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kuhbkiee · 2 years

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wanted to quench my thirst with drawing lmk villains- so here’s Min! MIN XIN QIU; A child from a long time ago, there was no records of this boy aside from the story of a horrible accident during one of the town folk’s greatest opera event. The leader of the troupe was singing beautifully, enchanting who ever was in her vicinity, and while she was on her peak performance she had suddenly come to an abrupt stop, like something had caught her throat.. She was compelled to remove whatever had her, she could not lose the crowd! they were beginning to grow impatient....and noisy.. -ting- THERE! the artist felt it! like holding onto a bamboo she pulls whatever was inside her mouth! she throws it on the floor....a string.....she felt a burning sensation...and the taste of iron in her mouth...streaks of blood flows from her lips and onto the floor...blood. The crowd went silent, the sound of crickets from outside were deafened in her ears. She looks to them in horror then back at the string. She was stunned, she was only just staring at it as it began to straighten out...wait...that only meant one thing.. Her eyes shot at the direction to where it was being pulled but it was dark and the string was being consumed by the unlit corners of the room. But she knows someone’s there...she could...feel...it. Like a ragged doll her wrists were pulled up high from where the curtains draped, her fear worsens as the strangeness of things began to build up and it definitely did not help that the pain from her throat was still present. She wasn’t gushing out blood, but like a needle sized punctured hole, it was there the red liquid would seep out of. Suddenly she began to dance, the dance of the water sleeves, with grace and poise her figure flows smoothly....just like water, she wasn’t made for this, her joints began to tense and stretch, the dance was becoming literal. In agony she cries but the more she cried the more blood would build up from her throat. She only sounded muffled from the rest. The crowd was terrified at first, but settled down thinking that maybe they were just trying something new, they grew interested and stayed for the show knowing little of what’s happening to the little mistress on the stage.

With a loud crack to the final joint, she bows and claps came from the crowd. She smiled but the tears streaming down her face could tell you a different story...alas...the tears were only understood to be happy ones, and not the cry for help. She bowed one last time, before she raised her hands to both sides revealing her wonderfully sewn xingtou, her hands slowly creeping to her neck, then around it, then- CRACK A loud thud came after the killer sound, her body laying still on the ground, limbs bending to places it should not be. With that the crowd screamed in horror running outside as fast as they could, but some of them couldn’t make it, not with thin streaks of light that would often reflect in the darkness pulling the poor civilians back, choking them in the process, the other ones made to dangle from the ceiling some by their limbs and some by their throats. Screaming and moaning and gurgling filled the room, and in the darkness came a voice....like a young adult with a playful tone it echoes. “Aww, leaving so soon? The puppet show was just about to start..” A lot of blood was shed that night, from lowly bloods to visiting royals, news spread of the tragedy, the tragedy they would call the Terror Play.

#lmk #lego monkie kid #legomonkiekid #monkiekid #monkie kid #monkie kid oc #oc #original character #originalCharacter #lmkvillain #lmk villain #monkiekidoc

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wordsandrobots · 1 year

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IBO reference notes on . . . an act of unspeakable cruelty

Spoilers for everything, especially Season 2.

While you'll hear a lot about the Gundam franchise's 'kill 'em all' attitude towards characters, this generally tends to be overstated outside the original 1979 continuity. Gundam Wing, Gundam X, Turn A Gundam – these and other series all see the main cast come through largely unscathed. Iron-Blooded Orphans on the other hand? Good odds your favourite isn't making it to the epilogue.

This is a feature not a bug. However, there's one death deserving of closer scrutiny. I think it works, but I also believe it's necessary to dig into why that's the case, owing to who it affects and the way it is presented on screen.

Cut here because this is a major plot point and potentially triggering into the bargain. Only proceed if you are OK reading discussion of violence against women, death and violence in general, and spoilers.

Right. Still here? Good. Let's talk about Lafter's murder.

'Women in refrigerators' is a phrase coined by comics writer Gael Simone to refer to a narrative trope whereby a female character is killed off in order to provide motivation for a male character (verb: 'fridging'). The death of a wife or girlfriend is taken as justification for said male character violently hunting down the killer or simply as a means to develop them emotionally. The exact details vary. An actual fridge is not required. The underlying point is, there's a long-standing tendency in stories written by, about and for men to treat women as existing entirely in service of the protagonist, to be disposed of when it will advance his plot. It's often a cheap dramatic trick, exemplifying – consciously or otherwise – a particular view on who matters as a person.

At first glance, the abrupt murder of Lafter Frankland midway through the second season of Iron-Blooded Orphans fits the pattern to a T. Much of Lafter's character development over the series centres on her relationship with secondary protagonist Akihiro Altland. Her death serves as motivation for a brutal rampage of revenge against those responsible. This is textbook stuff.

The thing is, analysing fiction by the pure definition of tropes is like trying to judge the quality of a clock by ripping it to bits. The individual pieces don't tell you nearly so much as how the whole thing operates. So what is the wider context in which this plot beat occurs?

First off – and this frequently seems to get lost in discussions around how IBO treats various kinds of characters – Lafter's death by itself isn't extraordinary. It is not the only death of any significance; heck, it's not the only death of significance to Akihiro, who is practically defined by the loss of everyone close to him. Iron-Blooded Orphans sets its stall out in episode #1, where we see several (teenage) extras killed by the interplanetary police then witness a named tertiary character being brutally stomped to death by a giant mecha. The viewer is made very aware of the stakes.

However, the show then proceeds to play scrupulously fair with audience expectations. Most deaths are well signposted, either with specific cues or more generalised prefiguring of later events (the suicide note, the whole silent war arc, 'the decent ones die first', etc). Killing for pure shock value, while not off the table, isn't a core part of how this tragedy works. It relies more on characters making obviously bad choices for equally obvious reasons. This is why it's important to establish death as a constant risk. The main cast start out with very few options and the way a constant battle for survival shapes their ability to perceive the alternatives is the main engine of the plot.

Given this, Lafter's death does not automatically have lesser weight than those of Biscuit, Aston, Shino, and so on. Even at the level of romance, Akihiro/Lafter is afforded exactly the same level of narrative protection as any of the other significant relationships: none whatsoever.

But. The snag is that Lafter's death is not framed the same as the rest. Yes, the context provided by asking 'which characters can we expect to make it out' means we shouldn't be surprised by the fact she does die. What we can look askance at is that she is the only named character to die a passive death. That is, Lafter herself does nothing to resist or precipitate her death. We as the audience have an idea of what's up when it occurs, but for her, it comes out of nowhere in a place she should be safe. Within the fiction, it absolutely is a shock. And it's meant to be. It's an open attempt to provoke Tekkadan (our protagonists). This is an in text fridging, not just a random act of malice but a deliberate invocation of the mechanisms of the trope.

Self-awareness by itself doesn't get a writer off the hook. 'Kill the girlfriend to rile the hero' is fridging by numbers. You don't earn points merely for flagging you know what you're doing. Nevertheless, let's use this to segue into my second big point – how Lafter's death interacts with who she is as a character.

Lafter is a member of the Turbines, who are initially presented as a group hired guns consisting of Naze Turbine and his many wives. They are the most sexualised characters in the show in terms of design and dialogue, and Lafter is the epitome of this, sporting a very revealing main costume and with much of her initial characterisation resting on an intermixed love of sex and violence.

You will note the two uses of the word 'initial'. There is an important twist, which is that the Turbines are in fact a refuge for women pushed to the bottom of space-going society. They were formed when Naze Turbine and his first wife, Amida Arca, brought together a large number of all-women freighter crews. These crews are where runaways and others with no options generally end up in space-going society and they take on extremely dangerous work no one else will. On hearing about this and falling extremely in love with Amida, Naze used his connections in the Jupiter mafia to organise separate groups into a single company: the Turbines. The whole 'mercenary harem' thing is something of a distraction tactic to underplay exactly how powerful the Turbines are, coupled to a genuine polygamous relationship between Naze and the core group.

The way I've summarised that is not far off how the show itself explains the Turbines' full backstory e.g. a massive exposition dump. Season 2 has a lot going on and this bit suffers the most from the compression required to get it in. But it's also very important because it fully demonstrates something communicated through Lafter at the end of Season 1, which is that the Turbines are a successful version of what Tekkadan is trying to become.

The women who make up the Turbines were, like the child soldiers of Tekkadan, forced into risky work to avoid a worse fate. Only by banding together could they carve out a decent living and the result is an extremely tight-knit found-family. The two groups are not identical. The Turbines' line of work is less militarised, though still requiring robust defences, and they are a very different kind of family (certainly Orga never tries to build a harem, though he does sort of outsource that to Mikazuki along with all the extreme violence). Nonetheless the comparison is deliberate and the Turbines become both example and safety net, training Tekkadan, providing material backup for their endeavours, and opening up fresh options.

And because of the kind of story it is, Iron-Blooded Orphans requires that safety net be wrenched away. This is done via introducing a competitor to Naze, Jasley Donomikols, who arranges for the Turbines to be attacked by the main antagonists, resulting in Naze and Amida being killed. Lafter's death is the punctuation to this plot line, whereby Jasley tries to take down Tekkadan as well by goading them into a trap. Said trap backfires due to other circumstances and Jasley is killed, but the damage is done. Without the Turbines, Tekkadan make a series of huge mistakes leading to a final inevitable bloodbath.

What's most cruel about this situation is that by murdering Lafter to get a rise out of Tekkadan, Jasley reduces her to what she was pre-Turbines: someone disposable, used as a tool for those further up the social ladder. Since this is a story and people in stories only have the illusion of agency, what I mean by this is, the writers do that. They kill Lafter off to demonstrate that however hard the characters try to escape the position society intends for them, circumstances beyond their control can undo everything. Like squashing Danji in episode #1, this underlines how the viewer should not expect things to end well.

It's necessary. Really, this is a vital to the story Iron-Blooded Orphans tells. Exploitation on every level of the world. Outside events callously disrupting everyone's plans. No one being safe.

It's cruel. Because the things the show is exploring are cruel and you don't do them justice by softening that. People are crushed despite their best efforts, often without knowing why, every day.

It hurts. It's one hundred percent meant to. Both for itself and for the disastrous choices it engenders. Everything that comes afterwards, the total absence of good choices, hinges on this.

Does that get the writers off the hook for creating a female character who's role is ultimately to die to progress the plot (something, to be clear, that is a tired old sexist trope)? I . . . dunno. Like I said, I don't think dismantling fiction to tropes tells us much by itself. Lafter's murder is of a piece with the rest. It's framed differently to the other deaths due to being a distinct plot beat, informing us things can go wrong even when the protagonists do everything right. Lafter escapes the Turbines' destruction and sets off for a new phase in her life, grieving but moving forward. Then she's abruptly killed simply because it suits someone else that she die. A death exactly prefiguring one suffered by a primary male character in the penultimate episode. Sure, Orga gets to shoot back. But one could argue he only has a gun because he's seen this kind of thing happen before and therefore prepares. I don't know if that makes anything 'better' about this. It's still a functional, competently-told story.

