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x-reader-theater · 8 months

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Hi!! So glad to see you're back! This website has been a desert of good stories without you here. And thank the gods you are back because I have a bit of a sad request 🤭

How about a COD Ghost x male reader where reader has feelings for Ghost and ghost knows but doesnt reciprocate the feelings and reader dies while they are on a mission?

Only if you want to/feel comfortable with it!

Welcome back!!

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader

word count: 750

warnings: Unreciprocated feelings, rejection, and main character death. Please read this as Ghost being an incredibly unreliable narrator. This is from his POV so any feelings he has are his own and not endorsed by the narrative.

a/n: i always get so excited seeing your notifications on my work. thank you for being such a stalwart supporter through it all. your support means the world to me. if anyone else wants to request something, you can find my request rules here to do so.

Ghost knows why you hang around him so much. He knows why you say the things you do and try to touch him at every opportunity. But you haven’t said anything, and he doesn’t want to yell at you and make himself look like the asshole.

But you’re trying to ingratiate yourself with Ghost like Johnny did. You’re not Johnny, so it’s wrong.

“Say, Ghost, you get called on this new mission too?” you ask him, sitting next to him in the cafeteria. Ghost has his mask pulled down. He pulled it back down when you sat next to him.

“No,” Ghost says dismissively, but you don't seem to get the hint.

You shrug with a smile. “Maybe next time.”

“Hopefully not…” Ghost mutters to himself. You freeze beside him, and Ghost realises you heard him.

You curl in on yourself and grab your tray, muttering, “Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

Feeling a pang of guilt he’s not used to feeling, Ghost reaches out and for the first time initiates contact.

“Wait,” he says, and you stop, looking at him with his God damned hopeful expression on your face that he can’t help but succumb to. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said it like that. That was rude.” Besides what Ghost is referring to, that’s probably the longest sentence he’s ever said to you. “I know you're attracted to me.”

That hopeful smile drops instantly from your face and hurt, you ask, “Who told you?”

Not a denial. An admission without saying the words.

“No one. I can tell,” Ghost says, and at that admission you feel your hands drop the tray you were holding onto the ground.

“Oh,” is all you can seem to say, your lips staying in that little formed “o” shape.

“I just… I don’t feel the same way,” Ghost explains, his grip on your arm loosening, but you just stand there, arms at your sides.

“Okay,” you get out. It seems you and Ghost have switched, with Ghost doing most of the talking and you giving one word replies.

“Maybe… we can start over,” Ghost supplies in a rare moment of vulnerability that he likes to keep tightly locked in his chest.

“Yeah,” you say, looking down at your shoes, still sounding dejected. “Maybe.”

You and Ghost stand like that for a moment, before Ghost says, “Sorry ‘bout your lunch. I can buy you another.”

You shake your head, as if clearing your thoughts, like what Ghost said shook you from your daze, and you mutter, “‘m not hungry.”

“Oh,” is all Ghost says.

You stand for a good few minutes, probably looking kind of crazy in the middle of a busy cafeteria, but you don't pay it any mind, too preoccupied with what's happening. Ghost is singularly focused on you while you try not to be on him.

“Good luck with your mission today,” Ghost ends up saying finally.

“Thanks,” you murmur, before turning and walking away, leaving Ghost to clean up your spilled lunch.

———

“Johnny,” Ghost says with a relaxed smile as he enters the common room claimed by the 141. Soap is sitting on one of the couches, gripping a folder so tight in his hands the paper is ripping underneath his fingers. As Ghost gets closer, he sees the tightness in Soap’s shoulders and the strained look on his face like he’s about to cry but won’t show that in public. “Johnny, what’s wrong,” Ghost asks, his voice going from flirty and playful to serious in the span of a few moments.

Soap turns to look up at Ghost with wet eyes and says, “[Y/N] is dead.”

Ghost freezes, and his already pale face underneath his mask goes white. “What?”

“He was shot. Price said it was a stray bullet. Caught him in the neck. Said he was a bit distracted today, wasn’t paying as close attention to enemy movements and… well…” Soap trails off, setting down the destroyed mission report on the coffee table in front of him.

Ghost feels sick to his stomach as he leans against the back of the couch for support. Another person who cared about him, dead. And it’s all his fault. Soap would leave him if he ever found out. Johnny loved you. You were one of the best people to keep up with Soap’s ramblings, always there to listen and engage, more than Ghost did.

Johnny can’t know. No one can. And Ghost will take this information to his second grave.

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lovedianagrey · 14 days

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hello!!do you have skk fic recs?

Introduction

Yes, I do. I’m sorry it took so long to give you a reply, but I wanted to give you a comprehensive list and was busy preparing for my last day in high school, and then I got a job 12 hours later, and then I traveled to New York for a couple Broadway workshops. But now that today’s been dealt with, I have my wonderful notes.

So here’s the gist of it. I have three focused reviews on some of my favorite Soukoku fanfics ever, but I felt like copy pasting it would kill you a little, so I’m going to use a simplified format that echoes what I once did for two other ships years ago.

Canon Space

Here I compiled four fanfics that take place in main canon spaces (so not BEAST). While I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. Furthermore, the styles these characters are written in, and the way they are portrayed, vary from writer to writer. Some are more “canon” based than others, but they all carry the essence of this ship. And if they don’t in your eyes, then you’re just reading a great novel with Japanese names.

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer

Synopsis: After getting impaled together, basically dying in each others arms in a joint mission with the Port Mafia and the ADA, and getting brought back by Yosano, this shattered Soukoku is asked to go into hiding. In this time, things seem to start healing. But the impending call asking them to return to their positions in their groups haunts them, and when it arrives, things fall apart all over again.

Tags: Caretaking, PTSD, A Singularly Important Rat Is Present, Canon-Divergence, Post-Port Mafia Days, Love Confession, Pet Co-Parenting, Angst

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: Rattata is the best character. I remember reading this fanfic between the airport and my flight, and when chapter four ended, I had to board the plane, with my shaking hands and quiet sniffles. Please read this one.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo

Synopsis: Chuuya’s done watching this. Dazai’s literally dating a new girl every week. He dates based on who asks him first that Monday, he breaks up with them that Sunday, and it goes on again. And again. And again. It’s driving him insane. So he does the only thing he can think of to earn himself a break – He asks to date him for that week’s cycle. Dazai’s surprised. Chuuya’s exhausted. But once the sparks fly, they’re unable to be put out.

Tags: Canon Divergent & Kind of Canon Compliant, Dark Era, Smut, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Silly

Word Count: 52,127

Notes: I loved this fic because it encapsulates a pretty carefree tone that isn’t associated with Dark Era. It’s pretty smutty, but it’s really lovely to read them. It’s not a reflection of what these characters canonically represent. And while it definitely stays as a loose interpretation of these characters, it keeps the essence that makes this ship so sharp and wonderful. I loved Oda’s appearances too, they made me laugh.

A Doll's House by Abyss_In_WonderLand_likes_sexy_cannibals

Summary: After coming to contact with an ability-powered artifact, Dazai and Chuuya are forced to work together to overcome the ability’s trials, and face the bubbling sentiments they keep trying so hard to ignore.

Tags: Teamwork, Ability Loss, Poisoning, Denial of Feelings, Confessions, Light Angst

Word Count: 45,288

Notes: While definitely not a character study, this fic goes and shows how wonderfully warm a Double Black fanfic can be. You’ll giggle in some moments, be entranced in others, and it’s just fun. This is for those that aren’t scouring for the angst. This was the first fic that sunk me into a skk fanfiction hunt all throughout the winter holidays.

On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation

Synopsis: Chuuya always knows the monster can get out of control, but it doesn’t get any less surprising when Arahabaki powers through him. For a while though, it’d been comforting to know Dazai could always reign it in, make it go quiet. Because he did when they recently met, when they rose through the ranks, and at the brink of their end. But after years of disconnection, and the consistent waves of betrayal, is Chuuya capable of trusting him? And is Dazai capable of letting him?

Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Port Mafia, Post-Port Mafia, Mistrust, Non-Linear Storytelling

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: This story is just breathtaking. The writing style is incredibly vast and detailed, which may seem scary when described, but it flows so easily when you read it. You cannot negate AbsoluteNegation’s incredible skill. The story takes place in an event where Chuuya loses control of Arahabaki in a Post-Port Mafia Soukoku time. But because of its non-linear style, one gets to understand their past experiences with each other in a manner that contextualizes and weighs in the events of their reunion.

Fanon Spaces

Before I begin, I’d like to note that there are so many AUs in this fandom, that I had to really search for the canon ones in my list. So understand that if you want more of these, I DEFINITELY have more of these. Also, again, while I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers.

I’ll crown your inner child with laurel by acuteguwu

Synopsis: Chuuya has worked in a Michelin Star restaurant. So he really has no place in losing this cooking competition. But a sudden newcomer, who seemingly has no previous experience in the field, seems to want to tell him his bechamel sauce isn’t ready. And really, who does he think he is?

Tags: Chef Competition AU, Character Study, Slow Burn, Chuuya Is A Blunt Perfectionist, Dazai Is A Culinary Genius

Words: 197,090

Notes: I read this in two days, and I finished by waking up at four in the morning to finish up before going to a drag queen brunch. So really, my experience was incredible. You get to really know these characters, who are very themselves, and it’s lovely. Please read, it’s so worth it.

music for our funeral by itotypes

Synopsis: Dazai has always been lost on what exactly he wants to be. Chuuya knows exactly what he wants. Working with such incredible differences proves to be a difficult challenge, ending in at least a little bit of violence multiple times, but they make it work. Because their music sounds beautiful. Because they’re better geniuses beside the other. And maybe because once it started, they can’t seem to process this journey can ever end.

Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Lowkey Pretty Violent, Emotional Cheating (w/ Main Ship)

Word Count: 67,723

Notes: Look, there’s a whole genre of Soukoku music AUs. And I could tell you to read the famous “still, still, still” by icedlightroast, or the even more famous “I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter. Which really, they’re both INCREDIBLE fics that I think you should read (IWSYNTTR literally inspired me to try and write music, which led me to do an album for a school project, so I’m not kidding when I say they’re life changing), but I also know that these are famous fanfics that you can find in almost any big skk reader thread. So disregarding the following recommendation, I try to give you fanfics I found through a long scrolling process.

Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Synopsis: Chuuya has never been able to experience much. So when he meets Dazai on the night of orientation, he lets himself explore. So as lips sink into his, and as he lets himself be free, Dazai lets him know how unimportant he is by walking away when kids walk in on them. Cut to a month later, they’re paired as roommates, Chuuya’s gotten what Dazai insists is a douchey boyfriend, and Dazai Osamu has to recognize it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a night’s fluke. He really, definitely isn’t straight.

Tags: College AU, Pinning, Chronic Illness, Creation & References Of Illegal Panini Rings, Confessions, Miscommunication, Past Sexual Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cute Dates, Dazai’s Really Rich

Word Count: 264,937

Notes: I recognize I just put in my notes that there’s no major point in recommending these big fanfics, but I just read this because the person that introduced me into the fandom in the first place really loves this one. And it’s incredible. Worth every moment. I laughed a lot, and cried a lot. It’s those pieces of work that resound with you that keep you engaged. This one builds off of that.

Inseparable by milwritescausewhynot

Synopsis: Dazai and Chuuya have been joined to the hip since day one. But they’re not best friends. Or enemies. Or, worst of all, lovers. They are, however, great at pranking each other. Until one goes close to dangerous, and things begin getting complicated afterwards.

Tags: High School AU, Pranks, Light Angst, Denial, Pining, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Crazy Kouyou, Childhood Friends, No Smut

Word Count: 107,804

Notes: I hadn’t saved this one in my compilation, but I couldn’t not find it. This fic is so charming, and I most enjoy how the characters move through the story. You can feel the way they're in-tuned from the get go. Definitely recommend.

In Conclusion

Again, I’m sorry for such a late response. I’m literally falling asleep right now but I felt too guilty leaving this for tomorrow morning. If you have any questions, notes, or looking for something specific for your reading, we can talk about it.

Anyways, thanks for asking! Hope you love them, and sorry for any mistakes

#soukoku fanfiction #skk #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #bsd #bungou stray dogs #fanfic recommendations #skk fanfiction #double black #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai

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l-sincline · 1 year

Text

Cybernetics Chapter 21

Amy Rose is a mechanic, plain and simple. But aside from that, she feels utterly alone in a cruel world where she makes just enough to scrape by. One night she’s visited by a mysterious Cyborg that needs his arm fixed, little does she know this repair will change her life.

Flung from the confines of her normal life, Amy finds herself working with Anarchists set on creating a new life for themselves and the poor people of Mobius. The only downside? Seeing who she thought was her best friend fight against her.

AO3 Tags: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Amy Rose/Shadow the Hedgehog, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles “Tails” Prower, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Rouge the Bat, Whisper the Wolf, Cream the Rabbit, Knuckles the Echidna, Badnik (Sonic the Hedgehog), E-123 Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Slow Burn, Partners in Crime

AO3 Link

Previous/Next

Their journey home was quiet- both the girls were tired it seemed. The sky was only beginning to darken, and yet Amy felt as if it’d been many days, weeks even, since they’d began their mission. How could so much happen in such a short amount of time?

When they had finally reached base- Amy and Rouge collapsed on the couch together, Rouge melted back into the couch while Amy leaned on her shoulder. It was silent in the base, only the slight hum of the air filter buzzed through the house as it just got darker and darker before Rouge finally spoke.

“ProjScreen, on.”

The ProjScreen flashed to life, it was on the same gossip channel Rouge always watched but instead of the hosts usual grinning faces there was a pinkish screen with their logo, below were the words ‘Program to return soon!’

“Channel seven.” Rouge prompted, and the ProjScreen changed again.

“-are unsure of where to even begin in this carnage.” A mobian snow leopard spoke seriously to a camera, behind him was a tall apartment building from the inner city. From what Amy could see, one of the rooms seemed to be torn out and smoking- that room singularly destroyed. “Deanerly Deer was the host of Mobian Gossip channel ‘That’s That!’ Alongside the beloved Katerina Katty, who has a few words on the matter now.”

Both Amy and Rouge were alert now, staring at the ProjScreen with intensity as Katerina’s face came onto screen, clearly some sort of prerecorded video.

“I know we have our enemies but I can’t for the life of me imagine anyone ever tipping Doctor Robotnik off to Deanerly. He’s truly my best friend and the best cohost a girl could ask for. I’m begging the doctors to make sure he makes it out safe.” The screen swapped back to the news reporter.

“For those of you just tuning in, that was Katerina Katty on the injury of Deanerly Deer at the hands of Doctor Robotnik. At the moment we have little information on what the Doctor could’ve wanted with Deanerly, all we know is that there was a safe in the penthouse that was clearly broken into. If anyone has any information on-“

“ProjScreen off.” Amy’s voice wavered as the screen shut off and she turned slowly to Rouge. “…What are the chances I accidentally led the Doctor to a chip?”

Rouge looked just as surprised as she stared back at Amy.

“I don’t know. I think only time will tell.”

Amy groaned and sunk back into the couch. Things were about to get more complicated, and she was ready for a long nights sleep to compensate for all the energy she’d used today. So no matter how stressful this all was, she’d have to sit and think about it until she was more alert.

When she woke the next morning the base was just about as quiet as it always was. Heading downstairs, Shadow stood diligently at the island, staring at some sort of hologram map that was projected from a small, black rectangle. As her feet landed on the ground he looked up, reaching out and grabbing the rectangle as the hologram disappeared, he shoved it into a pocket.

“What was that?” She asked.

“A map. Blaze gave it to me, it’s got a bunch of their potential targets on it.”

“Oh.” She responded, “Silver settled in alright?”

“After he finished pestering me with all his questions, yeah. Blaze seemed grateful to have him.”

“You saw the news? About Deanerly and the doctor?” She finally asked.

“Yeah.” Shadow sighed, moving from his spot at the island to let Amy get into the kitchen to get breakfast. “No word on anything yet. Blaze has some people snooping around but…”

“But we’ll have to wait and see?”

“Yeah.”

“I hate waiting.” She muttered under her breath before opening the fridge to rummage around.

“Well, there’s nothing else we can do about it now. Blaze started giving out the stuff we got, I made sure I directed her towards your area. Just work on your stuff in the meantime. Robotnik isn’t one for subtlety, if he has that chip we’re going to know about it sooner rather than later.”

“I know, you’re right. I just hate not being able to plan.” She agreed.

Settling on some toast, she whipped it up quickly and ate even quicker before heading up the stairs and back into the workroom. It was just as she’d left it. Some tools out on the desk, everything relatively where it should be. She headed over to the corner and yanked the sheet off of Omega that she’d put there before leaving.

“Well bud, todays the day. Let’s get you back up and running.”

Omega was hard work. Perhaps that’s why it’d taken her so long to finally commit to finishing him. He was an old… old model. Clearly some sort of Eggman bot repurposed, but not one she’d ever seen before. The Eggman bots she was used to were sleek, modern. White, black, and red. This was a chunky old thing, angular and dopey looking- red, black, and silver. Nonetheless, he seemed particularly important to Rouge, and important to Shadow as well, so she continued to work.

The other part of him that was perhaps a bit frustrating was just how large he was. Amy found herself stepping up and down her chair quite often. With such a large chest cavity, the wires and components were scattered around every level.

After a few hours she grunted and struggled with putting the chest piece back on. It eventually clicked into place and she sat back with a huff, sliding the chair away from the robot and looking up at it. She sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from her forehead and tossing a hammer back to the work table. Amy looked up at the robot with tired- but excited- eyes.

“Omega.” She said his name as if she was testing it. She paused, half expecting it to turn on- but it didn’t. Older model, of course. “Let’s see how you do, then.”

Amy stood and brought the chair up in front of him again, standing on top of it. Carefully, she reached under the lip of his head and wiggled her fingers until she found the obscured button. She pressed it, and his eyes glowed to life.

She smiled as he turned on and scanned the room and made it to her.

But soon grimaced as he spoke.

“Intruder alert.” Was all he said before his gun hand raised towards her.

“No! No intruder!” She cried out, but it was in vain. Amy fell backwards as she heard the blaster whir to life, missing the shot as she fell from the chair to the floor. “Rouge!” She cried, “Shadow!”

“Intruder alert.” Omega repeated, stepping towards her.

