of MMO isekai is back after 7 long, long years, and it’s jumping STRAIGHT into the depth of its political intrigue and deep understanding and development of the socio political issues inherent to its setting. Somewhat dry as ever, but truly fascinating for those looking at a more serious exploration of what the concept of living in a game actually means.

Dr Stone: I don’t have to hype this up, do I? Mad science speedrunning the development of human culture from the stone age up! This time they’re going to war! They made cell phones and cup ramen out of rocks! It’s heartwarming, emotionally rich, entertaining and informative, and funny as all hell. A classic for sure.

Higurashi. Everyone knows higurashi. Thing is, I just never watched it. We thought Gou was going to be a remake, but then it ended up being Rebuild of Evangelion, so I stopped at episode 12 or so and went back to watch the original. Classic horror mystery.

Yashahime. Yikes. This one’s... well. I don’t have any especial nostalgia or affection for Inuyasha like many people, but Yashahime is clearly a very middling approximation of it. There’s things to like here, the main trio of characters are all great designs, Moroha standing even head and shoulders above them as a truly endearing goblin child, and it really does feel in ways like 90s toonami fare. But there’s some lack of depth going on here, and I just don’t even know what to say about the Sesshoumaru pedophilia thing. Extremely questionable plotting.

#Anonymous #TFWI #anime #anime recommendations #seasonal anime

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throwingideasatthewall · 3 years

Text

Clone Wars Shadow Warriors

Seas 4

Oh this- just screams edgy ... Whelp

So is Jar Jar an adult, now,? (Asking because before his characteri zation was force of nature to child

Now he seems to have his own personality.

Which is fine if you want to change some details for the sake of a better story, (Or to simply explore a new angle,). Aesthetic

Just. need to make sure I’m holding them to the right standard,

Okay,

That- was relatively adult,

Um.

Aight . . Well-

Wait

Did they just call Jar Jar away from Cou-ncil-

. I mean they are clearly trying which is some thing I do give credit for-

Though The Tone Is Robot- Ic-

(Though that might be int- entional since it seems to be hinting that this lady is practicing some kind of mind tricks on him

(Aka, he’s doing it under tox, because we don’t do suspension of choice in dra- mat ic Me- -dia,

S’up

What?

I-

H-elp

Screw my own accou- -ntability - See that was the correct -amount of emotion-

. Okay - Right-

Sus- (pic)

No one noticed the obvious people right there?

Like not even Mr. sus there?

[or are they just so kind that it’s like oh yeah we were just talking hate speech but go right ahead?

Logic?

There

Yeah some shit is definitely going on,

For sake of argument* sake, i’m just going to assume that his reaction to toxic behavior

*Account ability-

Any way

I-

I’m still going to try,

Despite you clearly saying you want understood

Because assumed authority - and assuming you know better than a person about themselves

Is totally ok-

- In this society

-[Cries in sad “accountability,” -of- war, ]

Whelp,

In- flue- n -c e

Still an adult-

Okay-

Imagine it was just a normal necklace and he pulled that shit-

[Ok for the sake of argument I’m going to assume the necklace is symbolism for toxic influence,

Being around it enabling]

It- - His voice voice dropped like - 6 octaves

Also I swear if they try to excuse him for his actions-

Mind over matter -Okay, so they’re not excusing him for his -actions,

Me- an - OK so it’s not naturally evil it just comes down to the users so that dude was still totally responsible,

Didn’t change - much

- Ha-Ha

Actual gas -lighting”

Also persuade, - Okay, good not excusing him from his actions, - Thing

The gaslighting goes deep - Also isn’t the Darkside supposed to be negative over involvement? - Aight- - - A-lone

Oh yeah that’s a great idea let’s just let the dude that just got gaslighted and completely fell forward go back into the person who did it,

👍

Genius

(This Jedi Council is fucking brilliant)

Gas- Light- Ing

(Note; Confronting the gas lighter is never the way to do it (Inter- Gen-) (Excluding accountability of the abuser (Gen-break Venting Pro- Ced- u re)

[as you’re usually too angry to let them get a word in edgewise And remain; in control)

With inter- gen productivity, They are possibly given five warnings before Being Kick ed-]

For the sake of argu- ment as well as simplicity-

We’re stick -ing with bas- ic-

If someone’s acting toxic with you, you reflect and you don’t have to hang out with anyone you don’t want to,

Logic

This dude is very clearly making it obvious that he’s willing to listen to this person,

And, enabling

“Cl-”

See he’s gaslighting him again because he thinks he can get away with it,

With no accoun- tability-

(Or the small bit this society believes in which is jail,”

Wr-

Oh!

Is he a Gungan Jedi?

Also,

You Don’t

SAY!

(The repeated Gaslighter who has shown multiple times to be toxic, Was toxic, (And prepared to use any means to subvert the will?

Prize for the most in competent Je di

Like, Serious- (Really had to put those two accoun t- ability- cells to good - use-”

(For matting issue-)

The writer just saving us the effort of him coming downstairs -all feckin- weird, and the obvious “should’ve seen that coming, “

? ha-ha

What?

Oh yeah no the creepy magical stuff wasn’t enough of a fecking clue in-

Appar-

Whelp-

He snapped out of that quick-

Like didn’t even need a reverse- mind trick

Good for him-

And - actual- nar- rative- -

Whelp,

Wreck-ing -house

Okay, but how do you think this is going to look to the general public like two Jedi,( very good at persuasion - mind tricks’ -just showed up, now they’re leader and said Jedi are wreck-ing one of their minster’s houses-

One who could’ve feign- ed lack of support for the war

Like if this is a set up-

the chips- are about to fall,

Da-

Okay, seriously how obviously evil, was this person?