I think what I'm dancing around here is, I don't believe you should never be allowed to kill a female character to advance a plot. That would be incredibly reductive. I'm not sure I'd even say it's necessarily wrong to kill a female character in a predominantly male cast.

(This is by-the-by, but Iron-Blooded Orphans is numerically less lethal in terms of how many significant women it kills off. We lose Fumitan, Carta, Amida, and Lafter, leaving Kudelia, Atra, Almiria, Azee, Merribit, and Julieta. I think that might be proportionally kinder too, especially if you stretch to including all the named female characters vs all the named male ones.)

The proof is in the quality of the clock and Iron-Blooded Orphans walks a very fine line with Lafter's death and the Turbines in general. It's having its cake and eating it by making the sexualisation of female characters a deliberate, reasoned, in-canon choice as well as overt titillation. In the same way, it balances treating them as people unto themselves, with history and motivation beyond their intersection with Tekkadan, and as a group demeaned within the fiction.

Could it have been done better? Certainly. Tekkadan's story from the Turbines' point of view or substituting them entirely for the boys would have worked incredibly well. But that's not what Iron-Blooded Orphans is and within the confines of what it is, target demographics and all, I really do think it's a good stab at walking that line. The Turbines do stuff and their deaths aren't throwaway but honestly harrowing to watch. It's not simply that our heroes care about them; we as the audience are given lots of reasons to as well.

I want to wrap up by returning to the question of who Lafter is as a character. I've described the outline but she has an arc on top of that and while it is deeply concerned with her relationship with Akihiro, it takes an interesting angle. You see, Lafter is Akihiro's counterpart within parallel three-person teams of crack pilots (I don't think I have to explain why Amida is Mika's counterpart and, yes, Azee maps to Shino – see her taskmaster-tendencies, stepping in the ocean by accident, and how she falls apart after Lafter's death). She's a very talented fighter, someone lifted from nothing via unexpected affection, and extremely dedicated to her job. She is also exaggeratedly feminine in appearance, much as Akihiro is the most 'manly' person in Tekkadan. In both cases, how they act only partially squares with this gendered design. This is nothing ground-breaking but it renders them more complex than you might guess from a glance.

Where Lafter has the advantage over Akihiro is confidence in her worth as a person. She starts from a place of valuing herself in a way he only gradually and imperfectly learns to over the course of the show. Lafter fronts sexy and loud, unashamedly enjoying being Naze's wife. Being part of the Turbines has given her a great deal of happiness and it's a life she fights for with skills that justify her cockiness in battle. She credits her family with building her into the person she is, which Akihiro explicitly acknowledges as his feelings about Tekkadan too.

What draws her to him initially is his extreme – ahem – stamina. But she falls in love properly due to qualities lying beneath his exterior. She comes to recognise him as a deeply caring man who respects and nurtures those around him, even if he's rather bad at expressing it. I genuinely don't think we're meant to believe Akihiro ever recognises this as a budding romance. Nevertheless, he values her greatly in return, saying she's the only one outside of Mikazuki he trusts completely to watch his back and, later, that he wants to live the way she does.

Ultimately, that is where they settle. Lafter picks loyalty to her own family over the chance to join his and though it's a bittersweet parting between a woman experiencing a new (to her) kind of love and a man who can't reciprocate in the way she might like, it's not painful or overdramatic. A conversation between equals, a choice that is true to their values, and one last hug. By rights, it should be the best ending to a horrible situation.

Iron-Blooded Orphans is full of opportunities for less than ideal resolutions that would nevertheless be better than what actually happens. Takaki takes one a few episodes earlier. Lafter nearly gets out too, walking away with good memories and a keepsake. Her story arc isn't cut off so much as it concludes a few hours before her life. Which is unbearably sad.

But, again, that's the point. There are no guaranteed exits from the lives these characters lead. Man or woman, adult or child, an axe hangs over everyone's head and the plot demands it falls on those whose loss would cause the worse consequences. We see this over and over again. And tempting as it is to imagine Lafter being on board with the violent retribution, Tekkadan's retaliation against Jasley is presented – like all their acts of machismo – as deeply self-destructive

So as much as it sticks out, Lafter's murder reads to me like a well-considered story decision, done with clear intention and awareness of what it's saying. In a story predominantly focused on the exploitation of men and boys, it would almost be dishonest not to include something like this. I can't clear it of all charges of playing into sexist stereotypes, if that's the kind of conclusion anyone reading this is looking for. But do I respect it more than most examples of fridging I can think of.

Other reference posts include:

IBO reference notes on … Gjallarhorn (Part 1)

IBO reference notes on … Gjallarhorn (Part 2)

IBO reference notes on … Gjallarhorn (corrigendum) [mainly covering my inability to recognise mythical wolves]

IBO reference notes on … three key Yamagi scenes

IBO reference notes on … three key Shino scenes

IBO reference notes on … three key Eugene scenes

IBO reference notes on … three key Ride scenes

IBO reference notes on … the tone of the setting

IBO reference notes on … character parallels and counterpoints

IBO reference notes on … a perfect villain

IBO reference notes on … Iron-Blooded Orphans: Gekko

IBO reference notes on … original(ish) characters [this one is mainly fanfic]

IBO reference notes on … Kudelia’s decisions

#Gundam Iron-blooded Orphans #gundam ibo #g tekketsu #Tekketsu no Orphans #tw #violence against women #death #tropes #spoilers #major spoilers #analysis #character interpretation #reference #notes

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tlbodine · 2 years

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I was wondering how I am able to write a quick, but horrific death for a short story. Everytime I try, I accidentally end up dragging it.

Hi nonny! Great question!

So here's the trick with sudden, shocking events in storytelling (but especially in writing): The thing that makes it shocking is that it happens quickly, and the way to make it happen quickly is to spend not-very-many words on it.

The more detail you pour onto something, the more description you use, the more diluted the emotional impact will be.

But you don't want it to happen *so* quickly that the reader skims right past it without noticing. And you don't want the moment to fall flat in a "rocks fall, everyone dies" way.

So what do you do?

1 - You build up the suspense leading up to the moment.

2 - You choose really tight, evocative writing for the impactful scene.

3 - You let it rest for a beat, with line breaks, before characters start to react.

One way to build up the suspense is what we might call the "Final Destination" technique -- allow your description to linger over small, threatening details, building up foreshadowing before the event. Something like:

The barn door swung forward with a screech on its rusted hinges, and she crept forward, the lantern flame throwing flickering light over the walls. She could barely hear over the sound of her own breath and the way the wind moaned through the eaves. The lantern cast a sheen over something metallic, the sparkle catching her eye, and she turned her attention toward it, not hearing the footsteps behind her, then --

-- searing pain, a terrible pressure in her chest.

She looked down, uncomprehending, at the three bloodied points poking through the front of her sweater. Then then were gone, sliding out of her back just as easily as they'd gone in, and she tried to take in a breath but it felt like an iron band was tightening around her.

Blood bubbled up into her mouth, spilled between her teeth, and she slumped to her knees.

By spending a little bit of time building up sensory details in advance, you have your reader keyed in to be paying attention for what's going to happen next. Then, when the violence happens, zero in on a key specific detail or sensation rather than trying to describe the whole scene. Here I focus on the specific detail of her lungs puncturing and collapsing after being stabbed with a pitchfork. No other details are necessary -- not how the barn looks, not what she looks like or is thinking about or even where the killer is. For the moment, 100% of my attention is on the death. That's how you keep it tight and move along.

In Stephen King's Pet Sematary, the scene where Gage dies actually is not written directly in the book, the way it appears in the film. Instead, the story spends quite a few pages detailing out a fun father-son bonding scene. There's a chapter break, and the next chapter starts in with the funeral. That itself is already shocking! But we linger at the funeral and the emotions of that event for several more pages before we finally get a description of the death itself:

...one minute he was there on the road and the next minute he was lying in it, but way down by the Ringers' house. It hit him and killed him and then it dragged him and you better believe it was quick. A hundred yards or more all told, the length of a football field, I ran after him, Missy, I was screaming his name over and over again, almost as if I expected he would still be alive, me, a doctor. I ran ten yards and there was his baseball cap and I ran twenty yards and there was one of his Star Wars sneakers, I ran forty yards and by then the truck had run off the road and the box had jackknifed in that field beyond the Ringers' barn. People were coming out of their houses and I went on screaming his name, Missy, and at the fifty-yard line there was his jumper, it was turned inside-out, and on the seventy-yard line there was the other sneaker, and then there was Gage.

I think this is SO wonderfully effective for multiple reasons:

1 - It focuses entirely on the mood and experience of Louis, whose perspective we're in right here. He is a father absolutely beside himself with grief and trauma, and the form follows that. The long run-on sentences are breathless and rambling and sound like someone who's come a little bit unhinged as he starts explaining. You can really feel his pain in this.

2 - The juxtaposition of a football field is such a mundane but effective detail. Not only does it provide effective information (we know exactly how far this is), but the mismatch of the mundane and the horrible beside each other drives it home.

3 - We don't actually need to see the body to comprehend the sheer violence and horror of this death. We don't need to see blood on the highway. Focusing on the details of his clothing items scattered at such a distance does a great job of portraying the speed and violence of the collision, and it's unsettling. It paints a mental picture of a dismemberment without ever saying as much outright. And the idea of being hit and dragged with enough force to turn a jumper inside out and leave it behind on the road is absolutely horrific.

So there's a few techniques to try playing with. If you're interested, I have a couple of guides that might provide more ideas:

Description Writing guide: https://tlbodine.gumroad.com/l/pulqq

Suspense Writing guide: https://tlbodine.gumroad.com/l/uyevh

Thanks for the ask, and happy writing!

#writing advice #how to write horror #horror writing #horror writers of tumblr #asks #Thank you nonny #I hope this helps!

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goldlighter · 2 years

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𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇

following the mansion incident in the arklay mountains on July 24th 1998, five survivors escaped. however, following the night they had endured - the trouble had only just begun. the arklay mountains laboratory was completely destroyed by the explosion, but the ensuing fire also spread throughout the forest, where the local fire department and national guard troops struggled to contain the fire - destroying about 750 acres of forest, and along with it any evidence that had been left behind. the investigation could not solely rely on the survivors' testimonies, rendering it impossible to advance any legal procedures. in addition, the survivors reported an internal betrayal ( which were impossible to confirm given q/esker’s apparent death ) which spelled trouble for the RPD.

c/hris, j/ill and r/ebecca submitted their reports on the incident in an attempt to expose umbrella, however due to both the destruction of all and any evidence save testimonies and the corruption of police chief brian irons, their reports were dismissed. thus began iron’s campaign to smear the surviving members of S.T.A.R.S - being bribed by umbrella and the present threat of exposure for both the company, Irons, and the truth behind the RPD. the public of raccoon city were disturbed by the events recently, reports of cannibalism and monsters in the arklay forests, and with the surviving S.T.A.R.S members stories of zombies and umbrella’s lies, it only caused more. due to this, it was easy for irons to dismiss the survivors as crazy, and in order to cover his own tracks, attempted to smear their reputations. With no one else to testify, and unwilling to put any hint of suspicion on o/swell e. spencer - who was able to sue for property damage in the millions - the media of raccoon city ran with the story that S.T.A.R.S were wildly incompetent and it was their personal failure in the investigation of the “serial killers” that had lead to the "the worst loss of lives in the city’s history”.