Amy yelped and scrambled to her feet to dodge another blast, managing to trip again as she grabbed the chair- as if that was going to do anything. Rouge came flying up the stairs, eyes wide- Shadow bounding up after her.

“Omega!” Rouge shouted, “Stop! False alarm!”

Omega’s stance changed to a more casual one as he lowered his arm, looking to Rouge after her command.

“Up.” Shadow demanded as he leaned down and scooped Amy to her feet by her armpits. She dropped the chair.

“Omega…” Rouge smiled in relief, leaping forward to give the big robot a hug.

“It’s good to have you back, bud.” Shadow nodded.

“What happened to the Eggman Base?” Omega asked, turning to Shadow as Rouge backed up.

“Destroyed, we got away safely thanks to you.”

“I totally would’ve lost my head if you hadn’t shielded me.” Rouge affirms, “Thanks, Omega.”

“This is Amy Rose,” Shadow gestured to Amy, who stood next to him, “not an intruder. She fixed you, she works with us now.”

Omega stared at her for a moment, and then beeped.

“Scan complete. Amy Rose recognized as member of team.” He held out his other, metal clawed hand, “Pleasure to meet you, Amy.”

She smiled gently, there was a sense of pride that her work had fixed their MIA teammate, and she shook his hand carefully.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #rouge the bat #cybernetics #cyberpunk au #cyberpunk sonic #shadamy #sinclines writing

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edgysaintjust · 2 years

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Fabre's shoe intrigue

As we know well how messy the entire Dantonist case was, as we pity Camille and believe Hérault to be innocent, I would also like to reflect on Fabre, as I believe, there will be very little said about him today.

Fabre d’Églantine was known for his financial affairs, falsifications, malversation, conformism and corruption. While I absolutely do not wish to justify his crimes, I would like to point out a few less-known facts about his life that may help us understand him better.

Ever since Fabre abandoned his life as a young scholar accepted to Toulouse’s Doctrinaire congregation and pursued a career as a traveling actor in 1771 (which his father for obvious reasons disapproved) he has been struggling financially. Later in his life, during his time in Paris which obviously interests us most, his theater brought him little profit, and the plays he wrote were not selling well. By the time the Revolution started, as Edme Monne wrote:

His position (when he arrived in Paris) was far from brilliant; and even at the time when I knew him (in 1791 and 1792), although it had improved and could offer a rather advantageous perspective, it was still embarrassing. Constantly surrounded by a swarm of creditors, Fabre saw himself carried away by the need to answer them, to visit them, to bring them promises.

Which, along with his mischievous personality led to a situation well known as Fabre's shoes intrigue:

He was accused at the Convention of shameful speculation about a supply of shoes for the army, of which he was in charge while he was secretary of the Ministry of Justice. He had roughly proved that he had hoarded ten thousand pairs of shoes, that he had sold them to regiments at the rate of 8 pounds 10 cents, after having paid 4 pounds. ; and who, it was said, had not lasted more than twenty-four hours for our soldiers. But the continuation of this case was abandoned and did not follow.

Fabre’s shoe intrigue and managing Danton’s secret finances are clearly a shady case. The money Fabre earned as a secretary at Danton’s office was used to pay off some of the said debts, and his situation didn’t improve at all as he still needed some funds. As it is said in his biography:

It was in this state of presumed poverty that he arrived at the Convention. Whatever good opinion one may have of Fabre d'Eglantine, the financial distress in which he found himself in 1792 suggests that when he submitted at this time the delivery of ten thousand shoes to the army of Dumouriez, he had to worry about his personal interest a little more than the general interest.

However, the case lacks clear evidence. It is also worth noticing that Fabre’s reputation wasn’t the best due to his 'life of a party' lifestyle, which most likely contributed to how the whole intrigue was seen. Allow me to add few quotes:

If Fabre d'Eglantine was an honest man, it doesn't appear very clearly. Who had been involved in so many intrigues and linked with such notorious gamblers, in an attitude of disinterested patriot would only be eager to provide excellent shoes to the soldiers of the Republic. On the other hand, this affair remains singularly enigmatic, and, in the absence of precise facts, the historian is reduced to suppositions.

[...]

The misfortune of people who have, rightly or wrongly, a bad reputation, is that as soon as they are accused, everyone hastens to declare them guilty. And that is precisely what happened to poor Fabre d'Eglantine in this affair of the shoes. They judged him by his past, by his wandering life and the scandalous adventures of which he had been really too lavish. They didn't want to admit that he could be innocent, and I have great difficulty, I confess, so numerous are his accusers, in admitting it myself. To tell the truth, many things, in the absence of formal proofs which are almost always lacking in these sorts of stories, plead against his probity.

In short, in spite of the almost unanimous opinion of contemporaries on this matter of shoes, the doubt subsists because only affirmations, conjectures in one direction or the other, and no proof have been provided; but it is nonetheless true that when Fabre d'Eglantine made his entry into the Convention, he was already compromised or suspected.

However, Fabre managed to make enough money for people to accuse him of being rich and drowning in luxury, thus meaning he had bought, along with his mistress, an expensive house filled with various art pieces. The "palace", however, consisted of three rooms; the decorative elements Fabre claimed to have painted himself, and we have reasons to believe him as he was indeed a skilled painter as well as a poet and used to draw pastel portraits. Struggling with money his whole life, Fabre seeked a source of income, and being a conformist with loose morals he saw his chance in intrigues and corruption. It is said that in order to change his clothes, he had to sell the only tailcoat he possessed and buy a new one with the same money. I will not try to get into the East India Company case as it is way more complicated, but count this as my tribute to Fabre d’Eglantine.

#wow literally noone asked #;)#doesnt matter #fabre d'eglantine #french revolution

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johobi · 4 years

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A Lycan Dignity

Word count: 4k

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: rough, penetrative werewolf sex, pregnancy sex, blood consumption, biting, knotting, squirting, very strong dom/sub dynamic, extremely graphic sexual description lol, impreg kink, baby bump worship, masturbation, giant COCK, i mean huge, tiny amount of angst

A/N: This was commissioned by the wonderful @divine-bangtan in exchange for a Black Lives Matter donation! I really hope you enjoy it!

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

Sympathetic to the plight of the werewolves your kind have culled to near-extinction, life as a human informant has never been one of safety. However, when you catch the eye of an alpha, your situation only grows more perilous.

After many months of unremitting use, your once solid bed frame had become a rickety, wretched old thing. Its joints ground like those of a horse bound for the knackery. Weeks ago, you thought it near total collapse. Since then, however - though it protested any and all movement - it had remained intact. Because, no longer did you and Jungkook breed with the impassioned fervour you once did. No, these days your bed hosted only the most lacklustre of sex; the sort you never imagined needing endure when you tied yourself to him. After all, Jungkook was an oversexed, testosterone-burdened manbeast with a twelve inch cock and a negligible refractory period. So why was it now so scant? So underwhelming?

According to him, it was necessary.

Ugh.

Oh, how you longed for the days and nights Jungkook would run you all the way through, bending you this way and that to offload himself for the third, consecutive time. How he would grow and grow and grow, locking into place in the depths of your cunt and soothe you all the while.

Being that you were now five months pregnant, however, you were the only one ballooning. God, you missed his knot. Missed the intensity with which he once bedded you. Missed the—

“Does that feel okay?”

“It’s fine.”

Presently, Jungkook mounted you with the shallowest of thrusts, barely wetting half his length. The bed swayed beneath you, tapping the wall to the rhythm of his gently rolling hips. Before you’d grown big, it had clapped the cabin’s pine like thunder, and splintered where it struck. Today you clutched a pillow for comfort as Jungkook rocked you into a drowsy stupor.

It was so quiet that his breathing carried across you. It, too, was shallow - hardly laboured - and sometimes there came an occasional grunt of effort. Or perhaps of pleasure? It was difficult to distinguish to what extent the act satisfied Jungkook when he restrained himself so. By the furrow in his brow, it appeared more akin to torture. It certainly was for you. Your libido had grown unruly during gestation, and nothing much gratified you.

Nothing but your aforementioned, well-endowed mate. Only he could alleviate the nagging ache.

So it was to your utter dismay when Jungkook deemed you too large for such boisterous intercourse, and insisted you be handled like some delicate bijou. It was preposterous! You were tough enough to withstand a decade’s duty in the militia’s vanguard! A few extra inches of cock weren’t like to break you.

In the end, despite two full days of moody back-and-forth on the matter, he tempered your lovemaking significantly. And though your post-coital canoodling was as much to your joy and satisfaction as it ever was, you found the preceding act painfully lacking. Actually, literally painful. Pregnancy was quite intolerable.

You challenged Jungkook on several, fruitless occasions thereafter. But his constant dismissals would not deter you. Especially not today, when the entirety of you quivered for satiation, and he had been drip-feeding you cock for the past twenty-odd minutes. It was maddening. The path to climax was a sleet-sodden slope that you could never hope to climb.

"Jungkook, please, enter me fully. There’s no need for such caution. I know it hurts you to hold back." And me. “How many times must I assure you that I’m not as fragile as you think me?" You grimaced at the headboard as Jungkook probed your entrance with middling impetus. His girth was such that your cunt begged and fluttered to receive it deeper, distressed by the gaping space that went unfilled.

“Hmph.”

Jungkook’s considerable weight descended, blanketing your back to secure your compliance. With his breath at your ear, he interwove your fingers and exerted pressure enough to bow you to the blanket. Your ass, however, remained high and accessible; as submissive a posture there was. By the devilish chuckle that blew across your cheek, Jungkook already thought himself the victor of this quarrel. "And how many times must I ask you not to challenge me? I know my own strength." It was difficult to rebuke him when his lips skirted your ear so. So soft and wet and careful in their pressure.

"And I know your strength just as well. I have been on the receiving end of it for months before th-this—ah!" Pain suffused your neck where Jungkook’s mouth lingered. He curled his lip at your continued defiance. Out of the corner of your eye, his fangs bore a red glaze.

Mayhaps it was a warning, but it only served to embolden you.

"Nothing you could do would harm the pups. Please, Jungkook. I'm begging you." He liked being begged. Liked when you relinquished your power and station entirely. Because, outside your bedchambers, you were as important and respected as he. That he liked, too.

Your particularly bullish nature meant that Jungkook relished your surrender. Especially in the aftermath of contentious discussions. There had been many an occasion where Jungkook’s red-blooded urges almost jeopardised tactical assemblies, because he simply could not ignore them. Particularly the meetings where you butted heads on some divisive detail or another. The tension grew so stark during these exchanges that it cowed the other attendants into silence. You would exchange little else, thereon, but sultry glares, and Jungkook would orbit you in inappropriate proximity, breathing down your neck and rubbing you where others could not see. The sex after those meetings was singularly wild.

Jungkook attested often to his being a tethered beast, but you were the one with the leash. “Please. Put it all the way in,” you snivelled. “Alpha.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched at your urging; you felt him on your back, chest broad and feverish. He did not perspire out of exertion but sheer sexual frustration. It was obvious by the weight with which his balls hung; you spied them between your legs when you looked beneath. "Please, alpha. Take me completely."

Furtively, you grinned. Jungkook was an astute man. However, he was also a simple, dick-driven creature.

“Argh!”

A snarl seared your ear, drawing gooseflesh in its wake. You tilted your head to behold him; to enthrall him with lust-lidded eyes. But it was you who was captivated. Jungkook would never be anything less than breathtakingly handsome. The type women ripped costly bodices for. He was rugged; as hewn in the jaw as he was in body, and with eyes so honest you could be sup from his soul. Your mouth hung in open appreciation of his masculine beauty. Jungkook’s hips stuttered, then, as you drunk one another in. A fleeting slip, but enough to propel him deeper for a crucial moment. The repercussions manifested immediately. Your eyes rolled in their sockets and out came a harrowing groan. The entirety of your body tautened as your cunt did, grasping at his elusive length as it again withdrew. "Ugh. Jungkook!"

"Cease your attempts to seduce me, woman," Jungkook menaced, butting aside your head and raking his fangs along the angle of your jaw. "Your charms will not work." His tongue laved wherever they grazed, his hands surrendering your hips only to snake beneath and caress your rotund belly. So tender was he in his touches, that your cunt pulled with desire. Jungkook splayed his fingertips, cradling your circumference as best he could in his calloused palms. He muttered something soft and indiscernible about our children as he admired you, your provocation momentarily forgotten.

His cheek came by yours, then, rounded nose drifting to your temple to huff in your pregnant scent. According to him, you’d become overwhelmingly, wonderfully fragrant. Such that he would pine if denied it too long.

Chamomile.

That was what you effused while with child.

Jungkook’s favourite tea.

The headbutt that came next would reasonably incapacitate the average person; indeed, it was so strong that your knees rattled on their hinges. But Jungkook went unscathed, nuzzling a path through your tangled hair, air whooshing through his nostrils as he scented you. "God, you are beautiful. So round, so full. And utterly mine," Jungkook murmured, teetering on the fringes of abandon. He continued his ardent groping with a whine.

Had he really sabotaged his own restraint?

How funny that his undoing was his own. Positively hilarious.

That was, until you felt his cock sink deliberately deeper. Jungkook groaned as you did, though you were far more shameless in your desperation. “Oh, God—!”

"Fuck!" The curse word unravelled into a low, ungodly growl.

"Yes, Jungkook. More—" Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his backside, but it soon retreated out of reach as he again withdrew. "Godfuckingdamnit! What must I do to convince you? Please, do it again. I can take it!"

"I will not. It’s too much a risk. What happened was—was entirely unintentional, and I won’t allow it to happen again." He stated it with resolve, but his hips stuttered traitorously, heeding not him but the wolf within him. A rush of breath buffeted your shoulders and then Jungkook's nose was again in your nest of hair, inhaling himself to his senses. "That is the end of it," he murmured on exhale, seemingly sobered. "Now, let us continue." Penetration resumed at its previous, underwhelming pace, maddening you to your very marrow.

"Fine." A growl of your own grew in your chest. "Then I will not submit to you today."

When you dared look Jungkook’s way, the sheer displeasure buckling his features very nearly undid your determination. His brows hung gravely over his eyes, obscuring their usual, gentle glimmer with a severity that stirred your wanton pussy. "You will. You will always submit to me. I am your alpha," Jungkook stated with a snap of his teeth, seeking to subdue you with his hefty physique.

Oh, you absolutely would and should submit but it was imperative you defy him now or you would never see satiety.

With something of such import in the balance, you heaved yourself onto your elbows and then your hands, quaking beneath the werewolf that hung plastered to your back. As you rose, as you straightened your spine in defiance and denied Jungkook your submission, the growl behind you grew in outrage. His cock stalled at your opening, tip still between your folds.

“Not today.”

Jungkook's lips curled back along his gums, a slight tremor to his tautened jaw. Two, prominent fangs confronted you in the candlelight, your skin prickling where they'd countless times pierced. His authority was difficult to oppose when the mere visage of this apex predator was enough to buckle your knees and sodden your cunt. "You're a baffling woman. I've dominated you on hundreds of splendid occasions, and today is the day you defy me? Must I subjugate you again, my sweet?"

As much as you yearned to present him your sopping hole, it would be another five months of unrealised desire if you did.

To hell with that.

“Come, now. Show me how ready you are to receive me.” Jungkook sought to bow you with nips and kisses, but you would not be bowed. Not this time. When this much became clear, he peeled himself from your back and his cock from your hole. Oh, no. No, this wouldn't do.

"If you will not obey me then you will not receive me at all," he snorted, as enraged and engorged as a hung bull. Truly, he was a marvel that you could not tear your desirous eyes from. Not when he knelt there so, in all his strapping, virile glory. You whined for what you were cruelly denied. Jungkook interpreted your meaning well. "It is your own fault." He vented frustration through his flaring nostrils. "Present yourself to me or I will simply finish all over you."

Your cunt pulsed in anguish and joy. What a dream it would be if he painted you, cock in hand and strangling it of cum. If his sac throbbed with each ejaculation as it fell across your body, hot and sticky. If his lips were bitten bloody and his eyes crinkled closed.

God.

Yes, it would be beautiful. But it would afford you nothing in the end but your own, spiritless fingers to finish with. Jungkook had been so keen a lover that you could not even recall the last time you masturbated. And you weren’t about to start now, as unquenchable as you were.

So, you persisted. Prayed that your ruse might finally bear fruit. It all culminated with this: "I won't. How about you I take you, so that I may seek my own pleasure? Get on your back. Offer your belly up to me, wolf, so I may sit on you."

In a lightning's flash Jungkook was atop you, one muscular forearm looping your hips and the other strong across your chest, claws toying with the malleable flesh of your swollen breasts. His weight suffocated you once more, but you did not resist when he sought to manoeuvre you into submission. Not when, in the ferocity of his outrage did he then stuff you full with his entire cock, plunging to your depths in one, fluid thrust. It took your breath away. Deprived you of your vision. For a moment, nothing but blood raged in your ears as you fully comprehended just how in want you were. "Oh, G-Gods."

A scramble of depraved utterances streamed from Jungkook's mouth as he handled you as he truly wished. With just the one, greedy hand he bullied your swaying breasts, squeezing them as if to strain you of milk. Every vulgar grope, every pull of your nipples manifested violently in your cunt, throttling Jungkook's monstrous cock in arrhythmic convulsions. "I-Is it truly safe?" He posed it to you as a throaty moan, his other hand charting the flesh of your inner thighs and skimming them like a potter might wet clay. As his thumbs brushed the apex between, willingly and desperately you split your legs further apart, elevating your backside for his inspection. The mere act of yielding to Jungkook sensitised you to him tenfold. Though you were not werekind, his influence was such in its potency that it affected you all the same. A familiar, innate desire to pleasure him overcame you. And as you submitted to him now, nothing thrilled you more than the whines of appreciation that kissed your ears as his full length stretched you silly. Jungkook murmured again; lower and in earnest. "____. Is it truly safe?"

"It is. A thousand times I've said it." As you spoke he shifted within you, and the world shifted too. The gratification was profuse. "The babes will come to no harm," you sang, sliding along the base of his girthy cock. "And neither will I. No, I need this. And so do you."

"I won't deny that." Was all he said before he pinned you like a ravenous beast its beaten prey, hips snapping, momentum rippling through you. Each drive of his pelvis bombarded your cunt with his weighty, bloated balls as he dove in deep. They struck you like a rider’s crop, again and again, until you were sore and splendidly puffy. “Fuck, you’re so deep. I forgot how far back you go. God, you’re made for me. My perfect, pretty little bitch.” Jungkook was quickly carnal. Every phrase concluded in a wolfish whine.

