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cleolinda · 7 months

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My sister noticed

Previously on: I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice: So I told you a story about how a Count Chocula used to creep behind me at night when I was a child, and I described my very weird childhood home to you. I told you how my sister had Something Dark living in her bedroom, and I told you about the time she and I compared notes and realized that we also had the ghost of a young woman in the house. Maybe.

I asked my sister to read over the draft for me, maybe gather up the fortitude to fill in some details, and she texted back, "Oh, I'll tell you anything you want. But that’s not how it happened."

I am willing to believe her version for two reasons:

1) My memory has been shit after having covid umpteen thousand times.

2) I actually remember her version of the conversation we had, now that it's in front of me.

I also remember my version, is the thing—the one where I told her about Rebecca when we were younger. And that raises some questions about how independent, how uncompromised, our experiences were. But I think those questions are themselves the story. Can I trust my memory at all? I had such bad brain fog the first time I had covid that I could not remember how to scramble eggs. A lot of things are just mist to me now. There's what I remember and there's what actually happened, but what do I even remember? And that's before you even get into the idea that we're talking about ghosts we "felt" in the house. We saw no apparitions, no shadows, no odd movements.

This is not a story where I'm asking you to believe me.

There are things you experience, and things that happen. An example from the winter of 2016:

What I experienced was standing out on our deck one night and looking up at the stars. They were moving in a slight swirl motion, not unlike the painting Starry Night. I turned to my mom and said, "Well, the stars are moving, so if the world ends or something any time soon, here's our first sign." She stared at me.

What happened was, our upstairs heating unit had a leak, and I sustained mild carbon monoxide poisoning. (I like rooms to be cool, so I had used the heater less than most people would, at least.) This was only discovered during a routine furnace check, after my vision had been a little weird and I had been deeply fatigued for two or three months. I have had a CO monitor upstairs ever since.

Did I see the stars swirling? Yes. Were they? No. That's the distinction I want you to make while I tell you all this. Did my sister and I experience things? Yes. Do I know what happened? No.

So what I agree happened was, we were having Grownup Sunday Family Dinner a few years back, maybe 2019 or so. I had been really into Buzzfeed Unsolved, which later evolved into Watcher Entertainment, but my sister was refusing to watch any of it. She's a big fan now, but she only started watching the guys last year. Yesterday, we tried to piece this back together via text.

My sister ["MS" from here on out]: Like I feel like off and on for years you mentioned [Shane and Ryan's shows] and I refused

MS: And one day my argument was to talk about our own house

Me [let's go with Cleolinda Jones, "CJ"]: You said you felt like fake ghost shows were disrespectful to people who actually experienced [hauntings].

MS: YES I FEEL LIKE THAT WAS THE CONVO

I love paranormal investigation shows, whether they're patently fake or not, as long as I enjoy the people investigating, so I couldn't understand why they personally offended her. Pulling at this thread back in 2019 is how the the whole ghost story started coming out.

CJ: And I was like, okay, but here’s one show where they get, like, nothing, but I can promise you that it's real

(Because the Unsolved/Watcher shows pair a believer with an actual skeptic who still, lo these many years later, does not believe in any of it. I truly believe Shane and Ryan would not stage "evidence," for that reason. Shane makes fun of ghosts and people who believe in them, but he's honest about it, and my sister likes that.)

At this point, we go back to the first version of the story that I posted: my sister had told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her when she was a preteen/early teenager. It felt very dark, very bad, and she had not told anyone else about it until that dinner. The way I relayed it to you, Dear Reader, was that she hadn't wanted to go into detail, and I wasn't sure what it looked like, or if it "lived" in the little witch closet, or what. That night at dinner, I had gone on to tell her that, you know, now that you mention it, I did feel like something used to follow me up there at night. And this was when "My sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears" had come in.

1. Something Dark

CJ: So you were telling me about our house being haunted. Something in your room. How would you describe it?

MS: I think it more lived in the attic

(our pal the dark fucked-up attic room)

MS: but would roam the entire floor so I felt it in the peach room [my (Cleo's) old bedroom and then later, my sister's] but more so in [the Four Closets Bedroom] as it was closer to the attic

MS: The best way I can describe it is just never feeling like I was alone. Feeling like something was always behind me. But I refused to turn around to look. It felt like a darkness that almost oozed behind you in a way that was almost suffocating.