The body count was as follows:

s.t.a.r.s

a/lbert w/esker ( alpha team ) stabbed in stomach by the tyrant in the research lab basement and killed instantly. cause of death thought to be shock due to internal organ trauma.

j/oseph f/rost ( alpha team ) bitten to death by cerberus in the mountain forest. direct cause of death was a broken spine suffered in the attack. e/nrico m/arini ( bravo team ) instantly killed by gunshot wound to the chest in the below central courtyard (garden). the killer was determined to be a/lbert w/esker based on circumstantial evidence.

k/enneth j. s/ullivan ( bravo team ) heavily injured body found in the mansion on the first floor. cause of death was zombie-inflicted head and neck injuries.

r/ichard a/iken ( bravo team ) died shortly after being found in front of the mansion attic. body was covered with claw wounds, severe scratches and bite wounds from the left shoulder to the right leg. the direct cause of death is thought to be venom from the snake “yawn”, though conflicting reports state he survived and was later devoured by the “neptune” shark.

f/orest s/peyer ( bravo team ) body found on the mansion's second floor terrace. direct cause of death: blood loss due to claw attack.

e/dward d/ewey ( bravo team ) died after boarded the ecliptic express after being attacked by the cerberus.

k/evin d/ooley ( bravo team ) only right wrist and below was found in the arklay mountains. likely killed by cerebrus encounter after team split up.

umbrella pharmaceuticals

46 mansion & dormitory personnel ( estimated ) became “zombies” due to viral infection ( t-virus ) and most were shot dead by S.T.A.R.S. officers. however, from documents discovered in the mansion, at least one suicide was confirmed.

25 laboratory personnel ( estimated ) nearly all died from attacks by other workers who were infected by the virus and turned into zombies. due to early knowledge that the virus had leaked out, the number of workers committing suicide were greater that of the mansion.

7 researchers visiting from headquarters ( estimated ) all of these were missing and unaccounted for, with no bodies found. in some cases, they could be held isolated by umbrella, so confirmation of their whereabouts must be carried out urgently.

22 test subjects type a ( names unconfirmed ) people turned into hunters through virus injection. nearly all were shot dead by S.T.A.R.S. officers. thought to have been homeless people or people with an otherwise irregular place of living, so identity verification would be extremely difficult.

1 test subject type b ( name unconfirmed ) a test subject who became a tyrant through experimental treatments and infected with the t-virus. it wasn't possible to find the body due to the lab explosion, making identity verification impossible.

civilians

raccoon city residents - 4 families, 13 people ( estimated ) victims of attacks by infected people or cerberus escaped from the research facility.

travellers from other states - 7 people ( estimated ) thought to have been attacked by cerberus while mountain climbing. all except two were lone climbers.

confident that they had no evidence, and with a smear campaign under way, irons felt secure that there would be no further issues. however, during this time, chris began his own investigation - into irons and umbrella. he had kept with him evidence from the arklay Mmnsion ( shown here in the S.T.A.R.S office ) of the wooden crest, the golden crest, and the "doom book", though none of this implicated umbrella.

up until this point, he had not believed irons had any involvement with the mansion incident or umbrella ( despite being well aware of his unsavoury personality ) - but is refusal to acknowledge or act upon the reports given by him or jill, as well as the treatment of the surviving S.T.A.R.S made chris’s paranoia extend now to the RPD. he requested that the federal bureau of investigation carry out an investigation into the raccoon city police department and irons - and in an attempt to make himself less of a visible threat and allow him more time to expose the truth, chris began displaying far more aggressive behaviour. eventually, he was suspended after punching a fellow officer for spilling coffee accidentally on him - leaving jill confused as he refused to talk to her or the others about his change in behaviour ( jill wrote in her diary about one incident - august 13th, chris has been causing a lot of trouble recently. what’s with him? he seldom talks to the other police members and is constantly irritated. the other day, he punched elran of the boy’s crime department just for accidentally splashing chris’s face with coffee. i immediately stopped chris, but when he saw me by just gave me a wink and walk away. i wonder what happened to him…). chris then began investigating umbrella alone, eventually finding reports on the g-virus which matched the one that had been taken off w/esker's "corpse" in the mansion. as the S.T.A.R.S continued to grow more unruly, irons had the team disbanded and replaced by a standard SWAT team.

prior to leaving the city on august 15th, chris invited jill to his apartment and finally told her the truth - showing her his findings ( jills diary - august 15th, midnight. chris, who has been on a leave of absence for a “vacation,” called me so i visited his apartment. as soon as i walked into his room, he showed me a couple of pieces of paper. they were part of a virus research report entitled as simply as “g”. then chris told me that “the nightmare still continues.” he went on to say that, “it’s not over yet.” ever since that day, he has been fighting all by himself without rest, without even telling me ). he decided then to go to europe in order to fight umbrella, leaving the city before the outbreak though he did not know what was about to occur - with august 24th being his last day in raccoon city. barry promised to join him after moving his family to the safety of canada, whilst jill stayed in raccoon to find out more information - leaving her to battle through the outbreak and survive, rescued by barry in a helicopter before they too departed for europe. unwilling to involve his sister in fear for her safety, chris continued to send letters to claire, knowing cut off communication would worry her - however his letters did not manage to convince her, who was able to tell something was wrong by his unusual attitude coupled with the media’s coverage of S.T.A.R.S, and once he stopped sending these letters began worrying her until she took her own action.

once chris left raccoon city, he first started out in france before heading to italy, germany, austria - all the whilse continuing to investigating and look for rumours or leads on umbrella. he was completely unaware about the destruction raccoon city until it was reported by the news. during all of this however, he was still being monitored by umbrella and tracked. after september 24th when the outbreak began, communication from chris to the raccoon city police force is abruptly cut off - likely when irons began locking down the station.

on december 27th 1998, chris was somewhere near budapest when he was contacted by newly recruited government agent l/eon s. kennedy and informed of claire’s capture and detainment on rockfort island as his sister was escaping - running into w/esker once more, almost losing his life in the fight until alexia distracted wesker from succeeding. following claire to antarctica, he confronted and killed alexia, but was nearly killed by w/esker again until the base self-destructed. promising to destroy umbrella to claire, he reunited with jill, barry and rebecca. the remaining stars ( now four of them, with brad’s murder by nemesis ) continued their attacks and investigation against umbrella across europe. In 2003, chris and jill infiltrated the southern russia facility and destroying the remnants of the collapsing umbrella along with the B.O.W, talos - though they did not pursue w/esker in favour of looking after an orphaned girl caught in the attack called anna.

the same year, chris and the other survivors helped found the civilian counter terrorism organization BSAA (bioterrorism security assessment alliance) along with clive r. o'brian before reluctantly abandoning the city of terragrigia in the outbreak. the former S.T.A.R.S, now BSAA members kept close, now bonded by their experiences, but barry opted to become an adviser for the BSAA and rebecca began to teach in various schools. only chris and jill remained to combat the bioterror outbreaks.

References used:

BIO HAZARD Directors Cut Official Perfect Guide

V-Jump Books [Game Series] BIO HAZARD Directors Cut

BIOHAZARD UMBRELLA CHRONICLES: Prelude to the Fall

R/esident Evil 3: Nemesis

R/esident Evil

R/esident Evil 2

#► 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃: headcanon.

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joeeatsdvds · 2 years

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last night (09.09.22) i took a trip to the cinema with a group of my friends to see the newly released film: ‘Bodies Bodies Bodies’ which was directed by Halina Reijn and a screenplay by Sarah DeLappe.

these are my honest opinions about the film so spoilers ahead, obviously.

my view on the film as a whole was that it was an enjoyable film that made me laugh at a few times which is fitting because it’s a comedy thriller/horror. the film didn’t scare me as much as it just made me uncomfortable at parts such as when the characters just started making out during the film. the only part of the film where i feared for my life was when Lee Pace’s character Greg started howling like a wolf and lounging and chasing a group of terrified blood soaked woman.

now time to get into the actual film. i didn’t enjoy that the film opened with two of the main characters mid make out session, i felt it was unnecessary and just flat out made me uncomfortable. it felt like something i wasn’t supposed to be seeing. you don’t walk into a showing of what you believe to be a horror/thriller and then it opens with two people making out.

prior to seeing the film i had looked on the film’s tv tropes page and i had seen that the film had the trope of “accidental suicide” and also the trope of “anyone can die” so i knew slightly what i was in for without actually spoiling the film for myself.

i had a sneaking suspicion that David would be the first to die out of the group (and if it hadn’t have been him my second guess would’ve been Greg who did in fact die next) however i didn’t expect his death to be the accidental suicide that i saw listed in the tropes. during the scuffle between the girls to get the gun from Jordan i thought that Alice was the one to accidentally fire it and accidentally shoot herself, that however wasn’t the case as it was Jordan who fired the gun accident or not. even though david was the one who fit the trope i thought that he’d have died to an accidental overdose for his cocaine addiction and not a slit throat. it’s kind of ironic that the whole reason the plot of the film happened was because of a tik tok though.

i really do enjoy the trope anyone can die trope because like the name says anybody could be next nobody is off limits. it leaves you on edge the whole time you watch it and i just enjoy that as it keeps things fresh. unsurprisingly however both Bee and Sophie end up surviving until the very end of the film.

i found it nice that there wasn’t one psycho killer that was out to get the group and instead it was their own actions and fear that lead them to their own downfall. it’s an interesting concept that i think the film did a good job pulling off. i do wish that some of the deaths were less glamours and more realistic, specifically Jordan and Greg, as they should’ve looked way more messed up than what they actually did as it’s hard to maintain good looks after falling a few stories onto the hard solid ground. they should’ve done something more like Emma’s death which is portrayed as a bloody mess all down the staircase and walls with her face smashed in from the impact. it’s understandable why they didn’t do this for all the deaths though as this probably would’ve made them have to move the rating to an 18 instead of a 15.

i didn’t really like the songs they chose to use throughout the film. it’s probably just because i don’t like that style of music but i just didn’t really connect with it though i didn’t bother me too much. however i did enjoy the little repeated theme they had throughout the film that would crop up in some of the more suspenseful scenes.

as for characters Alice was probably my favourite of them all. all of the characters had very noticeable flaws but those are important because those flaws are what ended up getting them killed in the end.

i do wonder if Bee or Sophie faced any consequences after the events of the film for their actions because both of them did kill people.

overall i’d rate the film ★★★★/5

even if they didn’t have the scenes that made me uncomfortable i don’t think i would rate it any higher. i’d gladly accept this film into my dvd collection when it comes out though.