He rutted you with the vigour of his first heat, feverish and erratic, jamming you to your limits with his colossal cock. His tip kissed your cervix on repeat, greasing your insides with pre-cum as he ploughed apart your unyielding walls. He leaked it so liberally now, so profusely that it dribbled from around him. All the while you yelped up a din beneath him, fully engrossed in your deference to him. You glimpsed night sky in the bedsheets, spatterings of stars combusting before your very eyes. They fell as tears, streaking your cheeks wet with relief.

"Yes, yes—that's it. Oh, you feel so good, my love. S-So good." Jungkook pistoned into you with expert precision, sweeping across your g-spot with every frenzied pass. A glorious ache tugged at your navel as he did so, wringing your insides like a sopping sponge. And, oh, how you were sopping. Vulgarly so. Jungkook juiced your cunt each time he crammed you full, soaking the space between you. It lacquered his abdomen 'til he shined in the lowlight. Gods, he was gorgeous, you could not help but glimpse him past your shoulder, to observe him as he split you apart, his eyes sharp and expression fraught. Your cunt heaved at the sight and sensation of him, and spurred him on.

"You were right. So right." Jungkook's tongue flicked around his gaping mouth, touching on his teeth in concentration. His eyes remained fixed to the site of your messy joining, tracking the drag and draw of his throbbing cock. "You can take anything. You're so strong. So beautiful," he whispered between uneven breaths, adhering himself to your arching back and resuming his earlier, intimate ministrations. As his lower half rippled and rammed you, his upper half cocooned you in comfort, gifting touches so soft they could be whispers.

You sensed it before it came. Hot breath tickled your nape for the briefest moment and then, there it was, sharp and soothing, a bite as familiar as his tender kiss; the bite that affirmed your initial bonding. It no longer induced pain, only a midsummer's welcome warmth. This first bite was the gentlest; Jungkook reasserting his claim. But then he withdrew, and struck again, and again, latching onto your nape for purchase as he pounded himself into your cunt to eke mewls from you.

"Ngh, fuck, it's happening too soon." Jungkook sounded utterly bereft. He did not, however, slow his incessant pace. His zeal had displaced you so far up the bed that the headboard clattered against your cheek. Discomfort was an irrelevant notion when you were having the life fucked into you, however. "I should withdraw."

"No!" It was practically a scream. "Knot me. Please, it's been too long. I need it, I need all of you," you burbled, tears afresh in your eyes. You were so close. Something momentous accumulated in your abdomen; teased glimpses of divine completion.

"Fuck!" Jungkook's hands roved your underside in woeful abandon, gripping at you like he might yet reestablish restraint. Clearly he could not, for his next move was to indulge in the blood that trickled freely from your neck. His long, rough tongue lapped you clean of his excesses, and his lips made sweet reparation. "I want—" A wet, solemn kiss. "I w-want—" A quick, furious thrust between your legs. "I want to fill you to the brim."

"Yes, do it, alpha. Please, please." Your whining rivalled that of the den's neediest pups. "I'm strong, like you said. I can take it. There is nothing more I've wanted these past months than that. Please knot me, Jungkook." As incentive you pitched your backside higher, clenching both orifices for his appreciation. Jungkook observed the gesture keenly, his cock jumping to a stall within you.

“Sh-shit—”

With surprising composure, he cupped the back of your head and tilted you toward him. Your cheekbones brushed in passing, and the tips of your noses pressed close. He sifted your eyes for sincerity before pressing his lips to yours in a long, torrid kiss that conveyed all that you needed from him. As you parted, Jungkook's tongue lingered long enough to draw strings. And then he grinned. "Alright. As you deferred to me so readily." His pace quickened, escalating into a frenzy of cunt-cleaving thrusts that drove ruthlessly along your upper wall. "I shall oblige you."

"Oh God—" The reservoir within you burgeoned suddenly, pulsed behind your cunt for release. And as you felt the dam begin to fracture, Jungkook's fingers found your clit amidst your plastered folds. One, establishing touch was all it took to undo you. As the base of his cock began to thicken, a river of fluid rushed around it as you finally, joyously climaxed, eyes half-lidded and sightless as you ascended. Euphoria tinged your every atom and daubed the world white. You convulsed on end and with alarming force, your pussy gulping down Jungkook's rapidly ballooning cock. The stretch of him stung wonderfully, pushed apart your seizing hole without care for your capacity.

"F-Fuck." Jungkook faltered upon witnessing the ferocity with which you gushed. It soaked what little remained dry of his thighs, clinging to their definition. You gasped and moaned beneath him, dizzied by orgasm, your mouth agape and cheek crushed flat to the headboard. His vascular forearms shook to support him as he hurtled toward completion. "You needed all of me, hm?" Jungkook panted, drunk on lust and wild with power. He gloated over you like the primeval beast he was, fangs bared and liberated by instinct. "Your slippery little cunt missed this, didn't it?"

You mustered little more than a gurgle as he continued to ravage your boneless body, fucking through your spasming cunt until he himself began to twitch. "Sh-Shit, fuck," he exclaimed on high, head thrown back and knot taking root. Though you were spent and without much sense, Jungkook's sudden, violent expulsion shot new life through you. Together you groaned, until he began baying, grinding his turgid cock as far as his knot would allow, frustrated by its impediment. Possessed by ferality, Jungkook nipped desperate pleas into your bruised shoulders, grunting with each subsequent spurt he emptied into you. Though he could no longer snap his hips, they nonetheless dug into you as he milked himself of residue. “God. Shit. I—” Monosyllabic cusses continued to fall from him as he prised himself from your limp body. Without a moment’s reprieve he maneuvered himself to his knees so as to better inspect your expanding belly, his hands roaming your bulging expanses. "Yes." It was almost a hiss. "You are perfect. So full of me and mine."

"Indeed, I am." You cast him a struggling smile. When Jungkook returned it, it revitalised you. Your smile grew into a grin. "And what a lucky woman I am."

"Come, let us make you more comfortable," Jungkook muttered with a touch to your dampened cheek. Historically his knots did not always abate in a timely manner. Knowing this, Jungkook clutched you to his chest, adjusting you so as not to tug at your joining, nor disturb your swollen belly. Ever so gently he steered you onto your side, his sweat-slick body clinging to your back. His knot throbbed pleasantly within, interlocking you indefinitely. And you did not object, because this was when you felt most at peace, most loved, most protected. His arms cradled you, encircled your precious load, and all the while he washed you of perspiration and blood. No week went by where your neck and shoulders were not a spectrum of colour due to Jungkook's oral attention.

You did not object to that either.

"Thank you, Jungkook. I really needed that. I genuinely shed tears," you giggled, your breasts askew around his forearm. It tensed and pulled you closer.

"So did I." A growl laced his chuckle. "But I would never harm you or the pups to satisfy my own selfish desires. Forgive me my obstinacy, but I had to be sure."

"I understand. And we are safe. We're the safest with you, my love."

Jungkook suspended his rigorous bathing of you to kiss the crown of your head. "You are. Nothing shall befall you while I still breathe.

For a dreadful moment, your ongoing predicament punctured the post-coital glow. But you resolved not to let it. No, it could wait until tomorrow. In the here and now, you did not have to fret whether Jungkook would return home tomorrow. Whether his dinner would grow cold and your bed perennially so.

No.

In this moment, he was here, as were you. One bonded pair and their six, synchronous heartbeats.

Just a quick note to elaborate on the reader’s pregnancy, as I appreciate not everyone will have read these asks.

1) She is pregnant with four boys.

2) They develop in utero as wolves, and are born in that form too - therefore they are quite a bit smaller than human babies. So she isn’t particularly overburdened. A few months after birth they will begin popping in and out of both forms until they learn to control it.

Next: Mark of the Beast || Tooth and Claw Masterlist

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jeongguk #jeongguk smut #jungkook fluff #jeongguk fluff #jungkook x you #jeongguk x you #jungkook scenarios #jeongguk scenarios #werewolf!jungkook #werewolf!jeongguk #bts smut #bts scenarios #a lycan dignity #tooth and claw

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

the pitch.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this one is just a fun lil ajf fic! takes place in au!february 2016, during the spring soccer season

words: 1.3k warnings: soccer moms, light language

summary: aaron’s a known challenge for the moms on the soccer pitch. a newcomer finds out why.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Let’s go Jack! C’mon!” Aaron’s shout carries across the soccer pitch, and Jack delivers - scoring a goal for his second hat trick of the season. At twelve, he is by far the strongest player on the team, as well as the happiest.

He flies to the sidelines for a moment and meets his dad for a high-five, sprinting back onto the pitch.

Two moms watch the exchange on the opposite sideline, the younger of the two observing Aaron with particular interest. “Do you think he’s single?” She, unlike her new friend, doesn't know the Hotchners and has never met you.

As it happens, you’re home with Isaac, almost ready to leave for the end of the game. The games are always a little loud for Isaac, but you’ve learned he can tolerate (and sometimes actually enjoy) them for about twenty minutes at a time. Thus, you always started or ended the game without him, spending the rest of the time running errands or hanging out at home.

While you’re not quite sure what his differences are, you know your little one has a unique relationship to the environment. Derek had the idea to put headphones on him when he was just over a year old, and they’ve been a lifesaver. You usually put them on him to dampen environmental noise, but the ability to play music comes in handy, too.

Among the more seasoned soccer parents, you’re a bit of a legend. Stepmom to the Stars, and wife of the infamously handsome and competent Aaron Hotchner. You beautifully manage a soon-to-be teenager (who adores you), while carting around an almost-two-year-old (with sensory processing issues), while pregnant (with twins).

It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so impressive.

The older woman snorts. “Far from it. In fact, he’s more in love with his wife than any man I’ve ever met. If I hadn’t seen him together, I would think he was full of shit, but they really are something else. They work at the Justice Department together.”

“First marriage?” She’s clearly determined.

“Second. He’s a widower.”

The younger woman tosses her hair over her shoulder, gathering it up into a ponytail. “I can work with that. It’s been a minute since I flirted with the Justice Department.”

She crosses the pitch, coming to rest by Aaron’s side.

“So,” she starts, “which one’s yours?”

With a proud, if reserved, smile, Aaron picks Jack out of the players. He’s an easy find, almost a streak on the pitch as he runs across the field. “Jack’s there. He’s my oldest.” After answering her question, he directs all of his focus back to the game, pointedly bringing his left hand to scratch at something on his neck, his wedding ring glinting in the sunlight.

“Oldest? So you have more kids?”

Absently, he replies, crossing his arms. “I do. Another son and two girls on the way.” He’s had her intentions on lock since he’s spotted her eyeing him across the way. His polite disinterest does nothing to deter her.

“So sweet!” Her voice just about gives him a cavity. “How old is your other son?”

She’s cute enough - a type he would have probably gone after in college - but young and singularly focused. He runs a quick mental profile (have to keep the skills sharp, you know) and sees a woman who married early, divorced soon after having one child - given the wedding band she wears on her right hand and the mother’s ring she wears on her left - and given her pursuit of him, likely something to prove to an older man in her life.

Thankfully, he knows you’re on your way, ready to save him from this suburban hell.

“He’ll be two next month.”

She smiles, flicking her ponytail back over her shoulder. “That’s such a sweet age. My daughter is just over a year old, now. My ex is bringing her by tonight, so I’ve got the house to myself all afternoon.”

Got that profile locked down, didn’t he?

Still got it, Hotchner.

The woman sighs like a house to herself is the greatest tragedy she’s ever encountered.

His eyes wander to the parking lot, where you’re walking from the car with Isaac up on your hip, his little headphones already over his ears. You raise an arm to wave and Aaron’s face breaks out into a grin.

He barely acknowledges the other woman as he says, “Excuse me,” and trots toward you. Jack’s been benched for the time being, recovering from his high-scoring first half.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You’re greeted with a quick, sweet kiss when Aaron reaches you, and you run a casual hand from his shoulder to his pec, tapping twice. “Hey, my love. How’s he doin’ out there today?”

“Hat trick, we’re up by five and he’s on the bench until next quarter.”

“Excellent.” She shifts Isaac on her hip, and Aaron reaches for him. Much to everyone’s surprise, Isaac reaches out for Aaron and allows his father to tuck him against his chest with one arm. You and Aaron exchange a little smile.

Your belly has decidedly become an obstacle as the twins get closer to arriving. You’re nearly seven months in, and they’re just about killing you. You will, however, suffer a great many trials for one of Aaron’s back massages, though, carrying his daughters included.

The three of you (or five, depending on who you count) walk back to the sideline of Jack’s game, your hand tucked into the crook of Aaron‘s elbow.

“So,” you say. “How many this morning?”

He laughs, a sound that brings a wide smile to your face. “Just the one. I’m a known challenge and I guess she was feeling ambitious.”

“What, babe? Is twenty and unattached not doing it for you anymore?” Your tone is cheeky in the extreme as you rest your hand on your belly.

You earn an eye roll. “I’ve done twenty and unattached. It got me far enough the second time, and I don’t think ‘third time’s the charm’ will apply to this situation very well.”

“In fairness, you did twenty-nine and unattached last time, if my memory serves.” You keep your tone light - it’s all play.

“Ah, yes. That’s right. I’m glad you’re here to keep me honest.” He kisses your temple and you lean into him. “I am an old man, after all. My memory’s going.”

You snort. “Not too far, I hope.”

A smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you know he’s thinking of last night. “Nope. Not too far, at all.”

The running attempts for Aaron’s attention on the soccer field was weekly entertainment at this point. As annoying as it was at the start, he regularly reminds you that only one woman has his ring on her finger and gets to bear his children and receive all the finer things that come with those privileges.

You felt much better after that.

He stoops to place Isaac in the folding chair he brought specifically for you and his younger son. Under no circumstances can Aaron himself sit still at one of Jack’s games - a habit from his coaching days.

When he straightens, he kisses you again. You can feel his smile against your lips and you’re sure he can feel yours. When you pull back, your eyes track to the side of the pitch. “We have an audience.”

He follows your gaze for just a moment before covering it with a cursory search for Jack, who’s right where he was before. “What’s so interesting about a man who loves his wife?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t know. It’s not a novelty to me.”

The two soccer moms have reconvened, and the smugness has switched faces.

“You’re kidding. They’re like a goddamn Hallmark card.”

“I told you.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @bauslut @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @garcia-reid-lovechild @cevanswhre@joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous Manifesto: A list of my thoughts on Miraculous Ladybug

Hello ladies, gentlemen, and germs of all ages! Everybody clap your hands! Today, I am going to talk about a show that I very much enjoy, but also drives me up a wall: Miraculous Ladybug!

If you don’t know the show, feel free to ignore this, this is mostly to get my head together and my thoughts posted down. It’s basically just a collection of my opinions on topics within the Miraculous Fandom and show.

First off, and it’s a doozy, Chloe Bourgeois. For those not in the know, Chloe is one of the singularly most bitter, mean, and utterly selfish characters ever invented. But, she isn’t a one-note hate sink. Chloe’s mother, who is an even BIGGER bitch than Chloe herself is, abandoned her to focus on the fame and adulation her career in the fashion industry afforded her, never remembering her Birthday and often not even bothering to remember her NAME. Ouch! Chloe’s father, Andre, while not without his faults, being a formerly corrupt, and still kind of shady, politician and all, but he deeply loves his daughter. Unfortunately, Andre is by all accounts and absentee parent, relegating Chloe’s rearing to Nannies, Butlers, and the like, and burying her in presents and gifts to avoid actually parenting and teaching Chloe. All in all, a bad combination.

By all accounts, Chloe was originally a very sweet and kind hearted girl, reaching out and befriending the lonely son of the Agreste family, Adrien. However, her loneliness, her dad’s spoiling behavior, and her pining for her mother combined to turn Chloe into a monster. Chloe, as she currently is, has a massively egotistical and selfish demeanor, and has no real friends, lashing out in the cruelest and most spiteful ways for the pettiest of reasons, or just for laughs. The closest thing she has to a friend is the socially awkward and unwaveringly loyal Sabrina, who often serves as her lackey, and is regarded as such as even her family’s staff don’t believe she has friends. Again, Ouch.

When given the chance to be a superhero as Queen Bee, a role which even Marinette, Ladybug herself, thought might help her change, we saw more signs that there is more to Chloe than just a dumb bully. Despite what people might think, Chloe actually is capable of feeling remorse for her actions, and her deepest desire underneath all the hate and bile is too be useful. To not just be another burden.

Unfortunately, show creator Thomas Astruc sank that idea. Turns out, Chloe is apparently utterly incapable of change and will always remain a self-centered monster. Now, I do NOT condone the fandom that was rooting for Chloe’s behavior against Tommy-boy, as all they did was give him vindication by acting like a pack of rabid jackals going in for the kill. On his official Wiki page for Miraculous, Thomas gives what appears to be a poetic and thoughtful detailing as to his decision and why he is right for it. Honestly? It rings hollow. For all his fancy words and attempts to illustrate Chloe as solely being a toxic, hateful individual without redemptive qualities, his reasoning, as well as his apparent intent from the start to have Chloe becoming a SuperHero to be a fake-out, comes across as crass and tacky.

Thomas perpetually portrays Chloe as being a bitter and spiteful shrew, with any kind deed she does having a duplicitous motive, that she is utterly incapable of showing genuine kindness and remorse as she is, and that is the way she always will be, but the thing is? When you give a character a sympathetic backstory and motive for how and why the way they are, you should expect people to sympathize and relate to that character, as well as acknowledge the you are opening them up to the possibility to change for the better. These are all things Thomas denies ruthlessly. In his narrative, Chloe can never be good, and all her pain has only served to ruin her, nothing more.

One of his arguments to justify this? Supervillains don’t sell toys. To explain, while a tragic backstory might make kids and folks sympathize for a villain, they still won’t consider them good or support them. That is true, of course. But the biggest flaw in his logic? Supervillains are just as capable of changing, becoming better than what they are, just like EVERYONE is. Villains can become heroes, it’s true! Not without trials and tribulation, of course, but they can be more than the label society gives them. Thomas has refused to even entertain the possibility that Chloe can ever be more than what he dictates she can be. In his narrative, people who have done bad things can never attempt to redeem themselves.