Like we have a weird creepy room, The robots apparently hanging from the chandelier (eck) And the knife

Like if this person ever- went- through a checkpoint

Also, Oh-

That-

(That really does not look good,)

Bo-ss

Yeah, she clearly has medical experience,

(Also yeah that’s really going to make it better-”

Oh yeah the senator was seen trying to clean up the evidence-

Well the Jedi ran out full sword’s- a blazing

(Instead of you know the Senator chasing after him, While the peacekeeper stayed behind and tried to tend to the person,]

Great - - Or Not-

Well- tensions just got raised,

Of,

Ai. Ght,

Whelp,

(Okay, no way he’s totally not dead but sure-)

A-i-

Whe-

That- sucks- - Un- Con-cious

That- doesn’t tell me anything else-

Like; Critical condition?

D-usk

Li-terally no one else?

(Like don’t get me wrong I’ve been a pretty big Jar-jar fan ever since the change-)

But really, the Senator, the person that spends the most time away from your - planet

That’s the person, they trust the most?

Ai-

Hm-

Oh yeah just put on the deadly leaders hat-

The rese-mblance-

Not really?

I mean all humans technically look the same-

But-

Pretty sure Jar jar is a lot scrawn- thin -er

Also if they’re not going to listen to him as him they’re not going to listen to him as he pretends to be their (dead) leader

Also, please don’t go with the liar revealed plot,

Yeah no, they have completely different kind of light. tones,

The face structure-

Co-mpletely different-

Nope

-Dead

Di-ssent

Agree

I-

OK yeah I’m just gonna go over the fact, that as previously state, I am not a huge fan of the liar revealed plot-

-or lying

(No because it’s- unrealistic- - or there’s anything wrong with it

-people do lie

-maybe because of how overdone and poorly done it’s been,

-With the liar getting off Scott free without any weight

But I really don’t like this plot-

-And the skip button maybe used ad- nausuem- -

[Well- shit [for reference; I was using the skip button ad nausuem when I randomly stopped at the part with Greivous

Things just got a whole lot worse]

[Tumblr Refresh] -

Any Way,

Aww, That’s kind of nice the friendship and reliance the dude has on Other- Half - Yes ‘Boss Leoni’ when someone gets tox you leave- - In a - relation ship-

Also yeah he’s definitely not ‘Boss Leoni’ - He would’ve stayed and tried to take the tox

(Aka Jar-jar is less ena- bling, les- tox- And Doesn’t Take It For Much More. Than He Has To,

(He’s les -s

Dyfun. -c)

Okay

Good Job - Also - yeah how’d you manage that - That-

Didn’t get car ried up the chain of com- mand- - Then again Gri- evous has shown to be a pretty shit boss. - So I can’t blame these guys for being like yeah compl- ete stranger I will totally take a nap -right ,now- - You kinda have sticks- - [The rain is really nice,]

[is this the first time we’ve seen them use active particle effects for the camera?

Either way it’s really nice -

Oh,

They’re

electric sticks,

That makes sense

[- bet ter for Figh t- In- g-

Stop one 1v1 -ing- It

W-h

Again this is what happens when you 1v1 it and don’t assume accountability- - -

[Don’t fight a metal cyborg with metal sticks when you’re not prepared to take it, full way,)

I-

[I feel like this is supposed to be some big build up but they only shared like one scene where dude was completely silent,]

Like,

Sacr-ifice

Die to take someone out with you

[Great

Now

Ouch]

Are they actually going to kill off grievous because this isn’t look-ing too - good - Shit-

Dude- is still not dead- - How? - Whelp- - Oh, hey where the fuck did you come from,

I- Ack. Br-u- Tal

W-el

- Un - M - Plan-

“ damn it he messed up the script-, -Pal - patine

Cap-

Prison break-

Also yeah that’s probably like a vacation for him-

Given how toxic these assholes are - Ex- change - Damn Ship per-

Also screw the 150 or how many other sena -tors - Only Amidala - matters - A- ight- - Also, dude knows where everyone’s lair, Is,

Like he pissed off Grievous with -his

Now he’s just chilling in this dude’s sipping earl gray Or- Some Shit-

Him

Okay

Getting a little ahead of yourself episode- - O k

Hearing this, Skywalker doesn’t immediately run back shout -ing nope- - - Because, to my knowledge the speaking at room volume,

Not whispering and the distance isn’t enough to -explain it - Ai - - Wel- - There goes one min-ion- - Droids are apparently expensive enough to chastise Grievous over-

But sen-tient - beings are a dime’ a ‘dozen-

(Also gaslighter’s. don’t give a shit about you dear, God,

The Painful dramatic- irony-

*tra- gic- Wh- -Oa

Ai - Ri-

Wh- -elp,

You know if it wasn’t for the exposure earl- ier

I would assume they would think that the Jedi was just killing all their Im-por- tant- elected officials

Why?

Wh-at

He’s right. - But dude- that’s pretty ham fisted-

I mean-

How many episodes (and possibly seasons-) do we have to go- - - Anakin- is a dick to lanterns- - Also the random theme of the bots- coming out of nowhere- continues- - St -op- - Wh- elp-

? (He live?)

I-

Good Play-

Ah-

To-

Oh, yeah, He’s alive we’re not going to bring that up in any mention-able way?