#joe soup reviews #bodies bodies bodies #my first actual film review wow!

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rottinghouseplants · 4 months

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Made For Mercy: Chapter 3: Part 1: I See Red

(warning: this story contains sensitive topics)

I pushed my pounding head against the palm of my hand as I sat upright in the bed next to Darling, my feet wrapped around their legs. I glanced at them out of the corner of my eye, they were just smiling at me, watching my every move, like a wounded animal, hoping for mercy. The sight of them was absolutely devastating; the deep purple bruises that lined their body, their bloodied face and torn clothes. The smell of iron and fear hung heavy in the air, and I could feel my heart breaking. "Darling, what happened? I've never seen this many bruises. I don't even know how you're able to walk." They laughed, clutching their ribs, and coughing with every exhale.

"It's not so bad. Just a little sore." They clutched their head slightly, closing their eyes for a moment, blood still dripping out of the open wounds on their face. "I'm a lot tougher than I look." They coughed violently and rested themselves back against the wall of my bedroom. I could feel the rage boiling up inside me, and tears streaming down my face. It was so hard to look at them, not because my feelings had changed, but because of the incomprehensible amount of pain they were in. It looked like special effects, something out of a horror movie.

"You look like you got hit by a car. I think we should get you to the emergency room, please." Darling's eyes widened, their gaze darting across the room as if they were desperately searching for an escape. They shook their head vehemently, avoiding my gaze suddenly. Their hands were fidgeting nervously in front of them, their body language screaming out their fear and anxiety.

I can't," they pleaded, their voice trembling with emotion. "It'll be okay. It's probably just sore like I said. I probably just need rest." They glanced at me with a desperate look in their eyes, pleading with me. "I don't want to go to the emergency room, please. Please, Nyx."

I could feel the rage like a white-hot inferno, searing through my veins and threatening to consume me. "What if something is really wrong?" My eyes narrowed to tiny slits, the icy chill of my anger reflecting in their depths. "You could die. What the fuck am I supposed to do?" I let the tears stream down my cheeks, the sheer despair of those words enough to break me. I crumpled into myself. Weeping softly into my knees, only looking up when I felt their hand wrap around mine with a weak grasp. When I looked up, a soft crooked grin, with a busted lower lip, met my gaze.

"I definitely don't need to go to the hospital. I'll be okay." They intertwined their fingers through mine, "I just need to rest. I appreciate you helping me, Nyx."

"Do you need anything? Are you hungry?" I whispered, my voice completely cracked from the relentless crying. I gracelessly slid my feet out from underneath their legs, and hastily turned to slither off the bed. They reluctantly shook their head and opened their eyes, heavy-lidded with exhaustion, to look at me.

"Wow, you let me lay in your bed and you want to cook for me? On the second date? How'd I get so lucky?" They coughed out a broken laugh, "I think I must have hit the jackpot." I narrowed my eyes and huffed, utterly frustrated.

"I'm serious!" I shot back, my hands clenched into fists on my hips. "And I'd hardly call this a second date, this is a traumatic event." Darling smiled weakly, a twinkle of mischief in their one less-swollen eye, and gave me a knowing wink.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just wanted to try to make you smile. I'd love some food, but it's not necessary. I might try to wash my face and get some of this blood off before I try to rest." They sat up in the bed slowly, holding one hand against their ribs as if they were trying to shield their wounds. "I have a killer headache, I think maybe some cold water would do me good." I took a deep breath at their sincere plea, and my bubbling anger cooled, turning into a deep sadness.

"I think that's a good idea. I'll make us some soup. The bathroom is across the hall, let me know if you need anything." I turned to make my way towards the kitchen, turning back for a moment in the doorway to look back at them. They struggled to stand, their body shaking with exhaustion, and put a weak hand up to the back of their head as if trying to will away the pain. Tears welled in their eyes and I could see the pain etched in their face. I felt a deep sorrow in my heart as I walked towards the kitchen.

I listened intently as I feverishly chopped the vegetables for the soup on the kitchen counter. Pixel curled up in a tight ball on the adjacent countertop, blissfully asleep, oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him. The soft purring of the cat melded with the running water of the bathroom sink, almost creating a calming effect, like ASMR. I watched the soup boil on the stove, taking a drag of my menthol cigarette while I waited for it to finish. As I extinguished the last ember of the cigarette, a loud clattering echoed throughout my small one bedroom apartment. What the hell was that? I quickly flipped off the stove and threw the butt into the trash can, sprinting to the bathroom. I opened the door with a sense of dread and saw Darling collapsed on the cold, hard tile. No, no, no. My heart sank as I rushed to their side, fear and hopelessness washing over me.

This couldn't be happening. I wasn't going to lose them like this, not like this. The panic had surged through my veins and my body felt frozen. I had to save them, I had to do something. But what? Everything I knew about first aid and safety had completely escaped me; sheer terror had taken hold. People say that in a dire situation, most don't know how they would react, and I was living that truth. When it mattered the most, all I could do was stand there, transfixed in shock. MOVE. DO SOMETHING. For the love of God, DO SOMETHING. Please.

I felt the terror flush through my veins as I sprinted through the bathroom, skidding across the icy tiles and dropping to my knees beside them. I tenderly cradled their head in my arms, pressing my face to theirs, desperately searching for any sign of life - a breath, a heartbeat, anything.

Tears streamed down my face as I cradled their frail body in my arms, the faint sound of breathing barely escaping through what I could only assume were broken ribs. "Wake up, Darling. Jesus Christ, please wake up!" I choked on the bitter words, anger and sorrow wrapping themselves around each syllable. Their hair draped loosely over their swollen, bruised face, the blood had been wiped away but the wounds still remained. The tap still running in the background. "I told you this could happen, I wanted you to go the hospital. Why didn't you listen? What are you so afraid of?" I pleaded, begged for answers from their still, unresponsive form. My heart was heavy with despair and my mind raced with questions, a million thoughts all vying to be heard. I wanted to scream, rage against the injustice of it all, but all I could do was hold them close. I leaned back, pulling them gently onto my lap, still supporting their head in my arms.

The tears streamed down my cheeks, searing my skin with their sulfuric burn as they cascaded down onto the ground. I could no longer contain the sobs that were desperately clawing their way out of my chest. What do I do? I had never been in this situation before, and a fear like I had never known before took ahold of me. "Oh god, I have to call an ambulance," but the thought of leaving them was too much to bear. The fear and doubt twisted and coiled inside of me, creating an oppressive sense of emptiness. Everything had happened so quickly, and this disastrous ending was unfolding before me.

Suddenly, a strained, painful cough full of blood erupted from Darling's chest. Their eyes shooting open violently, sending them straight up out of my arms. I watched in shock as they coughed up small puddles of blood onto my bathroom floor. Desperately, clutching at their chest.

"Darling?" I whispered, my voice barely audible after sobbing. "You have to go to the hospital. I literally thought you were going to die." They turned back towards me, looking at my through their severe black eyes, tears forming and pooling on their waterline. They sat back, clutching their knees to their chest and covering their face in shame.

"I'm so sorry. I can't go there. I need to ask you one more favor, there's only one place you can take me..." They sobbed quietly into their hands, their jaw clenched as they ground their teeth together. "I need you to take me Uptown, to the Feng Building."

I felt my mouth drop open in disbelief and a wave of annoyance wash over me. "You want me to take you to, Victor Feng, the politician?" I turned my head, perplexed by the situation and wounded by the feeling that I was being disregarded. What was I going through all of this for?

"I understand that it doesn't make sense right now, and it may never, because honestly, I wouldn't want to see me after this either. But, I need you to take me there. They are the only people who can help me." They gazed at me, their eyes imploring me with an earnestness that left me shaken to my core. I stood up, and walked out of the bathroom without a word. I walked into the bedroom and began to get dressed, slipping my jacket back on and stepping into my jeans. I returned to the bathroom with a spare coat in hand, handing it gently to Darling as they still sit on the floor. They looked up at me, and nodded. "I promise, that if I see you again, I will explain all of this. I don't care what the consequences are, anymore. I want you to know." I nodded with a sternness and pulled them from the ground, helping them get back into their clothes.

We were silent in the cab ride, I caught several suspicious glances through the rearview mirror from the driver at Darling's aggressively bruised face, but no words were exchanged. A light snow had begun to fall over the city, and as we walked up to the Feng high rise building, it bit at my face, burning the tip of my nose and my cheeks.

The doorman seemed to recognize Darling, and waved us towards the elevator, as we entered the private living quarters, we were greeted by a small fragile framed woman, with almost a doll like figure. Her voice was sharp and icy, slicing through the air like a blade. "Darling, what is this? What happened?" she barked, her cold dark eyes demanding answers.

Darling's knees began to buckle, as he struggled to stay standing. I watched as the woman opened her mouth to say something, but a tall, cold looking man with slicked back jet black hair and an air of superiority walked into the room. His presence filled the room with an oppressive energy. "I got jumped in the Art District, Lily," Darling whimpered, their voice tight with pain. "I need a doctor." The man that entered the room grit his teeth and growled under his breath before slamming a balled fist against the concrete wall.

His eyes narrowed with a ferocious intensity, a blaze of anger burning in his gaze. "Goddammit. They think they can take out one of my best. Lily!" The man roared, the sound reverberating off the walls, his voice echoing through the large penthouse. The small woman before him flinched, her posture stiffening in fear. "Call Dr. Yai! Get her here asap!" he commanded, his tone unforgiving. He swept Darling's crumbling body up in his arms and rushed up the steps on the far side of the room, then paused, turning back to me. His voice was low, yet filled with rage. "And you! Don't go anywhere, I need to talk to you!" He then continued up the stairs, tending to Darling.

I sat down on the large modern couch in front of me, knowing it was probably more expensive than my entire apartment. I stared out of the large windows that lined the wall behind me. The sun had begun to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and magenta, while the city skyline slowly sunk below. I could feel the tension in the air, the palpable fear and anger that had been stirred up in the room. I watched with a strange intensity, as a statuesque young woman in a spotless white lab coat flew through the doors, with a man in light blue scrubs trailing closely behind her. They spoke to Lily in a hurried, yet gentle manner before ascending the stairs. Lily's pacing back and forth across the living room seemed to go on forever, a frenzied blur of emotions and anticipation. The air around me seemed to have frozen in place, and I felt my heart thumping against my chest as I witnessed the unfolding scene. It was as if the entire world had shifted into fast forward, and I was being carried along in a dreamlike state. Was it the overwhelming nerves finally getting to me, or was I slowly slipping into a dissociative state?