CJ: What I find interesting is that we both describe it as Just Feelings, and never feeling alone.

My sister texted me at this point that she used to sense Something upstairs whether it was day or night; "even in the day, it didn't feel safe." But night was worse.

MS: There was one night in 3rd grade when I was reading and had like my first panic attack because I was newer to living upstairs and I felt it come in the room at night for the first time

MS: I also used to feel compelled to keep the AC running all night like it was never cold enough.

Here's the weird thing: when we moved to the house where I currently live and our rooms were on the same floor, we always fought over the thermostat. My sister hated her bedroom being too cool, whereas I get hot. I remember one night, we were arguing over it, and she was weirdly on the verge of tears: "Why do you have to have it so cold?" In 2023, my sister texted me at this point that she didn't want our childhood home to be cold; it was like the thing wanted that temperature, even if she hated it.

You often hear that ghosts make rooms cold, that's a big ghost hunter show thing—but whatever was up there couldn't lower the temperature on its own?

CJ: "If you can’t make it cold yourself, storebought is fine"

CJ: And you don’t have a visual impression of it, I’m not just blowing past that?

MS: I refused. REFUSED to look. Ever. For any reason.

CJ: I did too, so that’s interesting

CJ: I describe it as a Count Chocula, which should tell you how much it didn’t bother me. Which I find weird

(Truly, there is a reason I titled that post "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice.")

MS: I can’t tell if it was truly terrifying. Or if the amount of data I was getting from it was just so overwhelming that that alone was terrifying to a child. I wish I could answer that now.

CJ: Yeah, in some way I think we’re saying the same thing. I was seven years old and I couldn’t comprehend what it was, either, so I just imagined a silly vampire

CJ: like I can’t overstate how cartoonish it seemed to me at the time, while still being very DON’T LOOK BACK

Part of the problem, she added, was that she felt compelled to go turn down the air conditioning... and the thermostat was next to the (carpeted. shag carpeted) bathroom. And then she had to race back to her bedroom... the same way I used to, as quick as she could.

MS: I also felt like I could NOT run. Like the way you shouldn’t run away from a mountain lion. It would create the need for it to chase me.

MS: What is so strange is that [learning about paranormal investigation] has not changed my perception of my experience in the slightest. Whether that’s the reality or not. It is still something I find dark and terrifying.

CJ: I think you would answer this differently now than you did then: what do you think it was?

We discussed this by text for a while. I mentioned being intrigued that Something Dark wanted to be cold (but apparently was not able to make the room cold). My sister—having agreed to be quoted here—said, "I kinda hope to avoid someone being like 'you had a demon in your house,'" as she doesn't really feel like that's what it was. Her gut feeling (and, bear in mind, we are working off nothing but feelings here) is that it was a spirit or ghost: something formerly human. We agree that it seemed male in some way (again: a Chocula).

And you're probably thinking, This is total bullshit. And it probably is! I'm not claiming any of this to be real evidence! I just find it interesting that we somehow came up with the same bullshit.

CJ: It just fascinates me that I did not experience 90% of this, and yet I got a strong enough whiff of it that I’m like, yeah, I can see it

But what about the female presence, the one I went off to color with in the middle of the night?

2. Rebecca

MS: I didn’t find out you had done the ouija board until we were adults. You didn’t tell me when we were kids

MS: That’s why I was SO shocked when we talked at the dinner table.

See, I was convinced that I had told her about my ouija adventures when I was a teenager, and "What about Rebecca??" flowed really well in the first post. That conversation was already a bit fictionalized in order to condense it from what I remembered—that's how memoirs work, really, unless you have actual transcripts of your life and room to include them. You're telling a story. I thought I was telling a condensed version of a true story. And yet, I do remember how shocked my sister was at dinner that night. And she would have only been seven or eight when I was messing around with that shit. Those two things do support the idea that I wouldn't have told her.

MS: You did tell me skeletons lived in my closet tho

I told you I was kind of a shit.

CJ: when I told you about Rebecca, what was your reaction?

MS: That’s when I went white. Bc I realized we had had a similar experience and I wasn’t just crazy

CJ: The thing is, I WOULD HAVE SWORN I had told you about Rebecca when we were younger

MS: If you did you didn’t name her and that’s why it was nuts when I realized 2 decades later we pulled the same name and we both remembered it.