Chloe’s a baddy. Case closed. Thomas has repeatedly pointed to moments in the show that “illustrate” that Chloe is beyond redemption, that she can never grow beyond her faults, but the things is? He’s the creator, one of them, and a writer for the show. He has the POWER to CHANGE that narrative, to have things happen that force Chloe to grow and become a decent, if he can’t bring himself to make her good, and make amends, even if others don’t accept it.

Thomas likes to draw comparisons to abusive relationships when it comes to Chloe, but when you look at the show? It doesn’t actually hold water. The only people she has any kind of relationship with that isn’t straight up antagonism are Adrien, Sabrina, Audrey, and Andre. While it could be argued that Chloe is abusive towards Sabrina, and the dynamic they have is NOT healthy, I wouldn’t call it abusive. Chloe in no way forces Sabrina to do all that Sabrina does for her, even if she is barking orders, and Sabrina is cognizant of the fact that they do not have a standard friendship, enough so that even Chloe’s family’s employees don’t actually view Sabrina as actually being Chloe’s friend. Chloe might be harsh with Sabrina when they are on the outs, but she is never shown forcing Sabrina into anything, and Sabrina is often the only person besides Adrien or herself that Chloe shows compassion towards, particularly as Sabrina is one of the few people completely aware of Chloe’s childish and geeky side and accepts it utterly; at the worst interpretation, Sabrina is Chloe’s ENABLER, not her victim.

For Audrey and Andre’s relationship with Chloe, it is definitely toxic, but, if anything, Chloe is the one being abused! Audrey frequently belittles and ridicules Chloe, forgets her name, HER OWN DAUGHTER’S NAME, abandoned her when she was too little to truly take care of herself or have proper knowledge of right from wrong, and generally treats her like a particularly incompetent employee, when all Chloe wants from Audrey is her affection, her approval, and her love. Andre isn’t really bad with Chloe, but he’s neglected to be a parent to her, showering her with gifts to avoid having to actually be there for her when she needed him for all those years, which probably didn’t do any favors for how maladjusted she is.

Adrien frequently makes excuses for Chloe, apologizing on her behalf, and only occasionally standing up to her when she acts up. But Chloe isn’t abusing him, emotionally or mentally, as Adrien could be considered Chloe’s sole true friend; whenever Adrien scolds or gets upset with Chloe, Chloe backs down and off, and on the few times Adrien has threatened to stop being friends with her, Chloe has nearly broken. The only real thing keeping Adrien in Chloe’s life is the fact that she was his first friend, and he is her only friend aside from Sabrina. Chloe has no leverage to be abusing Adrien, or anything to use to keep them in each other’s lives; Adrien is friends with her by choice. Nothing else.

The worst part of it all? Chloe never got a chance. Thomas denied Chloe the possibility of growth, and will most likely keep denying it to her. So, I say we mourn. We mourn the loss of what will never come to pass, because one guy with a TV Show said so.

#miraculous ladybug #character study #chloe bourgeois #andre bourgeois #audrey bourgeois #sabrina #sabrina raincomprix #adrien agreste #feel free to ignore

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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HASO, “Field of Spears.”

Hope you guys enjoy the story for today :)

They sky above was dark with rain clouds, they were thick, streaking the sky with great black streaks like someone had wiped their hand over a permanent marker while it was still wet.

It was just the forefront of the storm, so the rain hadn’t yet come, and the wind had died down mostly. The clouds overhead moved quickly, and caused rolling waves of shadow over the land below.

That’s how she saw it at first, coming up over the rise as a wave of iridescent light spilled down from the clouds, and onto a glittering field of spears. There were hundreds of them, certainly thousands, and they stretched off in each direction as far as the eye could see. Some, those at the front, shone with the bright silver of highly polished metal, while those at the back were darkened with age and ash.

From this height, it looked like a forest, or a sea, and when the wind did decide to blow, the valley below her was whipped into great rippling waves of color, bright at the front with thousands of colorful moss-woven capes, and gradually fading black to a dull brown or even black with the other spears and their tarnished metal were the capes had been stained black with age.

The wind died, and the capes fell, like a bird’s feathers puffed up only to fall.

Sunny followed the track slowly, down into the valley, doing her best to keep her feet on the rocky terrain, and loose volcanic stone that made up the path before her. She wasn’t alone of course, a slow trickle of other Drev made their way into the valley their way slow and their heads bowed just like her.

She followed her way down onto the path and turned to where a the field of spears sat like a dense forest before her.

What looked to be the skulls of Drev, but were really just long disused helmets sat atop each one of the spears, all that remained of a thousand fallen warriors. Sunny followed her feet knowing where she was going even despite the years that had passed since she had visited this pace.

The Valley of the Fallen.

She stopped, in a spot that seemed indistinguishable from the rest, though somehow she knew it was right, pausing to approach two spears stood side by side, buried deep in the ground and welded upright by the glue of falling ash and rain.

She reached out, brushing the ash from one helmet and onto the ground before turning to bat as much of the ash as she could from the cloak. It had been many years and the fabric was well on its way to being saturated, so there wasn’t much left from the warm golden color that had once been, same with the other and the pearl white cloth that had once existed there.

She bowed her head kneeling on the ground before the last memory of her father.

In Drev belief, spirits were always recycled back into the wide spiritual world. Everything had a spirit, which meant thatcher father’s spirit was likely still around. Despite her upbringing, and despite everything that had happened to change the world of the Drev since she was a child, she still believed in the spiritual traditions and religion of her ancestors. That part of her had never been shaken.

So, she knelt to the ground slowly before the last memory of her father, raising her head to the helmet, which she could almost imagine as having him in it if she tried hard enough.

“I miss you.” She said softly, “Perhaps if you were here you would know how to help me, though perhaps that is only a wish of mine. Perhaps you would not understand like so many others, I like to think you would have tried though. “She sighed, “I am…. Alone. Perhaps I should have seen this coming, you don’t give the strength of your spear to someone who cannot lift it. But…. I suppose that is the way with humans. While they are like us in so many ways, there are things about them that are so alien. I Always assumed battle pairs fought together through the hard and the easy, but Humans see it a bit different. He says when you love something you have to let it go, and I don’t understand what that means. If you love something would you not want it to stay as close to you as possible…. Either way.” She turned her head to look down at the small round helmet and folded green cape that sat just below it, “As is the custom of our species…. I will never love again. I hope this is not seen as breaking the sanctity of this hollowed place for he is neither dead nor dying, but… A part of me has died….”

The wind picked up just then, and all around her a rainbow of colors rose up to flapped against the wind.

Lightning flashed over the mountains, and the field of spars glowed white for a single moment. She knew she should probably move, but didn't have the energy to care about the impending danger.

She hummed softly to herself as she stood, and turning her head to the sky, she Reached upwards, and Drove the but of the short metal spear into the soil with a loud crack. Lightning flashed overhead again.

WIth the spear firmly planted in the ground, she stepped back, and then softly reached up to pull the green cape over the tip. The fabric ripped on the point before catching and she slowly reached up placing the helmet on the point of the spear in a tradition that went back thousands of years. The right of the widow had been complete.

She stood staring at the Green cape as it billowed softly in the wind, illuminated by one more flash of lightning before she turned and made her way from that palace and the graveyard of memories.

It began to rain as she made her way from the last line of spears, and a loud crack of thunder illuminated the ground before her. It had likely caught one of the spears as it was so prone to doing during electrical storms, so she made her way hurriedly towards the rock overhang and a patch of tea moss, safe and away from the driving rain.

She sat herself on a ledge cross legged and with her blue cape wrapped tight around her shoulders as the wind blew little droplets towards her from the mouth of the overhang.

After a few moments a shape appeared out of the driving rain, and a figure broke through, shaking water from her pale peach carapace.

Sunny Stood slowly, and the other Drev froze, spear in hand.

“I didn't realize this outcrop was taken.” They stood against each other, “What clan are you from?”

“The wandering tribe.”

The other Drev stood straighter in surprise ‘The wandering tribe…. With the humans/”

Sunny nodded.

The other drev lowered her spear, “Might I share the dry with you/”

Sunny slowly seated herself and nodded motioning to the moss, “This land is not mine, so sit and be warm.”

And other Drev thankedher and took a seat.

She was a pretty little thing Sunny observed, still taller than her of course, by almost a foot, not particularly tall by Drev standards though however the color of her carapace was pleasant enough.

“You are here to observe the rights of the widowed?”

Sunny nodded, “I am.”

“I am sorry for your loss… I too am here for that. My battle partner died in glorious battle not more than a night ago. A spear to the throat, and a mound of corpses piled around him. She lifted her head in something that was almost like pride, “And yours?”

Sunny sighed.

“His past caught up with him.”

The other Drev tilted her head, “An old foe.”

She looked ou at the driving rain and the waterfalls that fell from above, “Yes, an old foe come back to haunt him.”

“I am sorry about that.”

They sat in silence for a moment before sunny lifted her head, “What is your name.”

The peach Drev Shifted to a more comfortable position, “Ralata and yours.”

“Chalan.” Sunny paused for a moment, “Perhaps it is none of my business but, how long were the two of you together.”

Ralata shrugged, “Couldn’t have been more than a year or two.”

Sunny nodded, ‘An how…. How do you cope with the idea of being alone for the rest of your life…. I know it is something that can be done, but it does seem daunting…. And lonely, I was just wondering if perhaps you could shed some light for me.”

Ralata raised her hands, ‘We are never alone when the spirits are with us. Life is fleeting when the universe is so old.”

Sunny couldnt help but be amused at the singularly Drev-like thought process it took to meet that conclusion, though she found it oddly comforting.

“I suppose you are right.”

“There is more to life than a battle partner, there is the sky and the ground and the wind, and there is always glorious combat. If we cannot find solace in these things then we have lost the battle that is life.”

Sunny nodded slowly.

“Take comfort in your own solitude.”

“Your words have been helpful, thank you for bringing my thoughts back to the truth.”

She and Ralata spoke long into the night as the rain fell, mostly about combat, and about the past and about the wars they had fought in. Sunny told tales of her adventures on strange worlds and the odd creatures that she had met. Ralata seemed fascinated by the stories, though she had no inclination to go and see them for herself.

Sunny found Ralata’s presence to be refreshing. In a way she reminded Sunny of Adam before his inner demons had taken away the spark, she was bubbly, happy, and talkative for a Drev, which was nice to fill the silence.

“Are you going to return home after this?” Ralata asked, “To your ship in the stars?”

Sunny shook her head, “Not at first, no, but eventually, yes.”

“What will you do in the meantime.”

Sunny paused not sure if she should tell this other drev what her plans were, having not entirely decided if she was going to do it or not. Once she verbalized it, it would be set in stone and she would have to do it. Not because this oher Drev new, she doubted she would ever see Ralata again, but because i she said it out loud she would feel obligated to do it.

After a long silence she finally spoke.

“I am making a pilgrimage to observe the Sacred ritual of Creation.”

Ralata pulled back in shock, “Creation, but that hasn’t been done for a thousand years, no one even knows if the monk on the mountain still exists to guide that ritual.”

“Well I suppose I will find out.”

Ralata sat in silence for a long moment staring at Sunny with wide, Orange eyes, “You are brave I suppose, no one knows how long that ritual could take.”

Sunny tilted her head back to look up at the stars, “It doesn't matter how long it takes, hopefully there will be a place for me when I return

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believerindaydreams · 3 years

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Valentine fluff and stuff, Benny/Arcade <3 post the events of Raging Against the Machine

"Permission to court Arcade? My my, that's a trifle old fashioned, isn't it?" Daisy props the sniper rifle over her back, gives a little wave to Boone as they exit the dinosaur's mouth.

Benny shrugs. "He's welcome to ask my mother if he wants to...we're like that in the Boot Riders is all. Fucking is one thing, but where marriage is concerned you ask the matriarch."

"You could hardly consider me the matriarch of anything. And I didn't raise that boy to just take orders from anyone, especially one of...us."

"Orders about what?" Arcade's left off his coat in the Mojave heatwave, and his lover down to sharp black trousers and a blue shirt rolled up to the elbows makes him momentarily wish that Daisy wasn't here, or indeed the rest of the population of Novac.

Lover, heh. The thing he most regrets about all this is giving up that fond familiar term for a new and alien one.

"Anything," Daisy says mildly. "I won't spoil the surprise if Benny hasn't told you yet."

"...if he hadn't told you- uh, okay. I can wait." He throws Benny a confused look, gets a cheerful stonewall of a response.

Really, there's no need to inform Daisy that he let famously laidback Arcade Gannon be the one to propose first.

***

*one week earlier*

"I'm prescribing you a break. Medically."

"House had a point plugging himself into a mainframe," Benny growls, tossing yet another clipboard into the ever-growing stack besides him. "It would save a lot of trouble to do this all mentally- do you know how many pages of negotiations I'm dealing with for the sharecropper farms alone?"

"No, and that isn't the point. You need to stop acting like we're in perpetual crisis mode, the war's been over for a month-"

"The crises don't stop just because of a sudden outbreak of peace."

"You've got Swank. You've got a room full of clerks back there," Arcade says, gesturing. The Tops presidential suite is almost unrecognizable now from its earlier iteration as a swinger pad; there are charts on the walls, hurrying subordinates, and the bar has been cleared of liquor in favor of a shiny new terminal for Benny's private use. "You have responsibilities, yes, but you need to ease off at some point. Unless you actually want everyone to start thinking you're another Mr House in the making."

Not only has the thought occurred to him, now wasn't even for the first time today, but- you can hardly say that to Arcade.

"I couldn't relax here if I wanted to. Look at this mess. There isn't a place in New Vegas where I could go without having a lot of hangers on trying to get my attention, at least I can hear myself think in here."

"True. That's why I bought a house."

"The fuck- you what?" Squatting is one thing. Actually, literally, owning property, putting in for an official deed claim with the antiquated RobCo property machinery...not only is it an incredible pain, it's incredibly expensive. Even the Kings didn't bother with that, and the Old Mormon Fort is technically rented.

"Well. I had a few gold bars burning a hole in my pocket...and some free time, since the horrendous bloodbath of a New Vegas conquest singularly failed to happen."

"I thought you were donating that to the Followers."

"I thought it'd be good to use it for purposes that advance a Follower agenda. Such as insuring that our newly independent city-state has the opportunity to demonstrate it can exist without its interim dictator." Arcade leans over the bar, kisses his forehead in a gently, oddly chaste way.

It seems odd to Benny at first, until Arcade pulls back and he realises they have an audience. There is no way everyone from the back office needed a pencil all at the same time.

Well, if there's an audience he might as well live up to it. Benny flicks them a smile, adjusts the folds of his collar. "That's different. If you wanted to sweep me off my feet for a long dirty weekend, why didn't you start with the lead?"

He pulls Arcade close for a much more enthusiastic embrace, lips and tongues interlocked, until the doctor actually overbalances. For one terrifying moment he thinks he'll lose control, helplessly watch Arcade go falling headfirst into the wall or the floor or something equally painful.

It doesn't happen. He sustains the weight, until Arcade manages to pull back and stand up again, apparently unaware that anything could have happened. It's all right. They're all right.

"The things I'll do to advance a healthy socio-political agenda," his lover retorts, rather pink-faced, to general clapping and cheers.

***

Phoenix Point, the house is called; and Benny almost regrets it.

It's right across the street from an old tools factory, one of the places he'd resorted to while hunting up Lucky 38 access codes, heart in his mouth every minute. It hasn't been long before he'd known that Arcade's gambit with the Fiends had ended with his rescue by the courier; it had been considerably more worrying, that she had him than they. Fiends being killable.

Marilyn...he still has nightmares, justified ones.

The mistrust eases as Arcade opens the small barbed wire gate, though- it's pre-war security, with a physical and electrical lock. The outer door offers a hefty piece of metal plating, impenetrable to two centuries of decay.

This better not be like a vault. Arcade knows his opinion on those-

but then his lover unlocks the door and lets them inside, and it isn't like that at all.

Light, that's the first thing he notices. Real sunlight, glinting off the water in an open courtyard- a reservoir then, water to waste. That's an immediately soothing sight right there, unmitigated luxury for anyone raised to Mojave dust.

He makes for it immediately, tasting its sweet clarity- no rads, the Pip-Boy silence confirms that. In place of a Geiger counter he can hear Mr New Vegas, endlessly ruminating about love; and the faint whistle of a stewpot on the boil.

And his lover's quick breathing, behind him.

Benny turns, grins at Arcade's self-conscious pose; lying down but with an elbow propping up his chin, all that height shown off even horizontally as compared to the array of ferns and broc flowers behind him. "Is the rest of it this nice?"

"I certainly hope so. I went to more trouble than I needed to, perhaps- the Lucky 38 has been, uh, liberated of a number of books. Brought out some supplies for the workshop, that kind of thing...put together a wardrobe for you," Arcade says, looking very nearly pained. "Even articles that I do not have any comprehension why a sane person would wear."

Benny laughs, but can't sustain it; too much at once, too deeply meant to him. "I love it. I love it already, I love you."

"You haven't even seen it yet."

He draws his lover close, the scent of herbs and animal warmth and the brightening light of the Strip all melding together into one glorious sensation. "I will. Because..."

He doesn't know how to say how a home is holy to him, or how there's no one else in the world he would trust to shape it for him. Or how to say anything at all that means what he needs it to, when words are his worthless stock in trade.

"Because it's you," he says eventually; because that's honest.

Arcade laughs, strokes his hair. "Glad to hear it. Imagine trying to woo the Chairman of the Tops without a reasonably impressive dowry."

That rings false, he almost pulls away. "You don't need to buy me."

"I thought you appreciated that kind of ironic backchat."

"I do, but...not from you. Not with that sincere Followers face of yours." With that ready impatience for the truly immoral, the willingness to speak truth to power. "You're my moral center. Keep on keeping me honest, please."

Arcade favors him with a distinctly stunned expression. "Oddly, I'm rather in the habit of thinking that's what you are to me. You're braver than I am, as far as accepting the risk of failure to try to steer towards better outcomes. There are times when indecision itself can become paralysing."

The sunset isn't visible from behind the high fencing, but there's a rich blueness fading to purple above them. "In that case...carpe diem?"

"Seize the day?"

"Is that what it means? The impression I got was that it meant something more like 'jump my bones'. That'll teach me to listen to ex-Legion prostitutes."

"...you have a profoundly terrible sense of timing," Arcade murmurs, and rolls over on top of him.