Ike

Wh e l- p

Oh - That was -nice-

You deceived everyone and lied to all our people, you’ll make a great leader,

Or a great council/ committee leader considering that they do have an open position , Best

I like that they had one bad ass fall and had it replace-d by Dooku being particularly bad-ass - In his place-

In the trade off near the end really speaks to the frag-ility of war

I thought-

It was pretty al-right Though it really did seem like - they were trying to build up to something but the structure unfortunately just didn’t support it,

Which is unfortunate because they do seem like bits- that could’ve been nice

Like Jar-jar being a constant peacekeeper-

The underwater nations-

Wars be- tween - Those Dude’s

And that general guy - Who seems to be like he was supposed to be this - really big deal

[probably intended to do something massive in the previous arcs,]

But, here, all he did was that one scene,

[Would’ve worked better if he was like this Re- Public Gen- Er Al-

To the shark guy-

And Akbar,

Was just like the resident enforcer-

Or something to do with the prince

I think it would’ve really worked better with the concept of ‘being taken’ under, As well that possibly being a good contrast between Jar Jar binks And Char- If Jar- jar got promoted- With Char being eager at first but then realizing he just can’t- And Jar- Jar being reluctant at first but realizing he can-

[Note; assumed authority is bad, Just- some people are better at using it for venting than others)

Nope boomers vs throw- it-back, boom-

I-

And it really did feel like this episode -should’ve been the split one

Nearing the end- it started to feel like the 1st- part of a second ep-

Which is fine

Just cut- of-

Episode all around being al-right, with just several parts that didn’t make quite sense including the emphasis on the general for that one scene,

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foxtophat · 4 years

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here’s chapter 4!!! it’s been about a week and a half, two weeks since John Seed reappeared, and now nick is ready to take his vengence! by... having john do basic tasks to repair the homestead. hey, this isn’t eden’s gate -- what do you expect, skin flaying and long-winded religious diatribes? (weird, that’s exactly what john expects, all the time, from everyone!)

i really love this story and am so thrilled that other people seem to enjoy it too!!! it’s fun to write, and since i know it’s just full on self-indulgent bullshit, i don’t feel guilty for not being ~~realistic~~ about the whole thing. fuck it! nick is a pacifist now!!!

i’ve included today’s chapter under the cut so you don’t have to leave tumblr if you don’t want to. if you’re enjoying this story, please consider reblogging so your friends can also enjoy my hellscape! or, you know, do what makes you happy, it’s not like i can force you to ruin your aesthetics blog on my behalf. stay frosty my dudes, i’ll see you in 2 weeks!

Well, John doesn't die. Despite that being the only good thing the man could possibly do, he manages to hang on through the first night, looking better before the week is out. It's a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Nick no longer feels like he's serving a skeleton its last meal; on the other, it means that John is more than likely here to stay. Every time Nick goes to give him food, he finds the room just a little bit more lived in, the tarp turning into a makeshift bed as John struggles to settle in. Just yesterday, Nick had noticed a short series of tally lines scratched in the wall, marking each day of his sentence as though he were confined to solitary.

Nick should probably be happy with how smoothly things are going. He should probably be glad that John is keeping quiet and politely recuperating without so much as a snide remark. It's what he wanted, after all — for John to wave a white flag and agree to an unconditional surrender. And yet Nick can't help but feel short-changed, as if John owes him at least one opportunity to punch him in the face for being an asshole. It used to be something Nick dreamed about doing; he'd fantasized about beating him to a bloody pulp even as John had ripped his skin from his chest. Now, he's not willing to deal with the guilt that would undoubtedly follow.

Nick wishes he could go back to his "fight everyone" thirties. Being a mature adult sucks.

It's bright and early one morning when Nick decides it's past time to do something about the ceiling, which is warped and sagging beneath the nursery. Nick suspects it's a cracked joist, but considering his lack of carpentry skills, he doubts he can do anything to repair it. Right now, all he can do is try to support the weight of the second floor with something other than a wish and a prayer. Thankfully, he saved some of the posts when he dismantled the back porch — now if only Kim weren't going to be busy all day with Carmina, they could actually get some work done.

Except, maybe not!

John has been looking a lot better these past two days, since all he's been doing is resting and regaining his strength. Nick's heard him rummaging around at night, and he's been making himself something of a nest out of the crap left with him. Nick's even heard him talking, although it's anyone's guess who he thinks is listening. Considering how quiet and withdrawn he is when Nick brings him his meals, he doesn't seem interested in what real people have to say.

Honestly, if Nick hadn't been an integral part of John's survival for the past week, he'd think the whole thing was some kind of ploy. Nick's not sure what John would be planning with this act for sympathy, but he isn't going to make the same mistake he did all those years ago and write him off as some rich, coked-out jackass with no thoughts to his name. He's not going to let John sit around and finalize whatever evil machinations he's got brewing in his mind. He's gonna work that sad-sack until the only thing John's thinking about is collapsing from exhaustion.

Nick doesn't reveal his plans until after breakfast. He doesn't want to ruin his favorite meal of the day, not when he can rest aimlessly beside his family around the table, eating ham and eggs while Kim brews coffee. It's the closest they'll ever get to the way life used to be, and Nick can pretend that everything is back to normal as long as he has a cup of coffee in hand. Hell, it's not like watching his eight-year-old daughter methodically clean the family rifle during breakfast is all that weird for Hope County, with or without the apocalypse.

It's probably a good thing that Carmina is distracted. If she realized today was the day John would be seeing sunlight, she'd refuse to go anywhere until her curiosity was satisfied. They've told her as little as they can get away with, given that they're keeping a man prisoner across the hall from them. Mostly that he's a very sick stranger who could make little girls very sick too. She'd bought it for the most part, but Nick's afraid that she won't be able to contain her curiosity for much longer.

"Think I'm gonna get some stuff done while you're gone," he tells Kim, glancing significantly towards the stairs while Carmina isn't looking. "We need to deal with the second floor sooner rather than later."

"Are you sure?" she asks, raising her eyebrows meaningfully back at him. "Is this something you can do on your own?"

"Better to not put it off anymore," Nick replies. "It'll be easier if I have the place to myself, anyway. Less, uh, confusion."

That said, he puts the chore off for almost half an hour after Kim and Carmina head out. He tries to prepare, but there's not much he can do to close off the exits, and it only takes a few minutes to drag all the necessary supplies into place. All he can do at this point is hope that John is only strong enough to help, and not strong enough to run at the first chance he gets. If he does that, Nick's going to have no choice but to shoot him.

Nick does his best to hide his nerves as he unlocks the door. It feels weird to knock so he doesn't, pushing the door open slowly enough for the hinges to creak. John should just be thankful Nick bothers to try giving him any sort of head's up.