We did it again, too—I posted briefly about putting this whole saga together, and how my sister asked me to give the ghost a pseudonym (ghosts deserve privacy too). And in trying to think of a good replacement, we both came up with "Rebecca."

CJ: so how did you know the [original] name?

MS: Ouija board with [best friend, redacted] in the playroom when I was like 13. She cried the whole time. We both thought the other was moving [the planchette].

You'll remember the weird, windowless, sky-blue playroom with the scary door from the previous post.

MS: But she was crying so she wouldn’t have been. And I would have never pulled out the name [Not Actually Rebecca]

MS: There was part of me that wonders if I did it but I would have NEVER chosen Rebecca

CJ: So did I bring Rebecca up first in this conversation [at dinner in 2019], or did you? I did?

MS: You said it first. I would have never [told you first] cuz I would have thought you were placating me. Like I’d never really know if you weren’t just agreeing with me

And that's when my sister had "stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone 'go white' until that moment." And I had told her about getting up at midnight and going to color in the weird playroom, and someone else being in there with me, no big deal.

After all this discussion, we do think that Rebecca was briefly my "imaginary friend," but our mom told me to stop talking about that. Not because our mom was spooked, but because she felt like it was rude for me to talk about someone I was presumably making up in front of company. So that stopped. Thinking back on it, I just felt like someone was sitting next to me on the couch. I didn't feel anyone next to me; when I looked, I felt like I could see where... someone was not? The space that someone invisible was taking up? It felt like something reasonably friendly. "Chill" is the word I keep using. Not super eager or possessive, just like a girl who was a bit older, maybe a teenager, a babysitter age, who liked me well enough. There was some dark shit in the attic, apparently—it did feel very oppressive in there—but I would get a sense that a metaphorical desk lamp had been turned on. A presence that stayed back, relaxed, but emanated "hey, I'm here."

What my sister and I agreed on was that we remembered how these "feelings" were both vague and memorable. I can't remember events or chronology accurately, but I remember the actual sensations and presences very, very clearly. They resist reinterpretation. I can't sit here and say, "Oh, Rebecca was totally a guardian angel, I see that now." The Something Dark sounds functionally demonic, but my sister doesn't feel like that's accurate. (If anything, she gets a sense that this could have been a malicious uncle—not father—of some kind to Rebecca, if the two beings were related: particular in their vagueness.) These two presences just... were. My sister says she primarily sensed Rebecca outdoors in our backyard, when we were pretending (were we?) to play with fairies. I didn't sense Rebecca there—but then, I wasn't aware that what I sensed was a someone, not for another thirty years or so. My oblivious ass was up at midnight filling in my She-Ra coloring book with a ghost like, "Yeah, I'm alone in the dark for no reason, this is normal." It's only in retrospect that I recognize atmospheric feelings as things that actually took up space, and I don't know how I didn't see it at the time. I can't explain that, and I can't ask you to believe it. All I know is that my sister still feels very traumatized by her experience of it—and I can't explain why I don't.

I think one of the reasons paranormal investigation shows don't scare me a whole lot is because so much of the "evidence" is random knocks and creaks and movements and vibes, and I'm like, yeah, I've lived in two houses now like that. The door of my current bedroom opens and closes on its own all the time. It's probably a draft from the ventilation system (which does not have CO leaks anymore) (probably). I've seen something at this house that a lot of people might call a shadow person, but I was probably imagining it. So many of these ghost shows just have things that I grew up with and didn't even think a whole lot of at the time; I seem to be protected by a +3 Sphere of Sure, That's Fine. Is my current house also haunted? I honestly don't know. Would I notice if it was?