Dr. Yai looked down at Darling upon entering the room with her surgical nurse, Brady. "Goddammit, Darling. What did you get yourself into this time?" Frustration and fear laced through her words, she knew that injuries this severe could be fatal if they couldn't access the root of the problems soon enough. The acrid scent of antiseptic and blood filled the room, pushing away the sterile atmosphere. She watched the nurse, hooking up the multiple chords and tubes to the patient. She sighed deeply, inspecting their deep wounds around the face, she could see even without a deeper examination that Darling has obviously suffered a pretty severe nasal fracture, as well as some micro fractures around their right eye socket. Probably some broken ribs based on the bruising and labored breathing, she prayed silently that their lung wasn't punctured by one of the loose bone fragments. She lifted Darling's head gently, inspecting the back of their skull for any damage. The cold, clammy feel of their skin against her fingertips made her heart ache, she knew they were in serious trouble. She gently set their head back down and looked up at Brady, sadness and concern radiating from her face, her attempt at a collected demeanor failed. This was not good, they needed to move fast and they needed to be extremely careful if they wanted Darling to pull through.

"I think we are dealing with a possible cerebral hemorrhage. Along with possibly multiple fractures in the rib cage. This is going to be difficult with the limited resources, but we have to try." Dr. Yai pulled her surgical tray towards the bed where Darling laid unconscious. Brady pulled his gloves onto his hands, checking the vital signs monitor, nervously. Suddenly, the heart monitor began to pick up pace, beeping frantically. His eyes shot up towards Dr. Yai.

"We have a spike, doctor!" He immediately rushed into action, "We have to move!" Fear and urgency made his voice crack, he knew time was of the essence. Dr. Yai nodded, her knuckles turning white as she clenched the edge of the surgical tray. She had to keep her emotions in check, she was the only one who could make sure Darling would pull through.

#sims 4 story #sims story #creative writing #madeformercy #simblr #sims 4 #ts4 #long post #ts4 stories #ts4 storytelling

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jaspersummerbummer · 8 months

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Free Write 8/17/23

I remember sitting by the shimmering waters, watching them dip up and downwards as the wave pushed them around. It’s the type of body of water that you can’t tell connects out into the vastness of the ocean. It appears so small standing beside the docks, behind me a viewing tower. Concrete steps, graffiti painted walls. I remember the way you looked at me, a hollowness behind your eyes that could only recount apathetic annoyance. This was my mistake, because no matter how cliche or cruel your emotions may have become. I fell for your trap.

Double meanings aside; it was all honey coated foot catcher, bit rough onto my ankles. Twisting and turning only caused the blood to gush from my ankles, splattering my feet in a bruise red hue. The kind that formed on my side, from a fist laced heavily in a night of hearty drinking. Like vikings we fought until the sun came up, fists clattering into my body and me crumbling underneath your authority. Like a patriarch stood tall in front of the bean bag in the corner of my room, you took off your shirt trying to make yourself seem small with hunched shoulders that only extended your worst qualities. In truth you were not that king, no crown atop your head because you lacked such a legacy. This made you insecure.

You sometimes told me stories of your father, all of which seem impossible to exist concurrently. He was a sailor, taking the occasional stop in from port to drink and sleep with women. You were a creation of a single night of passion and your life seemingly a stuant rejection of this seemed trapped in small town depression. Held in the arms of older men with precious kisses to your forehead. Another tale spun from your web coated fingers was that of the assassin, the least likely of your myths. Your father was a killer for hire, moving throughout the country and picking up money where he could. He fell for your mother after a brief yet passionate evening, sending her occasional letters but wishing to stay away from his son. Out of a perplexing fear that he would follow in his fathers blood soaked boot prints.

My memory of these events is too hazy to recall sometimes, our rum stained minds treated us to wobbling as if on a deck of a sinking ship. I would watch you walk the plank as we went down, I imagine you would swan dive into the water, smiling the entirety way down. However you would not dive, instead you would likely sit cross legged on the floor complaining about how wet the room had become. How am I supposed to get this water off my shoes? I can’t keep handling these breakdowns. There is no way we are really sinking, this ship was built of too sturdy wood.

Airport bar, missed flight, California sun. Lover boys entangled under swaying plastic trees. I hope you found love.

Car radio, gas station stop, you’d look prettier if you smiled. Hair dull and lifeless, bags under the eyes. I knew I couldn't live like this.

I doubt you understand, not the you of my poetic (in a bad way) recollections. Instead the you who reads with an air of confusion. Believe me that each sentence has meaning to those who were there, or those merely with the gift of my sobbing rants. Screeching and snot bubbles formed for one who had more fun hurting than they ever could helping. If the sun sets the same on the west coast why can I not visualize it?

The moon is my guide as I walk by the shore. Sand caught in my shoes, ducking under my socks as the itch and ick rises from my feet to my heart. It's simple to imagine you alone, with your CDs littered across the floor and your headphones glued to your ears. Laying on your bed, sheets coming off the corners and a slithering feeling of pained longing, but no tears. There are no tears for men made of stone, who strike when the iron is vulnerable. Worst of all when I dared to write about you it felt like wilted marigolds, because even then I knew what you had against you. Wandering eyes and loose lips, are all of those which sink ships.

#creative writing #free write #prose #pretentious ramblings

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theonethatslowlyfade · 1 year

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ENG America can be fire and it can be iron. It can be oily and slimy like a fish or silent and enveloping like a snake. She can be as tall as the first skyscrapers of those years, she can be boundless like the great prairies his mother had told him about. For Bly, America was a dream and a legend, a home and country without borders, but above all... above all terror. He found the gaze of the entire lodge upon him, but on the other hand he had initiated the speech. “Now that you have decided on this destination, since it is also where I come from, it seems right to me... to warn you about what concerns me. To avoid surprises." He swallowed silently. Feli, Hubert, Grayson, Raven, Franco and even Lagrange looked at him expectantly. He looked at them one by one raising an eyebrow, he couldn't understand how they could have the slightest interest in that story-nevertheless he went on talking, marveling at the ease with which the words came out of his mouth. “I was born in Mariposa County, my family lives in a mansion on top of a hill. When I was… very young, a group of dissidents attacked us, my sister and me.” he took a deep breath, wrinkling his nose. He was putting a wall between himself and the memories to avoid recalling them without control, a subtlety that a psychoanalyst like him was able to perform in order to "mentally" separate himself from the events. “They ravaged her, violated her, killed her in front of my eyes and cut off her head. We buried her like this, without the skull.” “The coldness with which he talks about it is disturbing ... ” Grayson looked at the other cronies with a decidedly tried look. "It's called dissociation," Felicita replied. “Something like that traumatizes you for life.” Still, they weren't talking to him. They were talking to each other, about him. Bly felt that if Monocle was still a split personality at this point, he would at least have masterminded a massacre of the poor fellows. Not him; he actually understood them: he couldn't understand how serious it was and why they continued to listen to him. Was it really that important, what he had to say? He just washed it off with water, he really didn't seem worthy of attention. Lagrange introduced herself into the conversation discreetly, glancing at him because he probably didn't look good. He was aware of it and at the same time he had no idea, he only felt the firmness and the gaze fixed on a vague point in the air. Okay, he wasn't well. He was on the long mellowed threshold of a tantrum, or worse he was about to send the group to hell with a blackout where he didn't know what he was going to do. “For the Doctor's culture, burying one's headless dead is an incredible affront.” “Yes, for Native Americans - my grandparents - the spirit of a body whose parts are separated, especially the skull, is forced to roam the earth restlessly without ever reaching the afterlife, the Great Prairies or what what's up. It becomes a ghost or worse." He suddenly felt incredibly light-headed, he didn't want to keep talking about it. He looked at Hubert, even looked at Felicita but he knew he couldn't get comfort if they didn't know him completely or almost. “Then I literally vaporized the perpetrators and their families in an explosion. That was how Tara found me and took me under the wing of the Caped Crusaders. After that I went to Sacramento, then to San Francisco, where she later replaced Yurei for me." "Actually, it was you who replaced him," Lagrange pointed out, making him feel like a sketch of a man fumbling on a smooth glass sprinkled with oil. He had a crush on Yurei, but it was no use—however he tried, the Japanese-raised American didn't seem to want to start a romantic relationship with him. Respecting his colleague's wishes, he still remained a good friend and colleague. “I don't know where my family is or what happened to them. I don't know what state my house is in, my sister's head is still missing and her killers... their blood is on my hands. Do you still want to come with me?” “Bly, you know we always stepped in if there was an issue that was affecting one of us. We went to Egypt and Cairo for Hubert and Felicita. If this thing concerns you personally, and you want us to intervene about it, we are the first to want to come.” “Actually…since we have to go through Salem…” “Do you want us to intervene?” Grayson repeated it to him forcefully and Bly was literally overwhelmed by tears. His eyes glazed over, aware that he would soon cry he narrowed his gaze to two slits to hold back what he could. It was nothing new that he felt small, stupid, a little likeable at times and that not everyone liked him. He was a Caped Crusader for that too, by the Gods! But in his feeling so irrelevant, he thought he could only offer help and never receive it, seeing his problems as little more than a nuisance to be given to more local, powerful, and definitely committed people like Grayson, Hubert, Feli, and even Franco. In front of them he had made a prolonged series of fools, mistakes to no end - he was ashamed of himself to be honest. Yet, they were all there. Even Lagrange. “Y-yes…” he said with little force, whispering a barely audible “Thank you.” "Well, it's decided: we're leaving for America!" For the first time he saw a softness in Grayson's eyes that he had never noticed before. On the verge of his own tears now, misguided as they were, he took his handkerchief from his vest pocket and turned away briefly, wiping the contours of his eyes and cheekbones. He prayed to any divine entity or unwilling to listen, the spirits and any saint because their safety was kept intact throughout the journey and beyond. What would have happened otherwise? Would he send the remains of a father to his unborn daughter, or lifeless favorites to his mentor? And Franco, perhaps sent back to the cage and left to be killed by the guards, by hunger and by beatings? No. he would never have accepted it. ITA Entry 5 L’america può essere fuoco e può essere ferro. Può essere oleosa e viscida come un pesce oppure silenziosa e avvolgente come un serpente. Può essere alta come i primi grattacieli di quegli anni, può essere sconfinata come nelle grandi praterie di cui gli aveva parlato la madre. Per Bly l’america era sogno e leggenda, casa e patria senza confini, ma sopratutto... sopratutto terrore. Si trovò lo sguardo dell’intera loggia addosso, ma d’altronde aveva iniziato lui il discorso. “Adesso che avete deciso questa meta, dato che è anche da dove provengo, mi sembra giusto... avvertirvi di quello che mi riguarda. Per non avere sorprese.” Deglutì silenziosamente. Feli, Hubert, Grayson, Raven, Franco e persino la Lagrange lo guardavano con aspettativa. Li squadrò uno ad uno alzando un sopracciglio, non riusciva a capire come potessero minimamente provare interesse per quella storia - ciò nonostante andò avanti a parlare, stupendosi della facilità con cui le parole gli uscivano di bocca. “Sono nato a Mariposa County, la mia famiglia vive in una villa sulla cima di una collina. Quand’ero... molto giovane, un gruppo di dissidenti ci ha attaccato, me e mia sorella.” prese un lungo respiro, storcendo il naso. Stava mettendo un muro tra sè ed i ricordi per evitare di rievocarli senza controllo, una sottigliezza che uno psicanalista come lui era in grado di eseguire per separarsi “mentalmente” dagli eventi. “L’hanno devastata, violata, uccisa davanti ai miei occhi e le hanno tagliato la testa. L’abbiamo seppellita così, senza cranio.” “E’ inquietante la freddezza con cui ne parla...” Grayson guardò gli altri compari con uno sguardo decisamente provato. “Si chiama dissociazione” gli rispose Felicita. “Una cosa del genere ti traumatizza a vita.” Eppure, non stavano parlando con lui. Stavano parlando tra loro, di lui. Bly sentì che se a questo punto Monocolo fosse stato ancora una personalità scissa, avrebbe come minimo architettato una strage sui poveri colleghi. Lui no; lui per la verità li comprendeva: non riusciva a capire quanto ci fosse di così grave e perchè continuassero a prestargli orecchio. Era davvero così importante, quel che aveva da dire? Bastava lavarlo via con l’acqua, non sembrava davvero degno di attenzione. La Lagrange si introdusse nel discorso con un fare discreto, lanciandogli un’occhiata perchè probabilmente non aveva una bella cera. Se ne rendeva conto ed al tempo stesso non ne aveva idea, sentiva solo la fermezza ed il proprio sguardo fisso in un vago punto dell’aria. Ok, non stava bene. Era sulla soglia da tempo ammorbidita di una crisi di nervi, o peggio stava per mandare il gruppo al diavolo con un black out in cui non sapeva cos’avrebbe potuto fare. “Per la cultura del Dottore, seppellire i propri morti senza testa �� un incredibile affronto.” “Si, per i nativi d’america - i miei nonni - lo spirito di un corpo a cui vengono separati i pezzi, specialmente il cranio, è costretto a vagare senza pace sulla terra senza mai raggiungere l’aldilà, le Grandi Praterie o quello che c’è. Diventa un fantasma o peggio.” Si sentì improvvisamente la testa incredibilmente leggera, non voleva continuare a parlarne. Guardò Hubert, guardò perfino Felicita ma sapeva di non poter avere conforto, se non l’avessero conosciuto completamente o quasi. “Dopodichè ho letteralmente vaporizzato i colpevoli e le loro famiglie in un’esplosione. E’ stato così che Tara mi ha trovato e mi ha preso sotto l’ala dei Crociati Mascherati. Dopodichè sono andato a Sacramento, poi a San Francisco, dove in seguito mi ha sostituito Yurei.” “Veramente sei tu che l’hai sostituito” puntualizzò Lagrange, facendolo sentire un abbozzo di uomo che annaspava su un vetro liscio e cosparso d’olio. Aveva una cotta per Yurei, ma era inutile - per quanto provasse, l’americano cresciuto in Giappone non sembrava voler iniziare con lui una relazione sentimentale. Rispettando i desideri del collega, gli era rimasto comunque buon amico e collega. “Non so dov’è la mia famiglia, nè che fine ha fatto. Non so in che stato è ridotta la mia casa, la testa di mia sorella è ancora dispersa ed i suoi assassini... il loro sangue è sulle mie mani. Volete comunque venire con me?” “Bly, sai che siamo sempre intervenuti se c’era un problema che riguardava uno di noi. Siamo andati in Egitto e al Cairo per Hubert e Felicita. Se questa cosa ti riguarda personalmente, e vuoi che interveniamo a proposito, siamo i primi a voler venire.” “Veramente... dato che dobbiamo passare da Salem...” “Vuoi che interveniamo?” Grayson glielo ripetè con forza e Bly fu letteralmente travolto dalle lacrime. Gli si appannarono gli occhi, conscio che a breve si sarebbe messo a piangere ridusse il suo sguardo a due fessure per trattenere quello che poteva. Non era una novità che si sentisse piccolo, stupido, un po’ piacione alle volte e che non piacesse a tutti. Era un Crociato Mascherato anche per questo motivo, per gli Dei! Ma nel suo sentirsi così irrilevante, pensava di poter solamente offrire aiuto e mai riceverlo, considerando i propri problemi come poco più di un fastidio da dare a persone più altolocale, potenti e sicuramente impegnate come Grayson, Hubert, Feli e persino Franco. Davanti a loro aveva fatto una prolungata serie di figuracce, errori a non finire - si vergognava di sè stesso a dirla tutta. Eppure, erano tutti lì. Perfino Lagrange. “S-si...” disse con poca forza, sussurrando un appena percettibile “Grazie.” “Bene, è deciso: si parte per l’America!” Per la prima volta vide una dolcezza nello sguardo di Grayson che non aveva mai notato prima. Ormai sull’orlo delle proprie lacrime, così sbagliate com’erano, prese il fazzoletto dalla tasca del gilet e si voltò brevemente, asciugandosi il contorno degli occhi e gli zigomi. Pregò qualsiasi entità divina o non volesse mettersi in ascolto, gli spiriti e qualsiasi santo perchè la loro incolumità fosse conservata intatta per tutto il viaggio e anche oltre. Cosa sarebbe successo in caso contrario? Avrebbe spedito le spoglie di un padre dalla figlia non ancora nata, oppure dei prediletti senza vita dal mentore? E Franco, magari rimandato al gabbio e lasciato uccidere dalle guardie, dalla fame e dalle botte? No. Non l’avrebbe mai accettato.