John, ungrateful bastard that he is, sleeps through Nick's entrance. He's found the cheap wool guest blanket that Nick would never dream of actually offering to guests, which seems fitting. His shirt is crumpled next to him, leaving Nick with the unfortunate view of his bare torso.

Nick's seen John shirtless a few times now, but that doesn't make it any easier to stomach. His skin is stretched over his jutting shoulder blades, clinging to every sharp, bony angle of his spine. Nick knows there's not much else for it to cling to - he's seen the way John's stomach sags, too much skin with not enough meat to hang on to. It's all been eaten away from months, maybe even years , of malnutrition and inactivity. The only thing left of the man Nick remembers is a goddamn shadow. Looking down at John, Nick's left to wonder how he had survived at all.

Nick nudges John unkindly with his boot, ignoring the grunt of discomfort he gets in return. "Come on," he snaps, "It's morning. If the sun's up, you're up — this isn't the goddamn Hope County Hilton."

John groans, biting his tongue against whatever snide comment might come to mind. That's too bad — Nick would love to start today off with an ethically-sourced beat-down.

Even though he wants to, Nick refuses to look away as John sits up, revealing all of his tattoos and scars. The tattoos are nothing new, and some of the scars look pre-Collapse old, but John obviously didn't let the bunker curb his self-mutilating tendencies. Some of the tattoos have been ritualistically carved out, leaving flat slabs of scar tissue behind. Others have been scratched out less completely, seemingly at random. The worst part is seeing the ten deep, half-moon gouges in his shoulders, leaving behind raw, fresh scars. Nick can only imagine what led to their creation, but he would really rather not.

"Put your shirt on and eat quick," Nick tells him, setting the plate near enough to John before retreating to wait by the door. The more space he has between them, the better. If John is going to pull something, Nick wants to have room to grab his gun, or at least to brace for a fight. And anyway, John still eats like a mongrel and it's uncomfortable to watch.

"Time to put me to work?" John asks skeptically as he drags his shirt over his torso.

"You bet," Nick replies. Should he be a cagey dick about it? Part of him thinks so, out of spite, but realistically he should temper John's expectations. Nick isn't going to be capable of putting John through the kind of torture he's probably expecting. So, he points out the dipping corner and says, "This whole floor is gonna give out if we don't do something about it. Well, I say we , but I mean you ."

John regards the spot with more skepticism. "That's it?"

"You haven't even seen how much of the house you're going to be digging out of the dirt," Nick points out. "Come on, hurry up already, I don't have all day."

——

Despite being sick as a dog, John's strength is still something to be reckoned with. Nick watches uneasily at first as John makes short work of clearing space for the beam to stand, heaving shovelfuls of dirt out the open window without regard to his wasted muscles. If John decides to come at him with that shovel, it's going to be Nick's reflexes that save him, not his brute strength. Nick's reflexes aren't exactly the best these days, so Nick hopes it doesn't come to that.

It doesn't seem like John is interested in fighting, though. Nick sets him to work with the shovel and he takes it up without so much as a snide comment about Nick trying to order him around. He slings dirt silently, practically zoning out over the manual labor as Nick watches from his side of the room. It's almost like he's in a trance or something, and it's only broken when the shovel scrapes against the wooden floorboards. He comes to a sudden stop, staring at the floor in surprise. He looks up and around, fixing a sour glare at the wide-open back porch that Nick is standing guard in front of before finally looking at Nick himself.

"That's it?"

"Hell no, it isn't," Nick sighs, gesturing towards the beam that he'd dragged in from the woodpile outside. It doesn't rain much nowadays, so it hasn't gone to rot, and it should be just about level with the supports in the ceiling. Plus, it's already got the right hardware attached, and most of it even survived the nuclear blast.

"Come on," he tells John, "You're putting this up."

Still no backtalk, not even as Nick gets his own hands dirty and helps John prop the beam up. He remains silent as Nick fastens it in place with the only three-inch bolts left in America. It's a temporary solution, but Nick's proud of it anyway, and he steps back to admire the work. He has to admit, even if John is planning something, at least his plan involves actually being useful.

"That should work for now," he says. He scratches the back of his head as he regards John — what does he do with the guy now? It seems like a waste to just... jam him back up there. He's obviously capable of working, and that's what Nick said he'd do — break his back with manual labor, right?

"Well, now that we're done with that... I guess you can get to work shoveling the rest of this dirt outta here. It's been pretty low on the list, but it's not like you've got anything better to do."

"No, I suppose not."

"Hey now, what happened to just saying yes ?" Nick grins, feeling mean but still pretty funny for it. John scowls, but he's just not the right audience for the joke, so his opinion doesn't count.

" Yes, sir ," John replies. He's probably just being a dick, but the way he says it roils Nick's stomach on impact.

"Hey, none of that shit," Nick snaps, even though he probably should lean into the boss role while he can. "Just — don't be a fucking weirdo about this, okay?"

John frowns and doesn't respond. He doesn't need Nick to instruct him any further, returning to work with the shovel as though he's forgotten he ever stopped. Nick keeps an eye on him as he has lunch, waiting for John to drop the weird, quiet obedience act that he's been putting on. It has to be an act. John's just using their mercy for his own ends, using them for shelter and food while waiting for the opportunity to strike. To take the house and the guns, to take control of everything that he'd felt so obligated to eight years ago.

An hour goes by in silence. John works steadily, almost meditatively shoveling down to the floorboards, dumping shovelfuls of dirt out the nearest window to him. He's lost in his thoughts, so much so that he doesn't seem to notice as he clears out nearly half of the living room, the shovel scraping against wood like the beat of the drum that's distracting the poor motherfucker.

Eventually, Nick can't help but point out, "You don't talk as much as you used to."

John doesn't so much as look at him, which is more irritating than Nick wants to let on. What, is he supposed to shut up now, too? Forget that !