"Uh."

"Carpe diem, then?"

Maybe his voice does fail him; but he kisses his way into a yes.

#fallout new vegas

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detectivedreameater · 3 years

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Hospital Tripping || Queenie and Marley

TIMING: Beginning of the year PARTIES: @drqueenieking and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Queenie sneaks Marley into the hospital to run some overdue tests. Results are a mixed bag. CONTENT: Head Injury discussions (including symptoms and after effects)

Marley hated hospitals. And not just because her blood was blue and her DNA wasn’t human-- but because of what they meant. Because of the atmosphere. Everything was painful. The bright, fluorescent lights, the depressed looks on everyone’s faces, the tired looking nurses and doctors shambling around as if they, too, were just part of the decor. Marley shivered as she followed close behind Queenie. At night, the halls were nearly empty and only far off noises of groaning patients and beeping heart monitors filled the silence. It was a veritable horror setting, if Marley was being honest. “Are we there yet?” she asked in a hushed voice, “I don’t like this place.” They turned down another hallway and a chill ran up her spine. She shuffled closer to Queenie. There was something so familiar about this hallway, a memory trying to grasp at the back of her eyes. She blinked and suddenly a gurney was being rushed by her. She froze, stepped out of the way, but when she looked back, there was nothing there. “I-- did you see that?” she asked, her voice wavering just a touch. She looked wide-eyed at Queenie-- not that she could see behind the glasses-- and swallowed. “Never mind...let’s just get this over with. I hate this place.”

Queenie wouldn’t claim that she knew much about Marley, but she knew that something was off about the way she was acting. The woman seemed almost paranoid while following Queenie down the halls of the hospital. It wasn’t as if any of the doctors or nurses could see the blue blood that she was so passionate about keeping secret. Not unless she managed to accidentally back into a scalpel or something highly improbable like that. So what was causing this hyperfocus and jumpy attitude? “Not much further. I wanted a room that didn’t see much passing activity.” Queenie explained, barely looking back at Marley as she led the way past the hospital staff “See what?” Queenie paused, turning back and glancing at Marley wearily. She craned her neck, looking in different directions to try to pick out what it might have been that had Marley so on edge. But she had been quick to brush it off, and Queenie was happy to oblige.” Fine. This won’t take too long. I made sure I had everything covered today so I wouldn’t be distracted.” Rounding one last corner, Queenie opened the door to make sure nobody else had taken her room. “What makes you hate hospitals so much anyway?” Queenie asked curiously as she motioned Marley inside the room and shut the door behind them.

Queenie made her way through the hospital’s winding hallways, as if she owned the place-- but then again, she basically did. She had a commanding presence here that Marley had picked out in their first meeting, way back when. It was something Marley was thankful for in this moment, as she watched nurses and even other doctors move out of her way as if she were parting the sea. She slipped into the room behind her, glancing around once to make sure no one was watching, before pausing just in the doorway. There was a large machine in the middle, as well as some computers, and a side room, walled off. She started fidgeting slightly. “It’s personal,” she muttered, trying not to let the memories that made places like this feel like a prison cloud her mind. She shook them away. “What tests are you running, then? What uh-- what exactly are you looking for?” She was almost afraid to ask, but her curiosity got the better of her, as it usually did.

“Fair enough” Queenie answered simply, as a way of accepting that she wasn’t getting an answer and showing to Marley that she didn’t need one. Her disdain for hospitals was her own personal business. And while Queenie found herself in the middle of Marley’s personal life more by necessity than choice, she wasn’t on the level where she would concern herself with prying any further. “An MRI for starters. I want to get a look at the brain and to see if there is any permanent physical damage that we can’t see on the surface. I’ll need you to change into that hospital gown. Make sure you have no metal on you and then let me know when you’re ready. I’ll come in to get everything set up.” Queenie stayed on the other side of the glass, making sure the screens were set up and ready to begin just as she had requested. Perhaps it was out of place for her to ask for the room to herself for the test. But honestly, would anyone question her at this point? “Call me when you’re done.”

Marley looked down at the hospital gown she’d been handed in disdain, then back to Queenie, who was already retreating from the room. She hated everything about what was happening. Just being in the hospital alone made her skin crawl, but now she was around humming machines and a giant tube and suddenly the room was getting smaller and her throat was getting tighter. But the world snapped back into view when Queenie’s voice cut through her head and she looked over at her, nodding. She went to the corner where the screen was and changed quickly, going back out, arms folded tightly across her chest, hands tucked into armpits as she shivered slightly. “I’m done,” she called out, glancing around as a shiver went through her. In the corner of the room stood a ghostly, familiar figure. She blinked and he was gone. She’d seen him before, hadn’t she? But from where? Eyes so focused on the corner, on trying to remember the man, she didn’t notice Queenie come back in, jumping when her voice sounded again.

Queenie kept herself busy in the room staring at the monitors to keep herself distracted while Marley changed.She didn’t head back into the room until she heard the woman call out, but by the time Queenie got back in, Marley seemed more distant than ever. She had known Marley for long enough now that she could tell that this was uncharacteristic of the woman. She had no interest in attempting to pry information from the police officer. Especially since she knew she wouldn’t get anywhere by asking. But whatever caused this disdain for hospitals that Marley singularly described as ‘personal’, seemed like quite the baggage. “Well then,” was all Queenie said in response to the woman jumping at the sound of Queenie’s voice. She let out a quick cough to stifle the awkward air of the room before pointing at the bed in the middle of the scanner. “It’s not a particularly pleasant experience, but it won’t be painful. It’s just uncomfortable.” Hopefully Marley responded to direction better than some of the children and adults she had on this machine. “You will need to stay as still as you can while I run the test. You can lay on this bed here and I’ll adjust it.” After getting everything set up from this room, Queenie pointed towards the window, “I’ll leave you in here while I go to start up the machine and run the test. I’ll be able to hear you from there, and vise versa.”

“Right,” Marley repeated slowly, “just uncomfortable.” She looked at the table, then back to Queenie, and swallowed. Being back in a hospital gown, laying on a table. Being shoved into a small space. Marley felt her heartbeat begin to pump quickly, loudly in her ears. She shivered once and wrapped her arms around herself as Queenie began to exit the room again. She suddenly didn’t want to be alone. Not in this cold, stark room that reminded her so much of the place that took so much from her as a child. She looked over at Queenie one last time before climbing onto the table. Swallowed hard and laid down. Her arms suddenly began shaking and she clenched them hard to make it stop. “Ready whenever you are doc,” she said, a shake to her voice. “Let’s get this over with as fast as possible, yeah?”

Queenie could hear Marley give the okay and quickly came over the speaker to the machine, “You got it. Quick and easy.” Admittedly, the machine did not move nearly quick enough for that, but Queenie understood the discomfort. Even for people that weren’t bothered by hospitals didn’t like MRI’s. The machine was loud, claustrophobic and something about being told not to move made every inch of the face itch like crazy. She couldn’t count the number of children and even adults she would have to yell at multiple times to remind them that they needed to stay as still as possible. Still, Queenie tried to move things as quickly as she could. She rushed through the initial scan, moving through to readjust from time to time and begin a new scan. In Queenie’s mind, this was the fastest MRI she had ever completed. It probably didn’t feel that way for Marley. When she was confident she had what she needed, she came back over the speaker to the machine, a smug indignation evident in her voice, “Okay. That should do it. I’m going to get the results. You can get up. Be right back.”

Luckily, only Marley’s head needed to be inside the machine. It whirred loudly and she flinched whenever it began, but eventually her raging heartbeat would drown out the noise. She could feel the panic rising in her throat again, clenching at her lungs, making it hard to breath. She hated this place. She really hated this place. And it dragged on for what seemed like hours, but surely was no more than half an hour. By the time Queenie came back over the speaker, Marley was sweating and shivering all at once, as she held in her want to panic. When she sat up, she felt dizzy and the world spun around her. For a moment, the world went black. She saw what looked like a river flash behind her eyes. Eerie looking trees. A gateway up ahead. A man leading her somewhere. Marley shook her head roughly and blinked the world back into existence. She glanced around her, then back over to the doorway Queenie had disappeared into. That place...she’d thought it was just in her imagination. But now she’d seen it again and it felt...like a memory. Like it was real. Marley perked up when Queenie came back in, her heart beat beginning to thrum loudly again as well. Whatever the results were, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore. When she didn’t know, it was easier to think that one day, it would just go away. But Queenie’s face somehow told her that wasn’t the case. As stoic as the good doctor liked to pretend she was, Marley could tell what was on those scans wasn’t a good result.

Queenie had really been hoping for everything to be completely clear. Of course so that she could give Marley the all clear and perhaps neither of them would have to worry about giving the other headaches any longer. Though beyond that, Queenie could admit she didn’t hate the woman. They weren’t exactly friends, but they had developed a partnership together. She had hoped for the best either way. What the scans showed definitely were not the best case scenario. “I’ve got the results,” Queenie stated matter-of-factly. She led Marley back into the room she had booked, a place where the two could sit and look at the results. She put the scans against the wall, clipping them behind the light to help them be more visible. “I’m showing signs of some damage.” She wanted to avoid being too brash with the revelation without coddling the woman either. Queenie was no good at coddling, and Marley didn’t seem like the type that would want it anyhow. “Different lesions around the brain. It looks like the hippocampus, and the prefrontal cortex as well. See?” She pointed at each area as she described them. The wounds themselves weren’t fatal. Marley standing in front of her was proof enough of that. But they could certainly have additional effects that either hadn’t begun yet or that Marley didn’t even notice. “It’s not life ending, but it means that there could be further complications we weren’t originally aware of. Have you had any other symptoms recently post accidents that are new to you?

Marley stopped listening the moment Queenie told her there were signs of damage. The rest of the conversation was just droning in her ears. She was pointing at stuff on the image of Marley’s brain, but Marley couldn’t concentrate. Was that symptom or was that just her own brain tricking her? She couldn’t tell the difference anymore. The world snapped back to her when Queenie posed a question, and Marley looked at her with sullen eyes, a pain that ran so deep she wasn’t sure it would ever go away. “I, uh-- yeah. Concentrating and...losing track of time.” She paused, feeling her natural instinct to hide herself away and close off anyone who tried to get close, who tried to help. But Erin’s words rang in her head and she was reminded that, if she did not let people help, she was going to get herself killed. So she swallowed, and added on, “And I think I’ve been having seizures.”

It wasn’t hard for Queenie to deliver bad news to people. She never enjoyed it, even disliked doing it for a long time. She had never been especially talented at reading people. She rarely had any tact when speaking with patients. To top it off, it was simply uncomfortable to be standing in the same room as them once the news had been broken. But over time, she had learned to separate herself from it. She had practically mastered dissociating after reading the charts and could stand unmoving and completely solemn as the person or family worked through whatever emotions they needed to. Her apparent lack of empathy didn’t always make her popular with her patients. But she had never been in this to be popular. She couldn’t care less how they felt about her as long as they continued breathing once they left the hospital. But this one, for whatever reason, felt a bit more personal. “Those are both common. The injury was still relatively recent. With time you may see a decrease in those symptoms.” She wasn’t sure that Marley grasped much of what she had been saying at all, but she pulled the photos from the wall and stacked them together, sticking them in a file named after the detective. “I see.” Queenie spoke simply. Seizures were a bit more intense than losing track of time or being unfocused. It wasn’t what Queenie wanted to hear at all. “Well, that is something that we could look into as well. There is medication that could help with that. I’m glad you decided to tell me, actually. Getting in front of something like this is key to help future prevention.” That was the truth, even if it was a more positive approach than Queenie usually gave. “How are you feeling about this news?”

With time. That was always the answer, wasn’t it. It would feel better, with time. It will go away, with time. It will heal, with time. Marley blinked and looked over at Queenie, wondering what it was she could say to make any of this feel better, be better, because those words weren’t reassuring at all. For weeks, she’d been able to hide in her own ignorance and pretend like this wasn’t something permanent, like this wasn’t something real. But she couldn’t do that anymore, not with Queenie looking at her like that and saying those things. It was real, now, and she couldn’t run from it anymore. How was she feeling? Fuck, she had no idea. Marley looked over at Queenie and swallowed. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I have no idea how I feel. How should I feel? I don’t know how to feel, I’ve never been through something like this.”

Queenie’s acquaintance took it about how she had expected her to. The news clearly bothered her though she remained more stoic than other patients would have given similar news. She was tougher than the average person, that was for sure. “I can’t tell you how to feel. They’re your emotions.” Folder still in her hand, she began pacing around the room. She would have to figure out how to get Maley medication without writing a prescription. Writing a prescription would leave a trail that she wasn’t sure Marley wanted left behind. “It’s not news that anybody wants to hear. But it’s not the worst case scenario. You can still work. You can still continue living your life. That doesn’t make the news any less unfortunate.”

The words sat in Marley’s head like a thick sludge. They’re your emotions. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Marley didn’t know her own emotions. For so long all she’d let herself feel was anger and pleasure. Anything else was too risky. Too dangerous. Getting attached, expressing her feelings, letting herself believe she was something beyond a monster-- it was all too dangerous. But now, she’d let herself believe she was better. Could be better. Could feel and laugh and love. Like one of those cheesy signs wine moms put up in their houses. But this? She hadn’t prepared herself for this, in any scenario. She’d always figured if she got into a fight like that, she wouldn’t make it out. But she had, and now, there was an empty void where her thoughts and feelings should have been. She looked over at Queenie with a defeated glance. “I’m no doctor, doc,” she said flatly, “but I doubt they’re gonna let someone with brain damage carry a firearm. Or go in the field.” She could work, but her duties would change, wouldn’t they? Her job would change. “Unfortunate,” she repeated the word quietly, before reaching down to grab her clothes. “Yeah, that’s the word for it. Unfortunate.” She was quiet for a while, and then-- “Can I go now? Is there more we need to do?”

As far as conversations go, this one seemed just about over. Queenie wasn’t sure what else could be said at this point. They both seemed to know the implications of the news. Marley must be feeling it more than anyone, but Queenie thought that she could relate. If something happened to her that made it impossible to do her own job, she had no idea what she would possibly do. She had devoted her entire life to her career. If she didn’t have this, she had nothing. What would she do? Take up sewing? Absolutely not. “Not right away. But we may be able to get you there. Eventually.” She couldn’t exactly say that it was entirely unrealistic. She had seen things like it before. Some might describe it as miracles, but Queenie never believed in that. Good medical care and perseverance were key. Queenie knew that Marley had the former, but she had a feeling she had the latter as well. “Sure. No more tests today. I will be in touch regarding the medication.”

Eventually. Marley understood that most people used that word in a positive context, but whenever someone said it, it always seemed so...negative. Eventually the pain will go away. Eventually you’ll get better. Eventually you’ll be normal again. And to no one’s surprise, Marley was beginning to hate the word. She shrugged on her jacket and gave Queenie a hollow look. “Thanks,” she said quietly, the defeat evident in her voice. Even if one day she did get better and could get her full job back, that day wasn’t today. And she couldn’t help but let that heavy burden sit on her shoulders like a rock. It slouched her back and hung her head and she stopped in the doorway. “No more hospitals,” she muttered, before she pushed out the doors and started to make her way through the hallowed building once again, craving the fresh air and ready to wash the scent of sterility off of her.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: queenie #hospital tripping #queenie #tw head injury

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jonthethinker · 4 years

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I’ve been thinking about what I would find to be the perfect ending for Critical Role Campaign 2, and I realize how far my ideal ending may be from where we will probably end up, and why that is.

This isn’t to denigrate our fine storytellers, but there’s some strong ideological differences between what I would find most beautiful and interesting and where they are likely to end up.

To the cast, I sense it seems this is a story of recovery and discovery of identity. Seven broken people find each other, perhaps by chance or, as Matt’s opening lines of the campaign suggest, Destiny. Regardless, they come together, and in that coming together, they help each other heal. This takes time, and comes with many conflicts and false starts and set backs, but slowly, they do indeed begin the process of healing.

As they heal, these lost souls begin to explore their identities safely in each others’ company. Each member of the Mighty Nein gets a chance to feel out who it is they are and want to be, all the while knowing that if they stumble and trip along the way, they have their dear friends to catch them. Eventually, they will have a firmer grasp on who it is they really are, deep down, and with that, be able to tackle the rest of what life has to throw at them head on. So far, if I am right and this is indeed what the cast believes, I completely agree with them. But things do begin to diverge on where they seem to want to take it, and where I wish it would be.

This divergence begins in the fallout of this healing and recovery. What happens next? Place and Purpose, of course. Once they know who they are, they are ready to find their homes; ready to find where they really belong. For now, that place is the Mighty Nein, but for some reason, this type of story never seems to be satisfied with that answer. There must be a new chapter, one in which the Mighty Nein, while remaining loyal and committed to one another as friends, each go their own way. They will have done what they set out to do with the group, and now they must build something new on their own.

You see this clearly in the two characters most aware of what kind of story they stumbled into, unsurprisingly played into by the two players least bothered by the fourth wall; Sam Riegel’s Nott The Brave/Veth Brenatto and Marisha Ray’s Beauregard Lionett. Both of these characters have been dreading the eventual closing of this chapter on healing and recovery, because of how comfortable they’ve become in their place within it, and how unprepared they feel for what surely must follow.

Nott was afraid of getting her body back because it would mean she may have to leave behind the first thing she’s ever felt good at, and grappled with how that must make her a terrible wife and mother to have those sorts of feelings. Once she does regain her body, Veth still grapples with these very feelings, even when she could have everything she thought she was fighting for all along, because the adventures of the Mighty Nein have so filled her with excitement and purpose and meaning like she’s never had before. She’s still waiting for that other shoe to drop, and the day her travels must end, because that’s the only way she feels she can satisfy the contradictions.

Beauregard was in her mind a loner, and only with the Mighty Nein has she ever started to question that self-diagnosis. In the Nein, for the very first time, she’s found a place for herself, and a group of people who can actually dull all her sharp edges. She has clear meaning and purpose in working with the Mighty Nein to overcome their personal obstacles, and maybe in doing so, leaving the world a little better than she found it. Before the Nein, those sorts of things weren’t even possibilities. She even felt she was assured a young death and thus no future to begin with. But when she realizes she could have a future, she wants it to be with the Nein... But as her ability to empathize begins to bloom, she realizes this may not be what everyone else has in mind. That some day, the rest of the Nein hope to put the Adventuring life behind them, and in that moment, Beau will have a future to decide for herself and herself alone, and that is terrifying. Because the main thing the Nein has taught Beau is how desperately she doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

As I said, I agree that this is a story about recovery and identity, but it is also much more that. For me, as just a humble member of the audience, the story of the Mighty Nein, above all, is a story about the consequences and possible solutions to isolation, loneliness, powerlessness, and above all, alienation. All seven of our great heroes have been forced through their particular backstories and their mutual adventures to battle with these very feelings over and over, and to me at least the solution to these problems is, well, the community, solidarity, and comfort of each other.