#rippers #rippers resurrected #william bly #ttrpg #america

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straydog733 · 1 year

Text

2023 Reading and Watching Resolutions

2023 Reading Resolution

A book written in North America: The Harrowing of Hell by Evan Dahm

A book written in Central America/Caribbean:

A book written in South America: Space Invaders by Nona Fernández

A book written in East Asia: The Way of the Househusband, Vol. 1 by Kousuke Oono

A book written in South Asia:

A book written in Africa: My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite

A book written in the Middle East: Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H

A book written in Australia/Pacific Islands: Better the Blood by Michael Bennett

A book written in Russia: The Incredible Events in Women’s Cell Number 3 by Kira Yarmysh

A book written in Europe: Fabulosa!: The Story of Polari, Britain’s Secret Gay Language by Paul Baker

A biography or memoir: Shadows of the Workhouse by Jennifer Worth

A non-fiction book: A is for Arsenic: The Poisons of Agatha Christie by Kathryn Harkup

A collection of short stories: I, Robot by Isaac Asimov

A collection of poetry: Harmless Medicine by Justin Chin

A play:

A book you’ve seen adapted: Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay

A graphic novel: Fence, Vol. 1 by C. S. Pacat, illustrated by Johanna the Mad

A children’s book: The Guardians of Ga’Hoole #1: The Capture by Kathryn Lasky

A book older than 200 years: Popol Vuh, translated by Dennis Tedlock

A debut novel: Spaceman of Bohemia by Jaroslav Kalfař

A novel by a famous author, other than the one(s) they are best known for: Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson

A sequel:

A book by an author you’ve never given a fair shot:

A book you’ve heard bad things about: Killing Stalking by Koogi

A book released in 2023: Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

Wild Card: Strong Female Protagonist: Book Two by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag

Wild Card: We Had to Remove This Post by Hanna Bervoets

Wild Card: Money Shot, Vol. 1 by Tim Seeley and Sarah Beattie, illustrated by Rebekah Isaacs

Wild Card: Bad Girls by Camila Sosa Villada

Wild Card: The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco

List Progress: 25/30

2023 Watching Resolution

A foreign film: Talk to Me (2022)

A black and white film: Nightmare Alley (1947)

A silent or dialogue-free film: Different from the Others (1919)

An animated film: Pink Floyd- The Wall (1982)

A film based on a true story: Spoiler Alert (2022)

A documentary:

A film based on a book: Bastard Out of Carolina (1996)

An Oscar-winning movie:

A trashy movie: Escape Room: Tournament of Champions (2021)

Your friend’s recommendation: The Blues Brothers (1980)

A children’s film: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (2023)

A film released in 2023: Missing (2023)

List Progress: 10/12

Movies Outside of the List:

1. M3GAN (2022)

2. Knock at the Cabin (2023)

3. Dungeon & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023)

4. Firestarter (1984)

5. Renfield (2023)

6. The Pope’s Exorcist (2023)

7. Polite Society (2023)

8. Blazing Saddles (1974)

9. Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

10. Barbie (2023)

11. The Last Voyage of the Demeter (2023)

12. Strays (2023)

13. Theater Camp (2023)

14. The Truman Show (1998)

15. The People We Hate at the Wedding (2022)

16. Bottoms (2023)

17. You Don’t Know Jack (2010)

18. Searching (2018)

19. A Haunting in Venice (2023)

20. Saw (2004)

21. The Boogeyman (2023)

22. Dream Scenario (2023)

23. The Holdovers (2023)

24. Creep (2014)

25. The Iron Claw (2023)

#straydog's reading resolution #straydog's watching resolution

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bd-agent-doppio · 3 years

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We- ah- we can explain that; he sort of woke up like this, and he's not being controlled or anything this time, we promise.

Solido nods in agreement, although that alone wasn't a good explaination.

"They kind of got tired of not being in control, so I guess that's partly why." Bloom answers, shrugging. "They aren't evil, but they're impulsive as fuck- mmm!"

Almost immediately, Solido covers Bloom's mouth. "If you're worried about the whole swearing thing, it's okay." Narancia answers. "I heard other kids say worse at school."

"Right! There's something that happened at my school and everyone got the day off- but it's bad." Narancia hands Solido a piece of paper after he finishes speaking. "I think the guy who died was really old, so..."

#two hearts that beat as one (solido)#bad moon on the rise (agent bloom)#freedom of flight (narancia ghirga)#ask #asks #anon #anons #((story event: iron blood killer))

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c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

Text

The story creates the story tells itself. That's it, that's what this is, it's the thing I always end up saying when Critical Role hits me right in the solar plexus, because stories are how we make sense of events after they've already happened. The story is not a thing in the moment it is created, it is a thing you can only know the shape of once it's over with, and then you look at it and you say, yes, of COURSE, it only ever could have been this from the first, couldn't it?

Seven miserable loners and outcasts and reckless illegitimate rebels meet in a tavern with no desire whatsoever for heroism. Their morals are quickfire and slapdash, casual and arbitrary, we'll help out these people, those people aren't our problem, we dislike those fucks over there. There is a war brewing and they want nothing to do with it. Fuck fame, fuck fortune, we'll keep to ourselves and play fast and loose with crime and take care of our own and maybe some lucky randoms we meet along the way. We'll fight and scrap and tussle amongst ourselves because none of us even entirely understand our own morals, let alone how to reconcile them with any of these other half-assed motherfuckers we apparently have to care about now.

They fuck up. One of their own dies.

They drown in rage and fury for just long enough, until they can stop gasping and growling for vengeance to take a breath. Then they run.