"I mean, you used to never shut the fuck up. Guess even you couldn't stand listening to yourself for eight years solid, huh?"

John grunts in response. He doesn't look so hot; his face is pale and drenched in sweat, and he seems to be relying on the shovel to steady himself. Nick squints, trying to figure out whether or not the guy is trying to pull a fast one on him — it's exactly the kind of thing Nick would do, if he were being held captive — but John doesn't seem to notice Nick's scrutiny at all. He seems miles away from the house, from himself.

Goddamn it. The more Nick watches, the less comfortable he becomes. "Alright, come on," Nick sighs, exasperation masking his discomfort at seeing John near-fainting. "That's enough for one day, now sit down before you fall down."

It's a toss-up which of those options John takes, but moments later he's flopped backward into the mound of dirt. He leaves streaks of mud across his face where he wipes away the sweat. Nick watches, waiting for the asshole to spring his trap, but John looks sincerely too beat up to try wrestling the gun away or making a break for it. His hair, thick with dust, clumps over his face, dropping into his eyes no matter how many times he tries to smooth it back.

To his personal horror, he finds himself offering John his canteen. He should leave John to drink his own spit with their fresh water supply as low as it is. It's what the man deserves. But they've wasted too much time and supplies on John to be stingy with the water now.

"Don't get too comfortable lying in the dirt," Nick points out, "I'm gonna put you back before Kim and Carmina get home."

John nods without complaint. He takes careful sips of water, like he's trying to mind how much he's taking, which is a fucking riot coming from the guy who did nothing but take, take, take for years.

"It's the nursery, isn't it?"

Nick stares down at the dirty bastard in confusion. "What?"

"The room," John repeats with a suspicious lack of irritation. "It was going to be the nursery."

Nick scowls. "Yeah," he says. "Not that it ever panned out."

John holds the canteen out for Nick to take back, which he does. "No," he admits, "It certainly did not."

"No thanks to you." Nick takes a thirsty swig of water. "None of you got a chance to raid our bunker, but there were a lot of other people who weren't so lucky. Lots of people didn't even have a house to hide in."

"Yes," John sighs, "I know."

The nerve John has to brush aside the damage he's done momentarily overwhelms Nick, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's chucking the canteen at John's head in a vicious game of dodge-ball that John just barely wins. "No, you don't know. You managed to find somewhere to survive for eight years, while good, honest people were left to rot away on the surface and suffer through nuclear winter because you burned down their houses, you stole their supplies, you ruined their lives! You destroyed everything before the police ever showed up! You sorry assholes kept talking about the Collapse while all of us were already living through it! Because of you ! You know ? Fuck you!"

Nick reaches his hand out to grab John, to — to strangle him, to shake him , anything to stop him from sitting there and staring cow-eyed up at him. Waiting for Nick to exact a physical price for all the anguish that he's caused, waiting for the inevitable retribution that he deserves.

But eight years is a long time to carry so much righteous anger. Nick must've set it down somewhere along the way; now that it's time to resume that bitter loathing, he finds himself coming up short. Honestly, he's too goddamn old for it. He's too tired. Eight years of fatherhood and living past the end of mankind has run the rage right out of him. The idea of expending that much effort just exhausts him. What would even be the point? John isn't even worth it.

"Just — get up," Nick sighs at last. "Kim'll be back in a while and I... don't want to look at you anymore."

John slumps into himself as he stands, shoulders caving in as he avoids looking higher than Nick's boots. He proceeds without complaint or comment up the stairs; despite that, Nick still braces himself for a surprise attack, his hand clinging to the holster. He stops at the doorway behind John, waiting for some trap to spring and feeling oddly put out when nothing happens.

"I'll bring you dinner later," Nick tells him. "From now on, you're only getting a second meal on days you work."

John nods in response, falling into his makeshift bed with as much grace as he had the dirt pile downstairs. Nick's not sure he's gonna be awake the next time he checks in, but that's probably for the best. Nick doesn't like watching the guy eat, and he hates having to interact with him.

When John fails to say anything, Nick uses his silence as an exit and quickly locks John away. He'll probably sleep until dinner, which means he'll spend all night muttering to himself again. That's just what Nick needs.

There's still time before Kim gets back with Carmina. Nick drags the dining table into the living room, taking a minute to marvel at the amount of dirt John managed to clear out. Maybe tomorrow, Kim can take Carmina on a hike or something so that he can have John do the rest of the room. Once the dirt's all cleared out, they'll be able to build proper doors for the back porch, instead of leaving it open to the elements and potential prison breaks. After that, who knows? Maybe they'll be able to string lights up in here like they did back at the Spread Eagle. They could actually find a use for the generator. Hurk was on the radio recently, boasting about party liquor and gasoline — maybe they could barter for fuel?

Thinking more than a year ahead is jumping the gun a little, especially considering they have to get through another winter without heat, but this is the first time Nick's let himself imagine that far. Kim is already prepping for next year, of course, but Nick's still a little stuck on bunker time, where everything felt like a tightrope walk to survive and keep sane. But now, well — there's floor space, and Nick's even stacked plates and silverware on the kitchen counter for dinner. It's progress that he can't miss, and for once he breathes a sigh of relief and actually feels relieved.

Kim and Carmina come back before dusk with three rabbits and, in Carmina's case, a turkey so big that it nearly drags on the ground as she carries it on her back. "Shot it herself," Kim tells him, dropping the rabbits on the table. She does it almost without a second thought, wrapping her arms around Nick before realizing, "Oh, the table's back!"

Nick grins. "Figured we could use the extra space. Look at you, kiddo!" Nick turns his attention to Carmina, who still has the turkey slung triumphantly over her shoulder. "That is one big bird."

"Yeah," she says, trying to look as casually confident as her mom. She can't help but brag, "It was coming right at us. I had to do something. "

"That's my girl," Nick says, "I need somebody to protect your mom whenever I'm not around."