For me, it’s not so obvious that the Mighty Nein has to, well, end.

Sometimes it feels like the cast agrees with me, but usually only in their moments of greatest spontaneity, dealing with the struggles and heartbreaks right in front of them as they happen. I think of Fjord casting his falchion into the lava only to be pulled in closer by his friends. I think of Beau facing her parents, and then later with the fallout of her potential bargain with the Hag. I think of Jester preparing to confront her father, and the subsequent results of his apparent rejection. I think of Caduceus saving his family and his home, and deciding to stay with the Nein anyway. I think of Caleb confronted by Trent in Castle Ungebroch as a shield of his friends form around him. I think of all the Nein reassuring Veth they would accept and love her no matter if she was staying with them or not, but how much they’d miss her if she went. I think of how easily they accepted Yasha into the fold whenever she came back from her wanderings, and how hard they fought to get her back when she was taken from them.

The reason I come to the conclusion that the cast see’s the Nein as eventually having to end is the end for Vox Machina. You had seven people who helped each other heal and grow in ways they never thought they were destined for, experiencing a sense of belonging and purpose the world had never afforded them before the merry band formed. But as a would-be-God was locked away and a dear friend, lover, and brother faded from their grasps, they all drifted in their own directions. They all had a place to fill in the grand scheme of things, and it was time for them to grow up.

And its this notion of growing up that grates me. That these moments of camaraderie and companionship must be as ephemeral as our adolescence. The adventuring days and the bonds we form within them are only meant for our youth, and the meaning and purpose and place we find inside of them is only meant to help us through the confusing days of young adulthood, before we begin our real days as adults, which may only be tackled alone or with a lover. I simply don’t see it this way.

Adulthood should not be this singularly alienating experience that it has become. For most of the existence of humanity, it has not been. We are not meant for self-sufficiency and independence to the degree our society insists upon. Societies would not have formed in the first place without faith that a person can depend on others to provide for them. If the blacksmith also had to sow and patch their own clothes, she would never have time to blacksmith, just as a tailor can’t focus on sowing when she has to build and maintain her own tools. Poverty and deprivation can lead us to have to be more independent than we ought to, but in a world with equitably managed resources, we can afford to have faith the farmer will provide our food, the treatment plant will make our water safe to drink, and the carpenter will keep the rain off our head.

Think of how miserable most adults are today, and then think about how alone and alienated they all are. They are either spending each day working themselves numb only to go home and distract themselves with various entertainments, or if they have “community,” it’s so narrowly defined and judgmental that the gains made from your place within it are completely offset by how much you must cut yourself into shape to fit in. The greatest moments of our lives are often within our youth, because while you’re young you get to grow and stretch and stumble in the company of other people doing the same, and there is no expectation in doing anything else. But we’ve decided on some arbitrary point in which this time of personal exploration and safe company must end. If you’re old and want to expand your horizons, I hope you’re rich, because if not, it ain’t happening.

So for me, to imagine a world in which the members of the Mighty Nein might go a week, nonetheless months without seeing each other is beyond cruel. Think of the feeling of security and belonging the Nein have provided for one another, and tell me there has to be some arbitrary cut off date for their continued company. Think about Fjord breaking the habit of filing down his tusks because of the support of Jester and the Nein, a habit he performed into his early thirties, and tell me that one day, he needs to go out on his own because of reasons. They can take the lessons they’ve learned from the Nein, and still have the Nein, and not be unprepared to take whatever challenges life has to offer them, and in fact, may be better at tackling them all together with their family at their side every step of the way.

People prosper most when they decide they are better off working together than they are alone. To me, it’s abundantly clear this is true for the Mighty Nein. And I hope and pray when the time comes the cast will see it the same way. And I’ll accept and almost certainly enjoy whatever ending they end up having, in this strange form of improvised entertainment. None of this is to hate on the cast or me trying to tell them how to run their game or tell their story, I just have a lot of feelings on the matter. I am almost certainly overthinking something that may very well be a long way off from even happening. but after spending literally hundreds of hours with these fictional characters, I can’t help but want the best for them. And so far, the best for them is... well, each other. And no possible future they could have will be as good as one in which even in their golden years, they can look over and know, no matter what, they have the Mighty Nein.

#Critical Role #Long Post #The Mighty Nein #Beauregard Lionett #Nott The Brave #Veth Brenatto #Fjord #Jester Lavorre #Caleb Widogast #Yasha Nydoorin #Caduceus Clay #Good Lord have these thoughts been floating around my head for a while now #I just hope it makes sense

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faejilly · 4 years

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Reticence

so a million years ago I attempted to start a Shadowhunters Persuasion AU and I am, unfortunately, never actually going to write it, (I like the original too much, I can’t seem to say anything *else* with it, which keeps bogging me down), but as standalone bits of just me being fond of Regency fic, I occasionally still poke at some of what I wrote.

Now in Persuasion, Anne Elliot is convinced to call off her engagement to the questionably suitable Frederick Wentworth not because her own future would be at stake, (she mostly doesn’t care about that) but because she would be a drain on his potential... which is such an Alec thing to do, isn’t it?

So, as part of the fall out from that, I wanted a moment where the person who helped convince Alec to send away Magnus realizes they were wrong.

aka Maryse is my favorite (and Robert is a hypocrite) & here’s why [fictober #8; prompt list here]

Alec heard something, a noise not any louder than the faint scratch of Lady Lightwood's pen across her paper as she sorted and responded to her mail, but somehow different nonetheless. He wasn't really curious but he glanced idly up from his book. (It was not as if he was terribly interested in Mrs. Ditchfield's rather melodramatic catalogue of "vanishing public lands" in Idris, but he'd needed a break from his own increasingly banal paperwork.) He closed his book with a snap and leaned forward. Lady Lightwood's back was curved, her shoulders just barely slumped, her head bowed. He'd never seen her look so, so small. He swallowed. "My Lady?"

He saw her startle, the faintest jerk across her back, and a paper he hadn't noticed slid from between her fingers to flutter slowly, gently, toward the floor.

She lifted her head and he felt like he'd been kicked by his horse. He made it half-way across the room before he'd even realize he'd stood, but had no idea what to say after he knelt by her side. Her eyes were damp, her lips just barely parted; he couldn't tell if she'd lost her words or her very breath itself. Her forehead was lined with a frown and he could see a tremble in her hands.

He'd never before seen her composure permit more than a carefully lifted brow or a slight flare of her nostrils, but this. This was so much more than upset. He'd never seen eyes like that on anyone, some terribly dark and potent mix of pain and anger and shame.

A small whisper in the back of his mind, the only part of him that seemed to be able to manage words at all, suggested he'd never seen its like only because he'd avoided all mirrors those first few days after Magnus. Mr. Bane.

He remembered what he'd wished for then: anyone or anything that made him feel less alone.

He reached out a hand, but couldn't quite make himself touch. What if this wasn't? She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, not now, never again. Her cheek was soft and very faintly damp with tears and there was a flutter of something perilously close to panic in his chest. He hadn't thought she'd let--

"Mother?" His voice was different this time, almost breaking around the word, and he wasn't at all sure what he was asking. She was clearly not all right.

She opened her eyes, and they were still darker and softer than he could recall ever having seen before. She smiled, and he felt the prickle of tears trying to form in his own eyes.

"I am so sorry, Alexander."

She hadn't. She had. He hadn't been Alexander to her since he was a child. But there was something in her voice now, something both warm and melancholy. He swallowed again. "For what?"

"For being too narrow-minded to see that there might be another way for you, that there might exist something better than the path I chose, the one I was stuck on." Her voice trailed off but he could still see her lips still moving. "For much too long."

He didn't. He couldn't, not now, not here, not with this, whatever this was. He grasped desperately at the one word he could almost understand. "Was?"

She closed her eyes again, and his eyes ached watching her spine straighten, her head lift away from his hand, her expression smooth out until it was as still as stone.

Despite the stories of her success when she'd been assigned to an Institute overseas, dead demons and rogue vampire dens shut down, despite seeing her maintain her training, sword-dances before breakfast every day, despite a lifetime watching her oversee her small army of clerks with absolute authority, Alec had never pictured Lady Lightwood in armor.

He had never realized that he'd never seen her without it, not until today.

"You do not have to come for what is about to happen." Her voice was soft, so soft, and his chest still ached from that first shock.

"Do you want me to?" He was helpless, breathless, lost, and he knew she could hear it in the lift of his voice, see it in the too wide opening of his eyes.

She blinked, the barest hint of a shimmer between her lashes. She shook her head, and her fingers almost clenched at her skirt before she shook them loose again. "Yes."

"Then I will."

"Thank you." She took a breath, let it out. She picked up the paper by her feet and stood, one quick flick of her wrist to straighten her skirts. She strode out of the room, and he scrambled to his feet to follow.

He'd passed confused and reached some sort of hapless acceptance by the time he caught up, so much so he didn't even wonder when she stopped and knocked at the door to his father's study.

He didn't think it was his own strange detachment that made it seem a much longer wait than usual before his father's voice came through to the hall. "Come in."

Lord Lightwood was standing in front of his desk, his usual easy small smile missing, his shoulders too tight, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"No." Alec's mother flicked the letter out of her hand into the space in front of her, and his father flinched.

Alec's head ached, and he missed the fleeting sense of distance that had buoyed him down the hall and into this doorway. He had never considered whether or not his parents had ever been in love; most people's parents weren't. But he had always believed them a team, partners in at least the intellectual sense. Only the look in his mother's eyes had been worse than a banshee's wail and now they were here, and the letter was resting quietly on his father's carpet.

"Maryse," Lord Lightwood finally spoke, and sighed, as if this really was too much to bear. "I am sorry to hear that."

"Did you not realize that that could be my only possible answer?" There was anger there in his mother's voice, but also a lift of true bewilderment.

"If it is because I had not yet talked to you before you received the notification," Lord Lightwood finally let a flicker of emotion cross his face, a hint of a shrug lifting the tension in his shoulders.

Alec's mother scoffed, and his father shut his mouth. "While it is singularly cowardly to request a divorce through our lawyer rather than having the spine to speak to me directly, no. You just saved me from having to temper my words. No, never, and no again."

Divorce. Lawyer? Via letter? It took several heart-beats before it sank in, before he could make the words makes sense. Alec had to curl his fingers to resist a newly discovered desire to punch his father in the face.

"Divorce is not nearly the scandal it used to be." Robert shook his head, still quiet, still calm. "It is not like there is any true impediment--"

"Whose fault is that?" Maryse took half a step forward, her voice loud enough to echo faintly despite the wood panelling and heavy shelves. "I never--" Her voice broke, too sharp an edge to continue.

Alec wondered about the potential benefits of stabbing over punching.

Maryse took a deep breath, her voice steadying. Cooling. "Lady Highsmith may have put off her mourning, but I will not sacrifice our children's reputations so that you may escape your duties."

"Our children are well able--" Robert was still talking, but Alec wasn't listening. He put his hand on the doorframe and bowed his head. Lady Highsmith. Lady Annemarie Highsmith, whose husband had died a little over a year ago. They'd gone to the funeral.

Lady Lightwood had left as soon as it was polite to do so. Lord Lightwood had not.

Alec remembered more, now. It had been odd, but he'd been so young he hadn't realized how odd. Izzy had been so little, practically a baby still, and she'd woken up for some reason. An owl, a scraped branch, it hadn't mattered. She'd crawled into Alec's bed, half awake, half shivering. She couldn't get back to sleep without her favorite doll, the one with the white robes like an Iron Sister. Winasee, she'd sniffled. She'd left it in the small sitting room, the one with the window seat. Alec had gone down to get it and they'd been there, his father and Lady Highsmith. Just talking, but it was the middle of the night, and his father had hurried him back upstairs before he'd asked for the doll, before he'd managed a single word at all.

Alec had spent the night with Izzy, rubbing her back until she finally relaxed enough to sleep, her tiny hand clenched around his nightshirt. He'd fallen asleep to the comforting steady sound of her breathing. They'd rescued the doll before breakfast, and he'd forgotten the whole thing.

"Twenty years." Alec hadn't realized hepd spoken aloud until he lifted his head. His father was blinking at him, eyes wide as a startled rabbit, as if he hadn't even noticed Alec standing there before he spoke. "Twenty years?"

He didn't recognize the heat filling the hollows in his chest, didn't realize he'd stepped forward until he felt his mother's hand on his arm. He stuttered to a halt. He turned to look at her and she smiled, small and sad, and shook her head.

He almost whined aloud with how strongly he needed to disagree with her. Some small deep part of his heart that he had not realized was still whole had just broken to join the rest of the shards and he wanted to howl at that terrible, terrible smile.

But he was here for her support. Not patricide. However tempting.

He took a step back and nodded, though his throat burned and his jaw was too tight. His hands were now clenched so tightly he could feel his nails pressing into his palms.

Lord Lightwood had, if not an appropriate level of shame, the self-preservation instinct to avoid meeting Alec's eyes.

"You seem to think." Alec's mother began again, only a slight shiver down her spine to show how much it cost her. "That is to say, that it appears, from here, that you wish to indulge your own desires while everyone else suffers the consequences. I cannot in good conscience allow you to present that sort of behavior as an acceptable example to our children."

Maryse paused, as if waiting for a protest. Lord Lightwood looked slightly green. Alec felt the tiniest smile caught behind his lips.

"That said, I am not cruel enough to make you maintain this charade of a marriage in private." There was a hint of sharp edged emphasis to that "I", and Alec wondered how long she'd known, how long Lord Lightwood had made her live like this. Alec lifted a hand to touch her gently on the shoulder. She shot him a quick glance, eyes wide and terrified and relieved and sad and he couldn't even tell, really, but it looked very much like his own heart had felt for most of the past four years, ever since he'd driven Mag— Mr. Bane away.

She turned back around, and Alec could tell that something in her posture had eased, just a little. "I will be removing myself and my personal effects from here, the Lightwood family seat, and residing at the Trueblood townhouse in Alicante. You are free to live on your properties however you desire."

Lord Lightwood's face flickered through half-a-dozen almost expressions too quickly to be interpreted, but ended on something approaching cautious relief.

"But let me make one thing perfectly clear." Alec almost retreated a step. He wondered if she'd managed to kill some of those demons with that voice all on its own; it sounded fatal enough. "My personal effects include all access to the Trueblood coffers for anything beyond the care of our tenants. I will not allow my family's legacy to support yours or your mistress' lifestyle. Find a way to pay your own bills."

Alec didn't bother watching Lord Lightwood bleed out on the study floor. He spun around and followed his mother as she swept out of the room.

Once past any possible view from the study she stumbled through the very next door in the hallway, a staging room for the servants. It was barely big enough for two to stand besides the shelves of linens and cleaning products, but still Alec followed, and he shut the door quietly behind them.

Her shoulders were moving too quickly up and down, and he could hear the repeated hitch in each breath even before she lifted her face to look at him, tears just starting to fall from her eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you, you didn't need to see..."

"Shh," Alec cut her off, and slowly reached towards her shoulders. She almost fell forward, and her arms wrapped around him, clinging tightly. He stroked her hair until he couldn't feel her shoulders shaking, until she gave one last sniff and lifted her head from his now thoroughly dampened shoulder. "You have nothing to apologize for, mother."

"That is not at all true." Her mouth twisted into something that was trying to be a smile. "I have hurt all my children over the years, and I think I caused you the most harm of all."

He shook his head a little, but not because he disagreed. He just, he couldn't.

She seemed to understand. Her lips twisted in for a breath before she sighed. "Right now I must apologize for doing that in front of you. I accused your father--"

"Lord Lightwood." Alec interrupted.

His mother blinked at him, her lashes thick and damp and almost sticking together. "He will always be--"

"Not today he's not."

Alec's mother reached out a hand, and laid her palm gently against his chest, right above his heart. She looked at his face, her eyes searching back and forth, but she couldn't quite seem to find the words for whatever she had wanted to say.

She let her hand fall back to her side. "I accused Robert of cowardice, but I was no more able to confront him by myself than he had been able to speak to me on his own. I needed." She couldn't quite manage a shrug, the movement looking more like a shiver through her body.

"You needed someone on your side."

"I was going to say reinforcements." She almost laughed, and still he wanted to cry. "I seem to have approached too many situations as battles to be overcome, rather than difficulties to share."

"I'll always be your reinforcements, mother."

"I have always been on your side, Alexander." She leaned forward now, her voice low and steady, her eyes focused on his. "I did you injury, but it was never my intent. I always thought I was keeping you safe, helping you be strong. I was wrong, and I am sorry."

She leaned back and shook out her skirts. "But that is a conversation for another time. Right now, I need to start packing."

"As do I, apparently." Alec reached back and opened the door behind him, allowing them both to return to the hallway.

His mother paused before shutting the door, head tilted as she examined Alec. "You hate living in Town."

"Not as much as I need to not be here." He offered her his arm, and his next breath felt small and fragile and warm as she took it. "May I escort you to your rooms to freshen up?"

His mother's lips twitched, and her inhale sounded suspiciously like a swallowed snort. "That is an excellent idea, thank you."

"I do try." He started walking down the hall, slow and steady, as if this was just a normal day. As if his world hadn't just shattered to pieces again. As if everything was fine. As if he had some idea what he was going to do tomorrow.

"I love you." His mother's voice was clear and steady and sure.

Maybe some things were better today than yesterday. "I love you too, mother."

#hmdiscord #shadowhunters #maryse lightwood #alec lightwood #robert lightwood #jilly writes #regency au #my sh fic #fictober #queueue

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autumnblogs · 3 years

Text

Day 43: Openbound

We’ll principally be doing Act 6 Intermission 3 today, so expect lots of pictures in this one!

Believe it or not, I initially didn’t like Openbound very much; I felt like it kind of dragged on my first readthrough, and generally had a pretty hard time getting myself to care about the Dancestors. They’re a pretty unsympathetic bunch.