They run, because they do not care to stand and fight: not against evil or dragons or tyrant kings, not against their own grief. They flee the country. Nobody is chasing them, but they flee anyway, to avoid shackles, to avoid control, to avoid being set to anyone else's purpose, to avoid their own loss and their own sins. They run to the sea. (They find danger, and shackles, and control, and somebody else's purpose there again. The world is full of shackles and those who would wield them.)

They grieve. They avoid their grief. They sanctify their fallen comrade. They do not aim to be anything, this ragtag group of miserable loners and outcasts. The only thing they know themselves to be is each other's. They do not know themselves at all, but this grief, this loss--they know it, at least, know it together, an iron band binding them all heart to heart. It is the first truth they have to hold on to, the thing that lets them see each other as the only thing that matters, the only thing that's really real.

They face down a cult and win, because the other option is shackles or death. They face a demigod and flee, again, again, again. Always they flee.

They flee towards home and home is burned. They have seen loss and they have seen death and it finds them no matter how they run away, so maybe it's time to change direction. Maybe it's time to run towards. It's still running, still half-mindless directionality, it's still familiar. They are not heroes, they are not somebodies, they have never wanted to be somebody. This group has never wanted to be anybody, not as a group, not when they're whole. They're nobodies, trying to take care of themselves, take care of their own, to grow past their grief that they pretend they're gone from now, mostly, most days, when they can. (Pretend it's not the grief that made them each other's in the first place, like none of the fighting and scrapping and scrabbling along beside one another ever had in the first place.)

They bulldoze and trip and stumble and run towards instead of away, for once, just this once, the very first time they've run towards a thing since that last time, the only time, when they temporarily lost three of their own and then broke themselves trying to chase them (trying to chase vengeance). Towards is so much more dangerous than away. Run towards something hard enough, you might actually find it. You might have to become somebody when you get there, instead of just not-being somebody else.

They're somebody now. This rag-tag, broken, mismatched knot of nobodies, not even mercenaries because they're too skittish to even really look for paid work, they're somebodies now, or so Someone Important says. It fits like an ill-tailored coat that they've been forced into without ever making a choice. Without ever realizing, entirely, how much they never made a choice. The world said congrats, you're heroes now, and these killers and thieves went, well, fuck.

And then they tried to be heroes anyway. Not because it fit, not because they knew what to do, but because the mess of them, the seven of them, barely knew who they were to begin with. If the world was shouting HEROES! YOU'RE HEROES! BE HEROES! at them this very loudly--then don't they have to wear the coat that's being given to them? Don't they have to be, have to find some way to become, the heroes they've tripped and stumbled into appearing?

They don't know themselves. All they've done so far is run from themselves--from parents and children and their own crimes, from chains and challenges, limits and labels. They only barely know who they're not. They couldn't know who they are. How do they know they aren't heroes? The one thing they know, the only thing they have, the only thing they've ever run towards, is each other. The one thing they know for absolute sure and certain that defines and binds them is that steel band of grief, that first loss, the thing that broke and forged them to begin with.

So they look for answers in their grief, in what they've lost, because if it's the first true thing about them as a group, them as a whole, then it must be able to tell them who they have to be now. They sanctify their fallen, twist meaning and moral out of conversational confrontational casualness, make a mission statement out of leave every place better than you found it. They forget who he was, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. (They try to convince themselves that they don't have to be petty and venal and mortal and flawed.) They cling to what he meant.

And they fail. God, looking back on it all, with the shape of the story and the shape it's become, is it any wonder they failed? Petty and venal and moral and flawed, these rough-edged rabble-rousers, not even mercenaries because they don't even know how to take orders besides their own. Trying to be heroes. Trying to stop a war, because that's their job, right? It has to be. That's the shape of the coat they're trying to wear, that's the shape of leave every place better than you found it, that's the thing they crashed straight into while they were running, running, running the way they've always run, run, run. So they look for answers everywhere, because they have to have the answers to everything, and they scry and they spy and they play sides. They meet with queens. They turn to each other on the streets on the way out of the palace and ask in horror, "What did we just do?"

They run and they run and they trip and they fall and they unleash more evil than there was to start with. They lose one of their own, again. They sit in shattered shards, and what just happened? How could we have seen this coming? What did we just do?

They don't know themselves. They've been running from themselves, trying to run towards misty shapes they can't define in a too-big coat and too-small shoes, without any real practice in running towards to begin with. They don't know themselves, but they need to move forwards. They need to be whole again, the six, the seven (the eight, the nein). How can they do that if they don't know themselves?

And--finally, finally, they learn.

They learn. They throw a sword in a volcano and forge a sword anew. They rediscover their own mind, their own heart, covered in blood with each other's blood on their hands. They walk into their abusers' homes and then walk back out again alive and un-alone and unchained. They recover bodies. They recover families. They find themselves.

(And the selves they find are mortal and flawed, because they have always been mortal and flawed, because they are built to be mortal and flawed, because they are still the same misbegotten messes they have ever been. But they are stronger for having sought themselves out, for what they have found. They are the stronger for those threads of heroism they tried to, managed to keep.)

They stop a war, incidentally. In the end it's not even all that much due to them. They sit, nobodies on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and watch in silence. It chafes a little, not to be in the center of things, to be able to be the heroes it felt like the world told them they had to be. (It feels a little like relief.)

They find themselves. They find themselves, and they find another lost and broken man, miserable outcast loner, petty and venal and mortal and flawed. They only start to realize how they know themselves now when they see how much he doesn't.

(The peace treaty happens, happened, is/was/will be happening, because they tripped and trembled and tried their way into it, but in the end a thousand chess pieces moved to make it so, and it is signed on a boat where we do not even set foot. The culmination, the crowning glory, the true victory of that whole middle story, is a perfectly-dressed man in chains in the hold of a boat, admitting to his own sins. It is secret and it is individual, and it is the concrete proof above all proofs that our nobody unknowns are finally their own very-known selves. Because they were Essek, once--but know they know their own mirrors well enough to look at him and recognize that.)

They know so much, now, about who they are and who they are to become. They have looked at their pasts and, yes, flinched away, but they've seen, and they know, now, as much as they can handle. In the end, the one thing they don't know the true shape of, the one thing left to seek that must be sought, is of course (of course, of course) that very first thing they thought they knew to begin with. The one thing left to face is their grief. The one thing left to discover is what shaped it from the very start.

So they run, like they have always run. In amongst the snow it is the very distillation of running, towards and away, away and towards, chasing and fleeing and fleeing and chasing, are we in front or are they? It's every mistake they ever made all over again. It's every new lesson they've ever learned.

They don't ask any more, what's the right thing to do. They don't need to ask. They know, already, swift and sure and confident as they once stumbled and dodged. This is a thing that must be stopped. It is ours to stop it. Yes, it is a heavy, clumsy coat to wear, but it fits us out here in the snows where we're not trying to prove our heroism to anybody any more, for good or for evil. Yes, it weighs on our backs and tangles our legs, but it fits as well as any role we've ever tried to wear. It fits us more than it could ever fit anybody else. It's our role. It's our coat. It was forged of our choices, our pieces, our fights. It was forged of our grief.

Nobody else is here with us, to watch, to know. Just like when we were seven shiftless, aimless, worthless nobodies wandering through a circus tent on the way to nowhere (everywhere) else. There's us and the demon born from our grief, the demon who sprang up and died and is the only reason we any of us ever met. Just us, just the nine of us, three and three and three. The three who were dragged off in chains and gave us something to run towards, that very first time. The three who chased, and watched their companion fall, and faced their grief head on, and ran. And Lucien, and Caduceus, and Essek, beginning and middle and end: The man whose demise allowed us to come together, reborn from the loss that bound us. The man who found us and told us that grief is inevitable and passing, that we must continue with it, that we still had such a long way to go. The man who we found like a reflection in an aging mirror, reflecting our own progress back at us, showing us how far we've come and what we've learned how to be.

Of course it had to end this way. (There were so very many other ways it could have ended, once. Of course there were none at all.) Of course it would be nine and nine in the end. Of course it would be this final perfect marriage of heroism and anonymity, for this group that's finally figured out their selves, past and future and right-the-fuck-now, saviors and heroes and petty nobody fucks. Of course it would be this.

And of course, of course, of course it had to go like this. Of course, after everything, the first six of them would try to reverse that grief that forged and tied them. Of course they couldn't. Of course they couldn't, of course, of course--(and was it fate, that 1-in-20 chance, that 5% chance, that 1 on a die? was it fate like the dice are always fate in every game, rolling out poetry with every throw, because all the rolls that aren't quite poetic enough get forgotten?) Of course it was a 1, not some other number, not some sheepish failure of a 4. Of course the universe itself would speak to say no.

No, says the universe, that is not how this story goes--because the road is full of shattered shards, and our heroes only learned to be heroes by discovering how bloodily bad at it they were, by nearly causing the apocalypse before wrestling it back again. Of course the universe itself says that after all this time, after changing so far and discovering so much, this the inciting thing from the very beginning that bound this group in steel must not be changed. Of course, with all their pleas, the six people who knew him cannot bring him back.

Of course that's how the story would go. And of course there's Essek, the man who met this party so long after their throes of mourning that it had sunk into their bones and grown quiet before they ever knew him, who cannot accept this outcome. Of course it's Essek, who never met and has barely heard of this man, this grief--Essek who has not yet grown into the quiet acceptance of his own grief, who does not yet know his own mirror, who has only just barely begun to understand running to instead of from and still doesn't know the shape of what he might eventually choose to chase--who seethes in rage. Who cries about not fair.

Of course it's Caduceus who takes the inspiration of that anger, that grief, and changes it all. Of course it's Caduceus, who the group only even found out of their grief. (They tracked him down to beg to know if he could raise the dead in the first place. Do you remember? One, two, three, Caleb and Beau and Nott, finding him in his graveyard to beg him to help.) Of course it's Caduceus, created to serve and to heal and to make so, so very sure that everyone understood that death could be necessary and final. Of course it's Caduceus, who stood over Mollymauk's grave by the roadside and put a hand in the dirt and cast decompose, because what is dead should be allowed to stay that way until it grows into something else. Of course it is. Because Caduceus has learned his own shape by now, too--and it is still full of devotion, of dedication to the dead remaining dead, but it is steadfast and selfish sometimes too, forged in friendship, full enough of love to try, just this once.

Of course Caduceus gave the diamond but didn't try to perform the ritual, at first, at first. Of course he's spent so very long so very gently urging his friends to reconcile themselves to their loss, to letting their loved one sleep. Of course, in the end, in the very end, he weighed all his faith that once held so firm and final and without exceptions, with this grief before him, and found just this once, maybe, within it.

Of course when he tried, the man who lives to put things in the ground (to put Molly in the ground), even after the fates and the gods and the universe had spoken--when, just this once, against the will of the natural order and the universe and the power of destiny, he asked, just once, for the path of things to reverse--of course. Of course he was the voice that needed to speak for the story to listen.

Of course Molly would end the campaign. Of course this had to be the finale of it all. Of course this ritual--not this fight, not this mission, not even this apocalypse, but this ritual, this resurrection--must be the end of things. Of course it's the end of the story. You can't go any farther than this.