"Hey," Kim protests, playfully shoving out of her supposedly loving husband's grasp, "I can protect myself, you two. Carmina, take that thing into the kitchen and start plucking."

Heaving a very exasperated sigh she must have lifted off of her dad, Carmina drags the limp poultry away. Kim watches her go with a satisfied smile, telling Nick, "She's got great eyesight. I didn't even notice it in the grass."

"Thank God. Can you imagine if she needed glasses out here? We would be royally screwed. So! What do you think?"

Kim looks back at the clear floor and the table with four legs on solid ground. "I admit, I'm impressed," she says. "I expected to come back to a funeral pyre. But look, you even got the support in!" She furrows her brows at him. "Did you have any trouble?"

"Nah. Actually, it was... uh, painfully easy. He didn't put up a fight or anything."

"Hmm."

Nick's not sure what Kim's thinking as she eyes the progress that's been made. Maybe she's wondering what John's endgame is, the same way Nick wonders. She's probably worrying about how to explain it to anyone who might ask about it — Grace, mostly, maybe Jerome, if he'd ever come out this way. Nick's sure he can just take credit and leave it at that, but maybe she's seeing some hidden angle that he hasn't caught on to yet?

"If we string some lights up in here," Kim points out thoughtfully, "We might actually be able to use the bottom floor, instead of camping outside all day."

"Hey," Nick laughs, "That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Am I supposed to pluck this whole thing myself ?" Carmina exclaims in horror from the kitchen.

"I'll be right there, honey," Nick calls, offering Kim a chair at the table. She takes it with a grateful smile, leaning into his hand as he briefly strokes her hair. "Not bad for a day's worth of work, huh?"

"Not bad," Kim agrees. Nick heads for the kitchen, unable to keep from humming some old-world song he can't remember the words to, happy to put aside his doubts about John for a couple of hours yet.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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takaraphoenix · 4 years

Note

Just watched Spiderverse. Why does nobody talk about Peni Parker? I didn't know she would be there until I watched for myself.

*blinks* Ah, yes. Tumblr likes to only sent me notifications when it feels like these days.

Okay so here’s my theory on that!

I mean, most content was Peter, Miles and Gwen, since they were the main characters.

Noir brought that special aesthetic appeal of black/white and also Nicholas Cage, so there was talk about him.

Ham was... voiced by a dude who seems to be a big number in the US so there was a lot of talk about that one, despite the character himself being a bit of an outliner.

Peni however brought... nothing to the table there; no outstanding special voice-actor and her anime style clashes wildly with the cartoon style of the others. I guess she just... didn’t really get the buzz going the same way the others did, though in all fairness all three of the background Spiders barely get any content at all, but yeah there’s definitely the least about her.

I think a big part is the existence of Big Hero 6 too. Like, we already had a little Japanese kid with a big friendly robot who sacrifices himself at the end, thanks to Marvel/Disney. So... her concept wasn’t really new, on the animated movie landscape, you know? If BH6 hadn’t aired yet, the little kid with the robot may have created more buzz but this way, she felt much like a rip-off of Hiro and Baymax...? (Pls, for the love of the gods, no comments about “comic origins” and whatever character was created first and how both are Marvel; that doesn’t really matter in the grander scheme of recent animated movies.)

So... I guess Peni suffered from those three factors? Not having a big, buzzy voice-actress, her animation style clashing a lot with the others, her core-concept having already been turned into an animated movie recently. Oh, also, she’s a girl. That always hurts too, in the sense that there is always more content for the male characters, in every fandom.

I do hope we’ll get to see more of Peni in the next Spider-Verses, considering they did say they want an all-female Spider-Verse movie and as the only girl, aside from Gwen, who already got established, I expect her to have a leading part in that?

#Peni Parker #Into the Spider-Verse #Marvel #seelezeit

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jksangelic · 5 years

Text

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: romance, angst, dry humor, smut, undergroundrapper!yoongi (don’t be fooled, yoongi is a soft lover in this), one-shot (divided for the sake of a functioning mobile tumblr)

↳ pairing: yoongi x reader

↳ parts: 1 | 2 | 3

↳ word count: 2.8k

↳ a/n: here’s the first part! second part comes tmro, and third comes the next day, both releasing at 10PM PST! please look forward to them heehehehe.

this part does not contain smut, only light swearing and maybe some sensual themes? i don’t remember lol. it’s also not very edited hehe i’ll come back to it.

*each squiggly divider represents a flashback, straight divider represents current time*

Yoongi preferred the heat set to exactly eighty degrees Fahrenheit, which was utterly ridiculous. It caused you to toss and turn in a pool of unattractive, and possibly foul-smelling, sweat all throughout the night. Even more so, he trapped you with his own limbs, protecting you like that stupid dog from Tom and Jerry protected that awfully large and awfully raw steak. You’ve fallen in and out of consciousness because of it, surely waking up every thirty minutes while the man slept like a log.

But it was wonderful.

You open your eyes for the umpteenth time, assuring he’s still attached to the hip and planting a kiss on his forehead sleepily. What a dream it would be to stay like this forever, you think, tossing the idea away as quickly as it came. It was punishing as is and you dare not tie the noose around your own neck.

You scan the room, curtains drawn closed and tv silently flicking through commercials, casting a dim width of light onto the bed. It must still be pretty early in the morning, you assume, a bittersweet realization.

Enjoy the moment, you correct yourself, be happy that you were able to have this. So you peer down at him through foggy vision, his eyes closed and mean, twitching a bit enough that you suppose he’s dreaming of something himself. Nudging your face into his hair, which smelled faintly of smoke and peaches, you force yourself back into slumber.

For the first time tonight, you sleep deeply.

Wondering how the hell anyone was permitted admission after the venue breached occupancy threefold, you rub at the aching spot of your ribs that your neighbor unintentionally keeps jabbing. You attempt to peer over the sea of heads anyway, looking for that goddamned girl that dragged you here in the first place. Where was she? Why was she so short? Why did you wear heels to a concert?