Then again, lots of Homestuck characters are pretty unsympathetic! I’ve been really feeling that in the second half, as retrospect allows me to view a lot of secondary characters through the lens that we’re not intended to get attached to them.

That said, Openbound is actually pretty key to helping us understand the second half of the comic, I think, and makes explicit a lot of the themes that it explores, and how it builds upon the first half.

I think that the theme of Openbound as a self-contained work within Homestuck that we can use as a tool to decode Homestuck can be concisely stated like this; “Nostalgia and a desire for unity with the past causes toxic stagnation.”

So, aside from the introduction that we’ve already gotten to Meenah through the short conversation she had with the other kids, this is our first real opportunity to get to know her! Boy is she obsessed with money.

Money, like Cake, is a symbol that is associated with the Aspect of Life. As an aspect principally associated with Raw Power - the power to do what you want, unfettered by the stringent restrictions that are associated with Doom - it’s natural that Life would be associated with money.

The origin of money in history is pretty nebulous; it precedes the invention of writing, so any theory concerning its invention is ultimately conjecture. What I think is interesting about money is that the move toward a monetary economy in history mostly (but not always) happens as a result of the fact that it is way more efficient to collect taxes; the state mints standard coins, only accepts taxes in the form of standard coins, and propagates them into the economy by buying goods and services from the market.

It’s a tool of government, and even though Meenah may abrogate her inheritance, the Princess can’t escape her birthright. Money offers control, security... and power. What makes all of this extra interesting is that money is effectively worthless in the afterlife. Here, there’s actually nothing for her to really buy or spend it on; anyone can dream up whatever they want with ease.

It’s a nice bit of callback humor that Meenah has the same reaction to discovering the Thorns of Oglogoth that Rose does, but unlike Rose, Meenah actually does destroy them on the spot.

For being so headstrong and dangerous, there are ways in which Meenah is really pretty surprisingly sensible.

Lord English can destroy ghosts - this has always been a pretty disturbing thought for me. I may have said something to this effect before, but if I haven’t I’m a free-thinking Theist - raised in the Church, and largely independent in terms of beliefs, but I’m still pretty convinced that there is some kind of life after death. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much in works that have final death as a general presupposition, but it always bothers me when some kind of eternal life after death exists in a setting, and can be arbitrarily denied by evil beings with some power or another, like how some Demons and Liches can destroy or devour a soul in Dungeons and Dragons.

In Homestuck though, it fits with the themes established by the ways in which everyone God Tiers - spiritual power can be pretty arbitrary, and generally signifies very little about the moral worth of the one who has it; it does not intrinsically elevate the one who has it. It fits with its general criticism of power and the powerful, whether that’s the Mayor’s hatred of Kings, or the associating of corporatism with the worst parts of Jane’s characterization and Crockercorp in general.

Lord English has the power to destroy ghosts and end the lives of immortals not because he has attained to any kind of heightened spiritual awareness. He’s just some douchebag who through cosmic serendipity was in the right place at the right time to become basically all-powerful.

I adore Meenah’s spark. Who gives a fuck if Lord English is invincible? She knows exactly what she’s going to do when she gets her hands on him, and she’s got a plan from the outset. I think it’s also interesting the way that even though Meenah is absolutely taken by the spectacle of power, it isn’t sufficient to make her want to join up with English. Only soft power works on Meenah Peixes; emotional intimacy, friendship... keeping her entertained. All of these are the actual way to moderate her violent and dangerous personality.

While neither Rose nor Meenah is a parallel character to either Gendo or Rei from Neon Genesis Evangelion (I think, actually, that Dirk is the character who most strongly parallels both of them), this bit reminds me of the way that Ritsuko describes both of them;

Rose says of herself and Meenah, “You’re not very good at this, are you? ... talking to people.”

Ritsuko says of Gendo and Rei, “They’re not very adept (at)... living, I suppose.”

The same can really be said of a lot of characters in Homestuck, particularly the ones who primarily find their identity in some form of power-seeking. Whether it’s Rose, or Dirk, or Meenah, or even someone as innocuous as Jake, none of them is particularly adept at living.

Rose is pretty conciliatory with Meenah; given her attraction to danger and darkness, it’s probably not surprising that she makes such an obvious pass at Meenah in spite of the fact that she probably knows what their relationship was in another life.

Further evidence that Rose is the horniest Homestuck character.

“you know how it is with ancestors

they just kind of hold this inexplicable power over you”

Dave continues to progress down the path of not giving a shit, as did Sollux before him.

He’s not quite to the level of reluctance that he eventually adopts, of choosing to just not engage with English at all.

Gods are, to some extent, aware of the various narrative forces that govern their existence.

About the only thing this piece of nasty trash has in common with Karkat is the extent to which they both blabber, and he helps create contrast with the other, somewhat more likable dancestors. Kankri is pretty much openly contemptible, and really in the worst way. I’m almost inclined to call him a concern troll because of the extent to which his verbal essays exist purely to make him feel better about himself. Any time it comes time for him to listen to people who historically actually suffered from the systems they were involved in, Kankri shows his true colors, slut-shaming and misogynistic.

Unsurprisingly, The Other Thief is also the vector for English’s ideology in her session, “turning us against each other to make us stronger.” While Kurloz may be a worshipper of English, and Damara may have thrown in her lot with the demon because of her nihilistic despair, Meenah (rather like Dirk!) is clearly driven toward a life of violence, and restless action for its own sake.

Now we’re starting to get some insight into Feferi’s style of rulership, which in turn, probably gives us some insight into Jane. For Feferi, leadership means taking power away from the people you’re leading if it seems like they have the potential to hurt themselves (or to be a drain on society if left to their own devices). It represents a violation of agency, perhaps not so severe as the kind that Vriska perpetrates usually.

Feferi and Jane are the sort of people, I think, who want to create a perfect world - but it’s important to them that they’re the one who’s creating that world, and less important that the world is perfect for anyone in particular. Just perfect.

https://homestuck.com/story/5288

John’s whole self-conception, and especially his conception of himself as a man, and someone who might be growing up to take on the same roles as his Father, is tied up in the icons of dadliness and masculinity in the movies that he likes.

So we should expect that his disillusionment with his past will change the way that he thinks about his future, and what he’s going to do with it. It’s a shame that this line of questioning never goes anywhere in Homestuck proper, but I’ll use it as evidence in the “John/June Egbert is trans” folder. Reminds me of how my decisive lack of affinity for the Boy Scouts serves as a nice little retrospective bit of evidence in my own trans narrative.

Based on the number of trans Eagle Scouts I know, I feel like there’s a certain extent to which it be like, a fast-track to figuring that out about yourself, like, you tried all the boy stuff and just decided, nope! Not for me.

https://homestuck.com/story/5290

Man, especially if we continue to read this section of Homestuck as conflating the characters and the audience, this whole section reads as John not just having a meltdown about Con Air, but also generally having a meltdown about his own story so far - everything he’s done in Sburb, etc. It just all feels lame and shitty in retrospect, when it was something that was kind of exciting at the time, at least up until the point where his loved ones all dropped dead there at the end.

It turns out that there was nothing particularly edifying about John’s suffering.

https://homestuck.com/story/5300

Teens can be such monsters. It’s the anniversary of Bro’s Death too. Davesprite is probably as broken up about that as John is about Dad, but it’s hard for boys/men to talk about that kind of thing with each other.

Cronus is even more of an incel than Eridan. He may be the most singularly contemptible character in Paradox Space. Do I hate anyone more than Cronus? No, I think I do not.

I won’t have a lot to say about the middle leg of Openbound; it’s relatively empty of substance, and not much that happens in it is ever relevant again compared to the first and second legs.

I like to think that this leg of the journey is, more than anything, a chance to ruminate on some joke characters who were already parodies; parodies of parodies, a joke made at the expense of an existing joke. The kind of thing Dirk Strider would write, basically.

Hey check it out, the Year of Our Lord 2012, and Andrew was starting to show some mild sensitivity in his choice of words. Just mild enough to have the lowest character in the story show a tiny bit of sensitivity himself.

This leg of the adventure does give us some more insight into Meenah’s character. Just like Vriska, she’s all about being a hardass super-murder, until she starts causing problems for the people she actually cares about.

Being Evil Sucks.

This is a really weird sentiment for Karkat to have in light of like, everything else about the latter half of the comic. I mean, he hasn’t exactly had the epiphany yet that the ideas that he has about being a leader are kind of awful and shitty, so it’s possible that he’s talking the Condesce up to avoid thinking about that. IDK.

He also immediately claims he’ll leave behind the meteor to go and join Meenah’s army, so maybe Karkat is just in a pretty low place in general? That tracks.

Karkat’s little conversation with Terezi explains at the two thirds mark of Openbound exactly what this whole thing is about.

Almost the entire second half of the comic is about examining the character’s guardians, and their relationships with them. The Guardians - Grandpa and Bro especially - are hyped up to be these outrageous badasses, both in-and-out of universe, and their ambivalent relationship with their kids creates this ambiguity throughout the comic about whether the kids are worthy, whether they’re living up to their parents’ legacy - and it’s the kind of thing that plagues them throughout.

But the thing is, Ancestors can be lame, or even terrible. They’re not really anything to aspire to, and the image of success that they project onto the world is one of learned confidence, and usually that only if they’ve really managed to make it.

Even the best parents are flawed, and instead of trying to measure up to them, growing up healthy usually means learning what those flaws are, and committing not to reproduce them.

Parents don’t suck; they can be awesome, and generally speaking, for a long part of our life, they’re all we’ve got. It’s hard not to love them. But we shouldn’t turn them into idols.

(On another note, it’s one hundred percent fitting for Terezi’s Ancestor to be an outrageous coolgirl. Terezi is perpetually anxious about being cool enough, the sort of person who is breathlessly fun to be around, who commands the attention of everyone around her, and she’s surrounded by them wherever she goes.)

https://homestuck.com/story/5340

John’s distress leads him to dream about his dead Dad, and boy is he angry. He spends a lot of the second half of the comic seething in rage directed at whomever is responsible for all the suffering he and his friends endure, dishing out beatdowns toward those responsible, but I’ve never gotten the impression that these little outbursts of his are particularly rewarding for him.

https://homestuck.com/story/5358

That was quite a blow. He knocked out like a tenth of Jack’s health bar.

https://homestuck.com/story/5387

Depending on where you’re standing some really totally different things can matter to different people. From Vriska’s point of view, the things that happened back when she was alive totally don’t matter at all anymore - only the matter of Cosmic importance that is fighting Lord English.

But the stuff that matters to the people she left behind, and the suffering she’s responsible for - especially for putting Terezi in a position where she had to slay her - all of that still matters very much to the people who are alive, which is what makes her self-conception as someone who is on the side of the angels now really... not sit well.

She clearly hasn’t changed all that much. She just thinks, as usual, that now that things are even, now that the score is settled, things can go back to the way they were before.

https://homestuck.com/story/5388

Tavros and Vriska are really bad for each other in general. Like, it’s not good for her to be around someone as pliable as Tavros is, and it’s plain to everybody that it’s not good for him to be around her either; whenever he’s around her, he apes her bogus inflated self-esteem in all the worst ways.

https://homestuck.com/story/5397

Tavros’ explanation of what Vriska does suggests that storytelling has become kind of a ritual for her - a means by which she is attempting to connect with her Ancestor, by performing the same actions she is, miming her - still the same old Vriska.

That’ll be all for now. Cam signing off for now - join me for the thrilling conclusion to Openbound tomorrow, Same Cam Time, Same Cam Channel.

#commentary #neon genesis evangelion #liveblogging

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things-we-used-tc-share · 3 years

Text

The Town That Never Was

[Image Description: a long road with decaying plants on either side, with text overlayed that reads ‘the town that never was’ in white. A white icon of a clock is placed underneath the text /end ID]

I’m re-releasing the first four chapters as I’ve edited them!

Ships: DLAMP/CALMD, Remile.

Warnings: Cheating is mentioned at some point during this fic in the past, some slight horror themes but in a comedic sort of way, kidnapping is mentioned but again this is like a comedy-horror so there’s not a lot of suspense.

Plot: In Hell, a town of roughly 1,000 people, nothing that is supposed to happen ever happens and everything that physically should happen, does. Logan, a scientist, goes there in hopes of studying the world’s most unfortunate, and miraculous, town. But no one who ever enters ever finds the will to leave again.

Chapter One: The man who can see everything, and the scientist from normality.

Logan has a habit that mostly includes acting first and thinking about his safety a few hours later, usually when he has a burned hand or a broken bone, and then it’s followed by a “worth it!” as he accepts his own recklessness in favour of science. Today is one of those reckless days. Well, so far it’s been a reckless week (and a reckless life), as he’s been driving for about four days now.

He sees the “Welcome to Hell,” sign that has been overgrown by an abundance of tree roots despite the fact there are no trees for miles. The blue-eyed scientist sighs to himself absently as he gets the foreboding feeling that the next week of his life, should things go the way he planned, is going to be a series of these events and as it stands he has been driving far too long to hop out of his car near sunset to run tests on tree roots that should not exist.

The sun is, by the way, setting far too early for this time of year.

As he gets within the town’s boundaries, his car radio fizzles and automatically tunes into the suddenly only available radio station; Logan assumes this is harmless and simply listens to the soft indie beats that are now playing with no issue. The sky; where the sun is setting, is painted in a brilliant red, whilst the sun itself looks to be a somewhat magnificent ball of fire (which, of course, it is, but it doesn’t usually look literally as a ball of fire, you know, the kind when some idiot in class decides to bring a lighter to school and sets the waste paper bin on fire? yeah, that sort of fire). There are tall, black pylons everywhere, and the buildings seem old and are either wooden or Greek, which is interesting because as far as Logan knows, the ancient Greeks never quite got to America, yet these buildings certainly seem very old. Impossibly old.

He already has an infinitesimal amount of questions, and he’s aware that (as warned) that small pile is going to grow over the course of his stay here.

The music stops playing and a voice tunes in over the static waves of the radio “Welcome back listeners,” The dulcet, deep tones rumble against Logan’s ears and if voices could be a point of attraction then Logan would say this is an attractive voice. “A special welcome to the mildly ominous white economical car that just rolled into town full of what appears to be an impressive amount of science equipment, I don’t know who you are but you are apparently quite handsome, so I’m certainly hoping I’ll know you at some point,” Logan flushes a little and as if the radio presenter could see him, he chuckles. “We’ll run into each other, anyway, to the regular listeners this is your usual news on the town,”

Logan pulls up outside the place he had booked to stay but as he turns off the car he can’t help but lean back to listen to the radio presenter some more. “The sun is on fire, but more so than usual, the police advise you don’t look directly into it, or do, I’m not the boss of you and you can make your own decisions for yourself,” Logan snorts a little, shaking his head full of dark curls “Three strange cult-like figures have appeared in the outskirts of the town, on the west side entrance, they don’t appear to be doing anything but simply standing there, if someone has recently attempted to summon a demon or any otherwise ominous presence, please report it to Roman, our town’s exorcist who will help you deal with this problem, unfortunately until he knows exactly what they are, there is nothing he can do to help, thank you Roman, for being as useless as ever,”

The scientist laughs then and finally turns off the radio, grabbing his bag out of the back amongst a whole load of gadgets as he walks up to the front door. He can hear voices on the other side before the front door is thrown open extravagantly to reveal a young man with unruly dirty blonde curls. Logan, who hadn’t even knocked yet, blinks with a perturbed expression “Hello?”

“Hello!” The stranger replies with a smile a little too wide and hazel eyes a little too bright. “Don’t mind Remy, he turns into a cat when he’s anxious, but come on in!” Logan exhales deeply, cheeks puffing out as he shakes his head. “Oh yes, you’re an outsider, you’re probably not used to Hell standards of weird, sorry,” The man picks up the cat and places him on top of the counter before he moves around the other side “You’re staying for a week, yes?”

“That’s the plan,” Logan chuckles “...but I’m told plans don’t tend to work out here.”

“Oh no, they never do, all rooms are booked for at least a month just in case, I’ve added a few extra days on free of charge, we don’t tend to get many visitors so I doubt they’ll go amiss,” The man scans a keycard through the computer system, it fizzes slightly and he hits the side of it before trying again. “There you go, you’re in room 13,” He hands the keycard over “...and if you need me just ring,” he taps the phone “Phone number is on the bedside table.”

“Thank you....?”

“Oh! Emile, I’m Emile, that’s Remy, he’s not a cat, he just looks like one right now,” Remy blinks two wide golden eyes at Logan, he does certainly look like a cat. “He should be back to normal when he’s finished having a tantrum.” Remy hisses in response. “Have a nice night!”

Logan decides that he’s already reaching his limit with weird and he’s only been here maybe half an hour, although his watch has also mysteriously stopped working so there’s no real way to tell. He puts on his pyjamas, climbs into bed and tries to fall asleep.

It takes him an hour and a half to do so. Roughly.

When he wakes up the next morning, and finishes going through the usual human morning routine, he wanders downstairs to find a man who isn’t Emile sat on the chair behind the desk with headphones on. His name tag read “Remy,” and he’s wearing sunglasses inside. Otherwise he’s completely normal; a worn down leather jacket accompanying a black shirt and ripped jeans, hanging off a man who is of normal height and stature for someone in his early 20′s.

“Sorry about being a cat when you got here,” Remy pulls an earphone out to speak, chewing on bubblegum as he does “...me and Emile were having a domestic, how is your room?”

“Adequate,” Logan replies, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “So the turning into a cat thing is that...genetic?” Remy laughs a little and shakes his head.

“In what world would that be genetic?” He kicks his feet off of the table and sits up a little straighter “No, it was a curse.” Logan nods slowly, wondering why one is less likely than the other, and then thinking that he doesn’t want to know why because then he would start thinking like a resident here, and that sounds like a nightmare. “We do have an exorcist, and he’s supposed to really be able to dabble in lots of different type of magic, but so far he’s been unsuccessful.”

The dark-haired scientist recalls the radio presenter from last night “Roman, right?” Remy nods in response.

The door opens then to let in a bright array of sunshine, and Remy scrunches his nose up in distaste, pushing his sunglasses even further up his nose as if that might have been possible. The man that is silhouetted against the door frame looks too bright, but as he speaks, Logan recognises the deep and soothing tone “Good morning, stranger.”