There can never be nine of us. It won't be ironic any more. But irony, after all, is just a way of running from sincerity, sometimes running away from sincerity so hard and fast you crash back into it from the other side. Like running from being a person, from being that person, from letting things matter, from mattering. Like running so far and fast from being found that eventually you have no choice but to find yourself. Irony's a shield against having to know the truth.

There's nine of them. It's not ironic. It's perfect, but it's not ironic. It's just the truth. They know who they are, now. Not who they were running away from being. Not who they tried to be for the sake of anyone else. Who they always are. Always were.

This story could have been a hundred thousand different things, when it started. Of course it was always fated to end with nine.

#whoops #definitely wrote this at 4 AM #apparently it still holds up in the light of day #CR spoilers #critical role #episode 140 #ok maybe I had a few feels #prose poet at 3 am

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shadeswift99 · 2 years

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Events that happened, in quick succession:

- Mumbo, who Martyn had once again just minutes earlier called his husband, was killed by Grian. Without a hint of mercy, while Martyn watched from just a few meters away

- Martyn was selected as the Boogeyman

- Martyn tried to kill Grian (Redslayer, husband killer, the blood on his sword not even yet dried) with an end crystal, Mumbo's favoured weapon

And yet there is not a single scrap of emotion attached to that scene. Martyn the newly-widowed once-ally, gifted by the Universe the chance to spill Grian's blood alongside Mumbo's on the ground of the Southlands, the ground that founded their bond right at the beginning...it should have been poetic. It should have been heartbreaking, beautiful, a thing that makes you question whether this whole story is scripted. But it wasn't. Because every part of that, every element in that order, was entirely detached. Disconnected. Mumbo and Martyn's marriage ended just as it began: bare, thoughtless coincidence. Proof that having all the right pieces means nothing if the box is left unopened, gathering dust.

In a strange, ironic way, I think that has poetry, too.

#Mumbo jumbo #martyn inthelittlewood #last life smp #this post started out planning to be funny #and there is something hilarious about it for sure...but somewhere along the way it just....#it actually is kind of sad #not in a 'these creators should have told their story better' kind of way #just. that concept; the idea of this perfect shell shaped exactly like a vessel for emotion but it's just /empty/#i didn't even realize the unbelievable poetry of it all until i watched Martyn's pov and made my own connections #but it was all just convenience #the attempted boogey kill... convenience #and we all found more tragedy in the death of a couple who wasn't even together when it happened #a 'he loves me' from across the map more sorrowful than this entire scene #I'm not complaining; martyn and Mumbo's weird dynamic through this whole thing has been hilarious #but it all just has the exact same vibes of a conversation where both people are just waiting uneasily for the other to leave #checking their watches and refusing to make eye contact #i just #funny. but leaves me oddly sad

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rosesgonerogue · 3 years

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Finding Each Other (Again)

Chapter One

Masterlist

“Make way guys, out of the way!” Dick bellowed from the entrance of the batcave. “Alfred, we need you!”

Marinette, jostled in his arms with every step, tried to liberate herself from her brother-in-law’s iron grip. “Calm down, I’m fine.”

“No offense bug, but I just watched you get crushed by a steel beam. Alfred is checking you over.”

“Tikki, spots,” Marinette said, as he deposited her on a cot. “See, not a bruise on me. I only jumped in to save that kid because I knew I would be fine. I’ve been eaten by a t-rex before, I was perfectly safe.”

“You what?” Damian demanded darkly.

“Dames! How was your patrol?” Marinette asked, grinning at the sight of her husband.

“What just happened to you on patrol?” Damian demanded.

“Dick is overreacting. I know it can be kind of… unsettling to see things like that, but the Miraculous suits are nearly indestructible. Only another Miraculous or some type of magic could hurt me while I’m suited up.”

She leaned in to kiss Damian’s cheek, but his face was stone.

“Are any of those Miraculous things up for grabs?” Jason asked, pulling off his helmet.

“Not for you,” Marinette scoffed. “And don’t worry, Dames. Dick is overreacting, the beam barely made contact with me. I was just making sure it fell safely.’

“Hold up, hold up,” Tim said, actually turning away from the computer. “You redirected a steel beam? Just with your strength alone? How strong does your suit make you?”

“I haven’t actually ever tested it, that could be interesting,” Marinette contemplated, handing Tikki a cookie. “But I’m stronger than I was when I first started out as Ladybug.”

“Part of it is because you’ve worked with me for so long - we’ve grown together. But you’re stronger than any other Miraculous use can be because you’re also the Guardian,” Tikki said. “Alfred, these cookies are amazing.”

While Alfred began examining Marinette, he chattered with Tikki about his baking methods. Dick was telling an overly dramatized version of the night’s events while Tim theorized exactly what Marinette could be capable of. All that was missing was the last few members of the family, all occupied with their own business. Marinette leaned back on the examination table, content with the daily she’d married into.

“-and if she were facing a metahuman with enhanced strength-”

“Drake, will you do us all a favor and shut your idiotic mouth?” Damian snapped, his voice dripping with acid.

“That was out of line,” Marinette said, straightening up. “He’s just having fun, Damian.”

“Just having fun? Were you just having fun when you threw yourself under a steel beam today? Or how about last week, when Killer Croc almost ripped off your leg?” Damian spat. “Oh, and the week before when your heart literally stopped because you stepped in front of Mr. Freeze?”

“Whoa, whoa, hang on,” Marinette said, standing to really face her husband. “That’s uncalled for, Dames. What’s with all of the hostility?”

“What’s with all of the hostility? Every week I have to see or hear about some way my wife almost died. You have absolutely no sense of self-preservation and that makes the rest of us worry about you, which makes you a liability.”

“Excuse me?” she demanded, uncaring of the awkward silence between the rest of the family. “A liability? I know exactly what I am capable of, Damian Wayne. In case you forgot, I had a life and a hero career before you. Long before you.”

“But this isn’t magical butterflies, Marinette, this is the real world!” Damian shouted, ripping off his domino mask. “People die here, and we don’t all have a Miraculous to save our asses. You rely on Tikki, but how do you know she won’t fail, or time out too early? Without her you’d be dead.”

Marinette’s eyes were wide and burning with rage, but Tikki was the first to speak, her tiny body radiating with fury.

“You have no idea what Marinette has gone through to get here. She is the most capable Ladybug and Guardian that I’ve ever seen, and that means more than you’ll ever know.”

Looking back at his wife, Damian could see more hurt than anger in her eyes. He felt a pang now that his panic from hearing Dick’s story had died down, but it was too late. When he should have expressed concern and care for his wife, he’d let anger take over. A firm stubbornness rose in him, and when his wife’s eyes met his, he levelled his gaze at her, unwilling to take his words back.

Glaring at him, when she spoke Marinette’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “Well, I formally apologize for the liability I’ve been all this time. If you’ll excuse me, I have commissions to work on.”

She shoved past him, leaving the silent Wayne clan behind. Her back was straight and her stride was measured - none of them could have guessed that silent, angry tears ran down her cheeks. Outside the weather was terrible, the wind howling through Gotham’s streets.

Walking silently for blocks, Tikki flitted around her nervously, using the terrible weather as a cover - not that there was anyone really on the streets to notice her. Finally the two ducked into an alley where Marinette collapsed against a brick wall.

“He’s wrong, Marinette,” she finally said indignantly. “Damian’s worried for you, but he also has no idea what it takes to hold a Miraculous.”

“Am I just a liability, Tikki?” Marinette asked, running a hand through her hair. “Am I just making things worse for the entire family?”

“Marinette, no! You’ve saved them plenty of times, and don’t you dare wonder if I’m what makes you special. We’ve been together for so long because you’re special,” Tikki said firmly.

The Guardian sniffed, sagging a little. “Thanks, Tikki. I guess I really should go work on those commissions like I said I would, which means I need to go home.”

“Only after you’ve eaten the rest of Damian’s favorite ice cream,” the kwami said.

“After all of the morality speeches you gave me in Paris, I had no idea you had this mischievous streak in you. I think Plagg is finally rubbing off on you after all of these centuries.”

Tikki smiled. “Only when someone hurts my Ladybug.”

Smiling faintly herself, Marinette pushed herself up while Tikki situated herself in Marinette’s purse. Talking to Damian wouldn’t be fun, but they would figure things out - they always did. Besides, they only fought because her husband was worried for her wellbeing. So, Marinette made her way towards their home, one of the safest neighborhoods in all of Gotham. She could almost see the old Colonial-style house when they saw a woman standing on the sidewalk.

She was just standing there under the streetlamp, the light emphasizing how angular her features were, if not exaggerating them. With the way the woman stared at Marinette, it was clear that she would speak to them, and there was really no way to get home without crossing the woman’s path. As much as she didn’t want to, Marinette decided to bite the bullet and speak first. “Excuse me, Madame, can I help you?”

Nothing in her posture changed, but glittering eyes assessed Marinette critically. “So you’re the little French fashion designer? I can’t say I’m impressed. I always had much… higher aims for my son.”

With those words Marinette felt her blood freeze in her veins. So this was Talia al Ghul. She’d heard stories of the woman, but she always hoped not to become involved with her at all.

She couldn’t back down. Marinette met her mother-in-law’s eyes without flinching, hand snaking to her back pocket for her phone.

“Don’t try it, little girl. You and I are going to play a game. It’s called ‘how much does Damian love you?’”

“It’s tempting, but I think I need to pass,” Marinette said.

At that, Marinette viciously kicked forward, hitting Talia right in the knee. She didn’t try to watch the result, sprinting forward with all of her energy - she only had to make it to-

There was a sharp prick in the back of her neck, and Marinette felt her legs give out from underneath her. She heard Talia limping over.

“Maybe you’re not completely hopeless, but you were never going to win this. Now let me explain the rules of the game to you.”

Marinette wanted to protest, to scream until someone came, but she couldn’t even prop herself up on her arms. Even more alarmingly, black was slowly overtaking her vision.

“Dear little Damian has a month to find you. If he doesn’t, I get to kill you and use it as a means to get the information I need. Now sleep well, darling. You’ll need it.”

Taglist:

@tbehartoo @kris-pines04 @thesunanditsangel @constancetruggle @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @rosalineandrosemary @novicevoice @momothefemur @theymakeupfairies

Note: Hey guys, I know it’s been FOREVER since I posted anything. I just finished my first semester of grad school, and it was a bit overwhelming to say the least. Oh, I also have a boyfriend now. That’s new, and he does tend to take up some time. But I’m not abandoning my other stories, I just wanted to try something a little different. Long term this is going to be cute, and it’s going to have some hurt/comfort vibes. I know this is really different from what I usually write, so tell me what y’all think. The taglist is open if anyone wants to be added, just leave a comment below and ask to be tagged!

#daminette #maribat #this is kinda dark but i promise it's gonna be cute in the end #tw kidnapping #i know i usually do fluff and ridiculous stuff but this is what i get for starting grad school in 2020

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