Never did you suspect you would be pushed against barricade at 11PM on a Thursday, waiting for an artist you have never heard. The sweat that accumulates, quite frankly, everywhere was probably starting to stain your clothes at this point. The beauty of public outings.

“Y/N! Y/N! Right here!” screams the woman of your nightmares, waving maniacally more towards the middle of the crowd than you but nevertheless farther than you would like to travel in this density. You make your trek, apologizing profusely as full-grown adults glare at you for moving, oh help them all.

“I will have your head for this,” you yell into her ear, gripping the divider to ease the stinging pain stemming from your toes.

“Lighten up, you’re at a concert that you got into for free, for heaven’s sake,” Chungha pouts, bopping her head happily to whatever DJ was opening for her beloved. “I think you’ll like these guys, anyway. Really good rappers, up-and-coming and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, if they even show up. This poor dude has been playing for over an hour. Do you suppose his fingers hurt from pressing all those buttons?” She rolls her eyes in a way that says, please stop already. You really just want to know.

If this DJ had any influence of what the main act would be, you would rather just leave, plain and simple. This wasn’t really your thing in the first place, Overwatch and Red Dead Redemption (not one, but TWO!) sounding much more appealing than listening to EDM’s Worst Hits. But Chungha was a sweetheart who you’d marry in an instant, and when she asked you to come and claimed she already got you a ticket because she knew you couldn’t possibly say no to her, well, you couldn’t possibly say no to her.

You even dressed up for the occasion, a mix of Instagram baddie and Tumblr aesthetic (a sum of words you’d never like to use again) smooshed into one oddly cute outfit, if you did say so yourself.

It wasn’t worth your time.

But then the music starts changing pace, lights changing colors and dimming and smoke machines going ham and you suppose it’s finally starting. Three men walk out, one with orange hair and a long but pretty nose, heart mouth showcasing the straightest teeth you’ve ever seen on a human being, the second slightly shorter, bleached hair styled messily and the hand holding his mic covered in rings, the final with a smirking dimple, leading them out and hyping up the crowd with a few welcoming words that you don’t quite make out.

“There’s three,” you state dumbly.

“Great job counting! Remind me to give you a cookie later,” Chungha retorts halfheartedly, much more intrigued by seeing these men in person, “The guy in front is RM, he’s their leader. Blonde is Suga. J-Hope is the sexy one—HOSEOK OPPA!” She screams as if she’s been struck with a spatula, eyes wide and focusing.

You like their style, you’ll give them that. RM starts the song strong, lyrics so quick and diction so clear that it sounds as if he’s rapping directly to you. They all bounce around the stage, people at barricade, including your friend, reaching out and bobbing along in synchronization. J-Hope follows suit, stage presence oddly intimidating and seductive concurrently, his body more fluid and powerful than any dancer you’ve seen before. You can see why he would be the ladies’ man, lying to yourself if you said your eyes haven’t focused on his hips more often than not.

And without warning, Suga bursts into his own lines, atmosphere changing almost immediately when he brings the mic to his mouth. It’s hypnotic, his words continuously stringing out without break, without a single beat missed. You watch in fear. As the crowd around you screams and attempts to chime in, Suga steps closer and closer to them, squatting down right in front of where you stand and finishing his part with a deep, breathy note. He sits there as both men and women (and Chunga) paw at him and for the smallest of moments, do you think, his eyes lock on you.

It sets you on fire.

Yoongi always made it a point to study the faces of his fans out of appreciation. It would be foolish to say he’d be able to recognize each and every person he’s ever encountered, but he knows you were one to sketch into the archives of his mind. It doesn’t help that you are the only one, mouth slightly agape and teeth biting the inside of your cheek, completely still and studying. For the first time in a while, he feels intimidated; self-conscious even. More than a listener amongst the energetic mob, you look more like a critic.

It makes him shiver.

I would be his groupie in a heartbeat, you think, no doubt that he too is infamous around women wherever he goes. Whatever the matter, seeing this enigma of a man was worth your whole night’s experience.

I love, I love, I love myself! The audience screams, bass intensifying as the other two reach for water bottles propped on the stage. I love, I love, I love myself!

J-Hope throws in some ad-libs, sipping from his water before chucking the lid entirely, Namjoon putting a hand to his ear to egg everyone on and holding his own water above. You still stand in place, astonished how ethereal someone can look on stage and you instantaneously understand why people barricade. Suga catches you again, still squatted in the same position, possibly too lazy to get a water for himself but lets his brothers do what they must, and grins subtly.

You must look absolutely moronic gaping at this man, tongue-in-cheek impressed and hands barely gripped around the bars while everyone else around strains to be closer to the stars of the night.

I love, I love, I love myself! Y’all player hater, you should love yourself!

And that’s when you get—at least, half of a water bottle’s worth of water thrown at your direction. Right in front of the newfound man of your dreams. Everyone else screams madly, acting like these gods have blessed their parched souls with water after days on end, while you now look a little like a wet dog dressed in a hoochie skirt. You shrug, wiping at whatever was worth attempting to dry and thanking the gods that your makeup wasn’t running.

“Oh my god, your shirt is soaked!” Chungha lately notices, head whipping back and forth from the boys to you, back to the boys just in case she was missing something important.

“I would sell myself for that man,” you deadpan, not even blinking towards her.

“Suga? I bet he would accept if you managed to offer it to him.”

“I would easily give him all of the money in my savings right now.”

“You don’t have a savings. Pay attention.”

So you did.

You relished in every part Suga had, finally gathering up enough brain cells to at least rock with everyone else. Every song was like a lucid dream, the concert high really resonating with you. Either that, or you were literally high off of how much smoke there was. Gotta love rap concerts.