#part two of two #story time with cleo #long post #the haunting of jones house #spooky season #halloween everyday #me for some reason #first look on patreon

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bcacstuff · 1 year

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About the film/TV/acting thread…I think people need to remember that film is a director’s medium, stage acting is more an actor’s medium, and many argue that TV is a writer’s medium. Whether you like Sam’s acting or not, he was trained more classically for the stage. That’s more common in the UK than here in the states. I have worked for years with actors and I can see Sam’s stage training. I can see it in small areas where many might not notice. Film acting is a completely different thing. The continuity is different, the “ in the moment” is different, the reaction and action are different., the “ bigness “ of it is different. There are things that can happen in film that could never happen on a stage. Whatever anyone thinks of Sam’s film acting (or any other film actor for that matter), much of it is dictated by and shaped by a director.- and honestly, how much the camera loves them. There’s loads of things about acting that many people just don’t understand- especially the training and directing of them. It’s also key to remember that actors cannot “ become” another person. Only themselves in different circumstances and must use imagination, physicality, timing, and action (not physical- the action that drives the story), and reaction. If you don’t like his work, any of it ever, then he’s not your kind of actor. If you think he’s great at some things and mediocre at others, much of that is on directors. They decide what we see, what drives and shapes action, even where we should look. They decide how to push an actor, and the safer the environment a director creates, the better work they can get from the actor. Vulnerability on stage/camera also depends strongly on that trust. Perhaps he needs a really strong director paired with a strong script. Actors have their own processes and ways of “ getting there” or being in the moment. Even the amazing, brilliant Meryl Streep says she doesn’t like to talk about or analyze her process. She thinks that will break the magic….Just a long winded Theatre teacher’s two cents.

You might be a theater teacher but I so disagree with many things you wrote.

We already gave more than enough examples why a theater trained actor can be a very good tv or movie actor on screen. One doesn't count out the other. We already gave examples. James McAvoy, Tom Hanks... many more are theater trained and started out in theater or even still do theater.

Even during the last Oscar ceremonies many winners said how much a project is an ensemble accomplishment. It's not only the director. I could easily translate that to my orchestral experience, it's not only the conductor that determines a good or bad concert. it's each musician in the orchestra and the teamwork they're committed to. The one or two soloists isn't gonna make it any better than the sum of all of it together.

I could also translate the theater vs screen to the concert hall vs studio to music. It's different for sure, and in the studio you can take many takes and choose the best one, where the concert hall has the adrenaline of a live performance with the emotions of an audience as an advantage. It doesn't mean an concert musician can't work in a studio.

I don't think we even need to 'understand' all the loads of things about acting. As an actor you should be interested in it, yes, but as a viewer not so much. As a musician I certainly don't think my audience needs to understand every detail of making music. My audience should never hear how difficult a piece is, or how many hours I studied that 3 bars of a 500 bars piece of music, as the technique I need to use there needed a lot of rehearsing. My Gosh, no, never. They need to listen and get themselves carried away with the music.

And as a musician, when I'm not happy with how a conductor interprets a piece of music and is somehow preventing me to give my best performance, I'm going up there and talk with him to get us both on a same level of understanding. Again, ensemble, teamwork.

The 'they' in your story is never what decides it. At the end of the day it's the individual doing the work. It's the football player playing the ball and not the coach. And it's the way one can make themself a part of a team that determines the quality and success. If an actors performance is less because of the director, than the actor should consider not to work with that director as it clearly doesn't click.

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gravessyard · 2 years

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Slip of the Tongue

Notes from the Crypt: Apologies for those waiting for the second chapter of To Have Loved and Lost, I promise that's still in the works. This piece is inspired by a comment from @seiiblue regarding Diluc's new skin, so I hope you'll enjoy this in the meantime

Tags: GN!Reader, angst, implied cheating, light smut (mdni)

Summary: You wanted to do something nice for your husband, but the reward he gives you is not one you expected.

It was a mistake, he swears. In the heat of the moment his mind wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and this was the result of that.

A lot was going on in the last few weeks, hell, in the last few months with him, and that meant with you as well. With him running the winery, the tavern, his Darknight Hero duties as well as hunting down the Abyss Order, somewhere along the way he decided to slap ‘infiltrating the Fatui’ to that whole list. He swore it was for your safety alongside Mondstadt’s, in the end it was for the greater good!