The door closes behind him and the man leans against the wall with a wide grin. His skin is tan, a caramel colour with light blonde hair that has been pushed to the side and back, exposing two-toned golden snake eyes. Logan is starting to regret his journey and coming here at all, and he is certainly not enjoying the way his own heart thunders in his chest, or the slight warmth to his cheeks. Perhaps it’s the sharp angles of the man’s jaw, the snakeskin that covers half of his face, or the gentle radiant glow this man has, but he is...astoundingly beautiful.

Weird shit, Logan can deal with, feelings? Not at all.

“Welcome to Hell, literally, that’s the name of this place. America’s most singularly, scientifically fucked town, where everything that shouldn’t happen, definitely does happen,” The man grins, dark eyes blinking. Logan blinks back, opens his mouth, and then decides he doesn’t have any words in his extensive vocabulary to explain this. “What brings such a handsome young man to the town?”

“Science,” Logan mutters. “I came to investigate the town, scientifically this place is fascinating, a hive of energy that exists nowhere else.” He straightens his lab coat and holds up a device that had been in his hand. “So far I’ve discovered extremely unusual readings, and...” Logan talks, he explains, and the stranger looks at him with an incredibly dopey look.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters as the scientist talks extremely enigmatically, all strangeness and shyness are forgotten as he loses himself in his interest.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask what your name was, I don’t think I caught it last night.” The tan-skinned man smiles softly before shaking his head.

“You didn’t,” Logan doesn’t know how he knows this. “My name is Deceit, but most people call me Dee, I run the radio show,” The scientist smiles and nods, offering a hand for him to shake. Deceit practically purred at the contact to his gloved hand; he can’t help it when someone so pretty comes wandering in, all fair skin and dark hair with such...enticing cobalt eyes, he has to blush a little.

But the moment of bliss is interrupted as the door opens again, slamming behind the second newcomer of the morning. Remy, who clearly does not like having visitors, sighs in annoyance and looks up to a dark-skinned man with long hair and is..dripping in jewellery. The man is holding a book in his hand and he goes to speak before he looks up, only to see Deceit (in which his gaze turns sour) and then Logan (in which his eyebrow quirks, a slow smirk crosses his face and the book snaps shut in his hand). “Remy,” The stranger has an accent that sounded to be somewhat partially American. “You have a visitor?”

The cat-like man sighs. “It would appear I have quite a few,” he unplugs the other earphone and tosses them on the table “What do you want, Roman? I told you at this point this curse isn’t that bad, plus Emile finds it harder to shout at me when I’m knee-high to a grasshopper and fluffy,”

That would be some sound logic, Logan thinks to himself, ...if he were not talking about turning into a cat. “That’s fine, there is clearly someone much more interesting to talk to,” The elegant man holds out a hand and wears a grin that is almost a little too revealing. 29 years of not being flirted with and today it happens twice one straight after another.

“As if your two boyfriends weren’t enough Roman, you hop on the poor fresh meat like he’s dessert,” Deceit cuts in, a displeased look on his face as he folds his arms across his chest.

“He certainly looks like dessert,” Roman retorts. Logan thinks blushing is going to become a hobby whilst he’s here and looks over at Remy for help.

“Dee, don’t you have a radio show to host? Roman, don’t you have a demon to maintain? Logan I have no idea what you’re here to do but I’m sure it’s more than being the ruler in a dick-measuring contest between two insufferable assholes.” There’s a beat. Roman has the audacity to blush as if he hadn’t been saying some fairly explicit things by Logan’s standards, but a moment ago.

“Oh well, I’m here too...”

“Logan, dear, you’re cute, but I spent an entire night as a cat, and my better half, who is, by the way, all of my patience and will to listen to other people, is at work, right now I’m as bitchy as I can get, please don’t try and explain to me science unless it’s the science of how to make a coffee so strong my heart will stop...” Remy’s glasses slide down his nose, revealing two bright gold cats eyes, and they narrow as they stare at Logan. “All of you, out.”

“I’ll bring you a coffee, Rem,” Roman mutters as he starts towards the door.

“Thanks, Roman.” He doesn’t sound very thankful at all.

Roman offers to show Logan around town, he asks about the device in the scientist’s hand but anything he says is completely lost on the bejewelled man. Who is, by the way, wearing a lot of jewellery. His hands are covered in rings that have thin chains hanging from them, connecting to bracelets or each other. His nose, lip and eyebrows are pierced twice and the entire left side of his ear has small chains hanging off of them.

He looks like a prince.

“This is the coffee shop, my boyfriends both work here, and they live upstairs too, fair warning, one of them is a demon,” Logan nods a little numbly, unsure what else he was expecting really. Does anything normal happen in this town at all?

They walk in to see a scrawny and sickly pale man behind the counter, to the point where Logan would worry about anaemia until he saw the veins that were completely onyx running underneath the skin. The demon, then. “Welcome to Hell’s Pat-isserie, what may I get you?” His voice sounds bored, but then he looks up and sees Roman and his face lights up.

“Just a latte please,” Logan smiles nervously.

“That will be the cost of your soul please,” The demon’s voice darkens and shakes like lightning, Logan has to admit he felt a slight spike of fear before both the pale man and Roman start laughing.

“Virgil I keep telling you to stop doing that!” Logan looks up at the sound of a new voice, only to inhale sharply by what he’s greeted with. A man, with soft, freckled cheeks and a round face that has so clearly smiled so much, bounces up with stray blonde curls falling around his face. He bats a tea towel at the demon (Virgil, Logan assumes), before fixing Logan with a wide and blinding smile.

Blushing is indeed becoming a hobby.

“Roman, you’re late, help me with the coffee machine won’t you love? It’s jammed again the stupid bloody thing.” The man’s voice is as soft as his appearance dictates, and he hands the tea towel to Roman, who vaults over the counter to help. Then his attention focuses on Logan and he’s not entirely sure his heart can handle those pale blue eyes. “Sorry about these two, they’re a handful, just a latte was it? That’ll be $3.50,” Logan hands over the money with a dazed expression. As he’s handed his change, he can’t resist asking.

“What’s your name?”

“Patton, you?”

“Logan.” Patton smiles again, and Logan can’t help but liken it to the first flowers blooming in spring, and other cheesy metaphors that people come up with when they think about love at first sight.

“Well, Logan, take a seat, and we’ll bring your coffee over shortly,” A pause “...and thanks for keeping Roman out of trouble, it’s practically his day job,”

The scientist can’t help but absently think he’d hold back an inconclusive amount of danger to see Patton smile again. Then he reminds himself that he has a job to do; even if the rate of his own heart around these men is the strangest thing that has happened to him since he arrived in Hell. He can't afford diversions.

#ts sides #ts sides fic #CALMD #dlamp #CALMD/DLAMP

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erictmason · 3 years

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The Road To “Godzilla VS. Kong”, Day One

KING KONG VS. GODZILLA (AMERICAN VERSION)

Originally Released: June 26th, 1963

Director: Ishiro Honda

Writers: Shinichi Sekizawa, Paul Mason and Bruce Howard

Starring: Tadao Takashima, Kenji Sahara, Ichiro Arashima, Mie Hama, Michael Keith, Harry Halcomb

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“King Kong VS. Godzilla” is a movie whose reputation often precedes it amongst certain circles of Genre Film fans. Even if one is unaware of the convoluted, more than slightly seedy story behind its creation (short version: the original “King Kong”’s special-effects artist, Willis O’Brien, was interested in creating a sequel that would have pitted Kong against a giant animalistic version of the Frakenstein Monster, but shady producer John Beck wound up stealing the idea and, when American studios balked at the project for fear that the use of stop-motion animation to realize the effects work would be too expensive, wound up shopping it to the more cost-effective Toho Studios in Japan, who reconceived it as a new “Godzilla” project in hopes of revitalizing interest in the character), it is still one of the most singularly important Giant Monster Movies ever made. For one thing, it basically defined The Kaiju Movie as we know it today; sure, the original “Gojira” from 1954 (and by extension its Americanized adaptation, “Godzilla: King of the Monsters” in 1956) may have effectively created the genre, but you’ll notice the majority of such movies that exist today are more about Fanciful Title Bouts between two Clashing Monsters rather than somber moody Allegories about the horrors of Nuclear Weapons. For another, it’s the movie that really put Godzilla himself on the map as a Big Star in his own right; at the time, he only had two prior films to his name, and while one of them was the aforementioned genre-creating watershed “Gojira”, the other was “Godzilla’s Counterattack” from 1956, which proved such a box-office disappointment that it put the character into retirement for the better part of a decade (and to give you a sense of just how much less weight the name “Godzilla” carried back then, when that movie was released in America in 1959, it was initially re-titled “Gigantis The Fire Monster”). With “King Kong VS. Godzilla”, however, he would begin to star in more and more movies, building a film franchise that continues to this day.

So it’s a bit of a shame that I’ve never liked it all that much.

To be clear, the “it” in question here is specifically the American version of the movie, which is the one most Western audiences would be familiar with since, until recently, it was the only one readily available to us (though Criterion finally corrected that back in 2019, when they included the original Japanese version of the movie as a bonus feature in their “Showa Era” collector’s set). Certainly, it’s the one that I grew up watching as a kid, when my mom, ever so protective and knowing how easily upset I could be when Fictional Characters I Loved got hurt, made sure to watch ahead to see who exactly won the title match-up (and since it was Kong, I wouldn’t actually get around to finishing my viewing of the movie for a good long while). Back then, of course, I viewed it very much through that childish prism of who I thought should win, and it was exactly the kind of Schoolyard Logic you’d expect: Kong was supposed to be a great deal smaller than Godzilla, and where Godzilla had his iconic fire breath, Kong had no extraordinary powers; Kid Me understandably concluded that this match-up really ought to be a shoe-in for Godzilla, which worked out well since Godzilla just so happened to be the one Kid Me actually cared about. Kid Me was thus quite irritated to discover that, for the sake of this movie, Kong had in fact been significantly sized up and given random electricity-absorbing powers. It felt like cheating to Kid Me, and it left me less than positively disposed towards the film proper.

These days, of course, I’m able to give the film a somewhat fairer shake, though I would be lying if I said that My Inner Childish Fan-Boy is completely quiet on the matter (in particular, it always bothers me that, to emphasize the advantage Kong’s electrical powers give him in their fight, the movie explicitly cites Godzilla’s “vulnerability” to electricity, despite one of the most singularly iconic images of the original “Gojira” being his ability to walk straight through a power-line barricade). Indeed, my most recent re-watch for this very review honestly left me feeling fonder toward it than I was even on my last most recent re-watch (back in 2014, in preparation for the then-upcoming Gareth Edwards “Godzillla”, which we’ll also be getting to in this re-watch soon). The portrayal of the title monsters themselves in particular left me much happier this time around than it has in the past; the design for Godzilla himself- thick around the center with big heavy-browed eyes and what appears to be a constantly self-amused grin, huge sharp claws that dominate the fingers and a tail that moves with a real sense of weight and purpose-took me a long time to warm up to, for example, but these days I would happily cite it as one of the very best of the original series. Kong gets it a bit worse, sadly; the suit they design for him here (a fact that original “Kong” director Merian C. Cooper openly despised, incidentally; the idea of portraying Kong as just some guy in a gorilla costume was one of the things he explicitly set out to avoid in the original movie) has a distinctive enough face if not an especially memorable one, but the costume always looks and feels a bit raggedy, with the sagging pecs and ill-fitted arms (throughout the movie the suit switches between “regular” arms designed to allow the actor mobility, and extended arms to help give it a more ape-like gait; the result is that both versions feel weirdly out of place on the costume a lot of the time) looking especially awkward. However, even beyond how they look, the way the monsters act is genuinely enjoyable, with Haruo Nakajima as Godzilla and Shoichi Hirose as Kong both putting in fantastic performances that imbue them with a great sense of personality that is just consistently delightful all movie long. Whether it’s Godzilla hopping around, arms flailing in triumph whenever he manages to pull off another victory, or Kong drunkenly swallowing up giant pots’ worth of a narcotic usd to keep him docile, the movie very visibly delights in imbuing these creatures with fun foibles, and It’s no coincidence that the it’s at its strongest, not so much when the monsters are fighting, but when they are simply interacting as actual Characters: Godzilla here feels often like a particularly arrogant, boundlessly-energized child, while Kong is a bit more confused and subdued but quick to anger when irritated; their first meeting, when both these strong visible personalities most openly bounce off each other, is unquestionably my favorite moment of the movie.

The rest of it isn’t exactly bad, per se, but it is a lot less entertaining. Some of that is simply what the American version inherited from the Japanese original, not least of all the noxiously racist portrayal of the Natives living on a remote pacific island with Kong (here named “Faro Island” for some reason instead of the usual “Skull Island”). On top of the sins it recreates from the original “King Kong” (a fairly ooga-booga understanding of What Islanders Are Like, all of whom are portrayed by non-Native actors slathered in brownface make-up), it also includes a decently insulting bit wherein the initially-hostile islanders are pacified by the introduction of “magic” in the form of a hand-held radio and cartons of cigarettes. There’s also the fact that the plot is driven almost entirely by Random Contrivance rather than anything that flows naturally from either the characters or the premise; Godzilla and Kong have no real compelling reason to meet, let alone fight, other than the pure coincidence of their both happening to be active at around the same time in the same part of the world (the American version attempts to ameliorate this somewhat by stating that the two are “instinctive rivals” who will be “naturally driven to destroy one another”, but that flimsy lip-service to Motivation just winds up making the otherwise-arbitrary plotting feel all the worse), and we are constantly bombarded by Total Coincidences as a way of shuffling the characters around from place to place with dizzying frequency. But some of those troubles are only exacerbated by the approach the American version has taken to the material. We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, but the Japanese “King Kong VS. Godzilla” is, at heart, a Satirical Comedy; this, unsurprisingly, was not an idea that went over well with Universal Studios in America, who chose to try and reshape that comedy into a more traditional Monster Movie. An understandable objective, but not one the Japanese cut of the film made easy to achieve; to avoid the most overt Comic bits meant cutting almost all of the human characters in the film (most notably the eccentric executive Mr. Tako, played by Ichiro Arishima) down to only their most essential appearances, which in turn means that they all wind up feeling vaguely undefined and out of place in their own story (this feels especially true of our ostensible main character, Tadao Takashima‘s Sakurai, who is present enough to FEEL like a main character but has little left to do in this cut of the film). To make up the weight of all that cut footage, meanwhile, we get gobs of new footage consisting mostly of Michael Keith as a United Nations reporter talking at us in the most stultifying way possible, often joined by Harry Holcombe as an equally stultifying scientist (who apparently gets his knowledge of dinosaurs primarily from children’s picture books, which in fairness would explain a lot of the nonsense he ends up saying), though he also frequently talks with a fellow reporter played by James Yagi. These scenes are not, perhaps, without their charms, but they also deaden the movie’s pacing, especially since nine times out of ten they exist mostly to reiterate stuff we already know because it literally just happened. Given how much a faster pace seems to be one of the American cut’s top priorities (a sub-plot from the Japanese version about a submarine inadvertently encountering Godzilla is reduced to a single sequence for this version), that choice proves a counterintuitive one.

Because the other major problem with the American approach to this movie is that, to be frank, the Monster Action is nowhere near Epic enough to bear the weight this new cut puts on it. Again, it’s not without its merits; Godzilla and Kong’s outsized personalities do a lot to lend even the less effective sequences a certain fun spirit, and there is still an unmistakably strong sense of craftsmanship to the miniatures used throughout the movie to create the appropriate sense of scale for our Monsters to play around in (the demolition of a recreation of Atami Castle shines a spotlight on that very fact). But in terms of both their scope and their choreography, there’s just not enough There there; far too often, “King Kong VS. Godzilla”’s Big Marquee Action Scenes amount to the monsters just sort of lazily throwing rocks at each other, or else engaging in less-interesting recreations of their previous Iconic Moments (Kong especially goes through a truncated version of his original appearance’s third act, though here he ends up on top of the National Diet Building rather than the Empire State Building). That’s slightly less of a problem in the Japanese version; again, there, the main thrust of the film lies in its comedy, and thus the Monster Action being relatively lightweight is less of a hinderance and more a spicy Flavoring to the main story. But here, it is the main story, and while it’s pretty clear some real love went into the Effects Work (the puppetry especially is very solid; there are a few instances where the switch from Suit Actor to Puppet for Godzilla is borderline seamless, and I also enjoy the decently-animated feel of Kong’s facial puppet as well) it ultimately doesn’t have nearly enough substance to fill that role. This comes through especially clearly in the Final Showdown between the monsters; again, there is some deservedly iconic stuff here (Kong trying to shove a tree down Godzilla’s throat only to have it rebuffed in a puff of flames has become an impressively-enduring Meme for a reason) but, much like most of the story, winds up being driven far more by Contrivance than anything clever or satisfying (a bit where Kong knocks himself over feels especially annoying for how unmotivated it seems to be). It was always going to be a tall order to make a match-up with as much implicit weight to it (both metaphorical and literal) live up to the heightened expectations placed on it, maybe. But even taking that into account, it’s hard not to feel like “King Kong VS. Godzilla” could have put a little more effort into things.

Still, I was saying, at the start, that I walked away from “King Kong VS. Godzilla” happier this time than in many of my past viewings. And that is ultimately true: for as much as I find myself often wishing it could be a different movie, the movie it actually is already does manage to work decently well on its own terms. The dub-work here in particular honestly deserves notice; in contrast to the standardized casts Toho would start using for most of its “Godzilla” movies moving forward, here we get a more distinctive sounding voice-cast who manage to put some real Life into their performances (the voice they give to Kenji Sahara’s Fujita stands out especially to me, nasally and over-earnest but capable of some real Fire when the moment calls for it, as befits the character). And, again, whatever my beef with the Action Scenes, the actual portrayal of the Monsters really is uniquely fun (indeed, given how many other elements Toho would consistently crib from it, I’m often surprised that Godzilla’s distinctive body language throughout isn’t one of them), which winds up giving the movie enough Real Heart in the end to make it a positive Experience overall, even against the stuff that even now stands out to me as Not Up To Snuff. At the very least, it’s a lot easier for me to recognize how and why this movie created the Legacy it did, even if the American Version makes a bit more of a mess out of it.

#godzilla #king kong #godzilla vs. kong #kaiju #theroadtogvk #movies #review #ericthemason #my writing #king kong vs. godzilla

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