Perhaps it was the luck of the opening song, but Suga didn’t make eye contact with you again, a beaten disappointment gurgling in your stomach. But instead of behaving as a kicked puppy and moping about losing every possible chance that the blonde devil would bring you atop the stage and dedicate his serenade of sorts strictly to your face in front of hundreds of people--well, the chances were nearly zero. We're not all winners.

Suga continues on, trying not to focus on the girl with the sharp eyes that makes him clammy to the point where his throat threatens to constrict on him, which isn't optimal. He finishes song after song with his brothers, taking long enough breaks in between to catch his breath and focus on the bigger picture: that there was an entire crowd to please and not just you. Besides, there would always be a pretty or handsome face no matter where he went, he was Suga, goddammit, he wasn't a high school horndog ready to pounce on every intriguing entity he just casually glanced at. That role was a style more befitting for his brothers.

Upon your cognizance that this group was downright brilliant, the concert ends much sooner than you would have liked it. And just like that, the three send their love and are ushered behind the stage. It takes a while for the swarm to dissipate, interlacing your fingers with Chungha's to insure you don't lose her again.

"So, I take it you liked them," she giggles, forehead sheen with sweat because holy shit it's so fucking hot in here.

"They are really... talented. I award proper recognition when it's truly deserved." Tired of waiting, you practically shove your way past the bodies, dragging your poor friend behind you and bee-lining for the entrance.

"Wait! Do you want to get merch?" You twitch your nose, not entirely opposing the idea.

"Are you sure you don't want to just hop in? I'll pay for you!" Chungha cries, halfway into her Uber.

"Sis, I live down the street, I promise I'll be fine. I'll call you when I get home."

"That's so far!"

"I'm walking away now. Go home."

She harrumphs once for effect before waving goodbye, Prius soundlessly whooshing away while your best friend sticks her tongue out at you in the back window. You laugh at her foolishness before spinning on your heel and making your way.

It was just the right amount of chilly, breeze cooling you down a notch. You bet your ass you would remember this night forever, writing a mental note to check out the group on every social platform there was when you got home.

You skirt down a corner of the building, aiming for the route of your apartment--or, at least, where you think it is? "Sense of direction" surely wasn't the best trait on your resume. Walking down the dim street, you notice a few trickling souls walking in and out of the building, probably help from the venue closing up. It's when you see Suga, attempting to light his cigarette and leaning against a black van that you stop like a deer in headlights.

"Suga!" you point and exclaim like a child.

"... Wanna say that any louder, toots?" He chuckles, though, seemingly pleased rather than offended. He scoffs at his empty lighter, tucking the thing in his pocket and leaving his cigarette unlit on his lips.

"S-Sorry. My bad. Do you, uh, need a light?" you offer apologetically, digging through your purse to grab your lucky lighter, an embarrassing bright pink thing with Betty Boop floating in the middle.

"Thanks," he smiles, grabbing the lighter from your hand and flicking it to life as he takes a drag. "Do you smoke?"

"Not cigarettes. Honestly, I already regret offering that to you. That's a bad habit to kick," you sigh, taking it back when he hands it to you.

"Don't I know it." He glances up at your face when he returns your lighter, showing a regretful smirk but studying your face in the process. Well, hell, if it wasn't for the barricade critic.

"I recognize you," he continues, "you were up front, right?"

"Oh, god, I can't believe you remember that."

His heart skips at the match, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth and pushing himself off the van. "You, uh, looked unimpressed. Got me worried that I lost my game for a bit."

"No! I wasn't unimpressed at all. I'm just a new fan, I guess. My friend brought me. I think I was just in awe, if anything. I even got this hood--"

You quite literally bite your tongue, wishing you could slap your face at the outburst, realization running over you like a train.

"You got what?" he presses, a sly curiousness brimming.

"N-Nothing. You were good. That's all."

"'That's all'? Geez, you're really putting me down over here, toots." He throws the butt and stomps it out, "Those eyes of yours really made me nervous."

Your eyes? How smooth of him. "Oh, I doubt that. You seemed just fine to me."

He hesitates to respond; what exactly are you trying to get at here? Sweet and sour, he supposes. It's interesting to him compared to the countless amount of substance-less gals that suck up to him to simply suck him. New fans certainly were feisty, he supposes.

"Do you live around here?" he asks.

"Are you going to stalk me? Yes."

"Well, if I was, you probably shouldn't have said yes before I answered. But luckily, no." He sticks out his hand, clad with rings of, you're sure of, soaring prices beyond what you can imagine for jewelry, "I'm Min Yoongi. But I guess everyone kinda just calls me Suga now. You can call me Yoongi, if you'd like. Can I ask for your name?"

You take his hand softly, hoping he doesn't notice the way you shrink in it because heavens that near-zero chance of meeting Suga certainly did skyrocket. "It's Y/N."

"Mm, pretty," he comments surely. "Well, Y/N. We're actually going to be here for a while, just finished a few shows here and there and decided to take a break until we can figure out bigger plans," he's talking too much, "Anyway, would you want to hang out sometime?"

You shiver in astonishment, what was happening here? What kind of lucky star flew over your head for this? Your goosebumps had goosebumps.

"That... Yeah, that would be great! Do you... Do you want my number?"

"Would love it," he declares, taking his phone out and setting up your contact without delay.

"Do you do this much? Snag a girl's number after a show?" you joke as you type in your number. Yoongi snorts.

"Girls don't necessarily talk to me in a well-respected manner, let alone offer me a light."

"Well, don't expect that last bit anymore. Smoking really is a pet-peeve of mine," you warn. Who were you to warn him of something you didn't like? Idiot!

"Yes, ma'am. I'll shoot you a text sometime. Was nice meeting you," he says, watching you nod and smile and wave goodbye as you continue on home, Suga's name printed enormously on the back of the new sweatshirt you bought from the merch stand. He bites back a snicker, picking at the hair on his neck before walking back inside.

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