To keep up his good husband streak, he ended up telling you his plan of sneaking into the Fatui for intel, since he knew he wouldn’t be able to take them all himself, the least he knew he could do was gather as much information as he could so he can form a team (and maybe, just maybe, ask Jean for help). You were reluctant at first, of course you were, you had firsthand experience of fighting the Fatui, you knew how ruthless they can be. Archons forbid they find out Diluc isn’t actually part of their ranks, and they tear him apart limb from limb, so you had to devise a plan of your own. You asked him for patience so you could take a trip back to Inazuma to get him something special that will help with the infiltration. You didn’t tell him all of the details as you wanted it to be a surprise, but you had the perfect idea; in order to play the part, he has to look the part. You know what a typical Fatui outfit should look like after fighting off many of their members, so you had a general idea of what his new threads should look like. After taking his measurements and gathering the necessary fabrics and materials, you kissed his cheek and went along your merry way to the one and only Ogura Mio of Ogura Textiles and Kimonos. You knew it was a hefty order to ask of her, doing something that’s possibly out of her range but you reassured her that you’d be alongside her every step of the way. Sure, you’re no expert like Ogura, but you have some experience in sewing your own clothes together when a particularly rough fight almost made your clothes into rags.

You let her in on all the details, getting her more and more excited with all the information you’re rapid firing at her and in the end, she happily agreed, and you both got started right away. It was no easy feat, it took some trial and error and a lot of sleepless nights but after a week and a half of almost nonstop work, your project was finished, and you almost shed tears of joy at the finished product. It was perfect, everything was exactly as you had wanted down to the details, and the more you looked at it the more pride swelled in your chest. You did this for your husband to help him with his plan after all. You thanked your partner in crime endlessly, giving her far more mora than the new outfit was worth as well as treating her to lunch before your departed onto the early evening boat so you can make your way back to Mondstadt by nightfall. Even though you slept in most of the morning, you still felt quite sluggish and worn out from working so hard on getting this outfit together as quickly as you and Ogura could. You knew Diluc could be a little impatient, you were concerned that if you had taken too long on his surprise then he would have taken off on his infiltration mission without ever having witnessed your masterpiece. Once in Mond, you hurried back to the winery, adrenaline and excitement giving you the extra push to get inside and get his reaction.

“Diluc? Darling?”, you called out as soon as you entered, the outfit stored in a complimentary kimono box from Ogura that she thankfully gifted you after you realized you didn’t have anything to take the outfit in. Closing the door, you started to get nervous after not hearing a response from your husband, wondering for a split second if you were too late until he called out to you from his study. With butterflies in your stomach, you entered the room, box gingerly in his hands, and watched as Diluc lifted his gaze from his paperwork to stare hard at it, brows furrowing in confusion. You stood awkwardly for a few seconds while he took in the box, you wondered if he stared hard enough would he burn a hole through it and through all the hard work you put into its contents. Clearing your throat, his eyes moved from the box to yours as he perked a brow.

“Sweetheart, please don’t tell me you went to Inazuma to get me a kimono?”, he began, and you had to stifle a laugh, of course he would think that.

“Of course not, it was just the only thing I could bring this back in”, you chuckled, setting the box down carefully on his desk, minding the paperwork, and opening it to reveal the beautiful outfit you put in maximum effort for. He was breathless, shocked, and amazed at what he was looking at. It was truly a work of art, something that seemed to have been done by professional designers, and for a fraction of a second, he thought you did hunt down a boutique to buy this from.

“It took me some time and a lot of elbow grease, but with the help of my friend Ogura, we made this for you”, you couldn’t help the grin that was splitting your face as you watched Diluc stand from his chair and gently take the jacket out of the box first, an awestruck look on his face. He admired all the details, even the stitching was immaculate! The more he took it all in, the more impressed he was, the entire gesture was so heartfelt that he almost shed a tear.

“Well? Try it on! I wanna make sure it fits perfectly”, you purred, moving beside him to remove his current jacket off his shoulders. Like kids on Christmas, you were both giggly and giddy as you both hurried to the bedroom so Diluc could quickly shed his usual black attire and throw on the new crimson outfit. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that it fit him like a glove, nothing was too tight or too loose or seemed out of place. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it a mile a minute as you watched your husband admire himself on the full-length mirror. He seemed truly amazed that you had managed to get his aesthetic down and bring it to life for something he knew would benefit his newest mission. The moment was filled with deep emotion that quickly turned into something feral as he eyes you from the mirror, the way your face was painted with pride and adoration sent tingles down his body. It was like a switch was flipped within him that made him walk towards you and pull you into a searing kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You subconsciously gripped onto his jacket, melting under his touch, and moaning into the kiss.

Time seemed to move too quickly, you didn’t have enough to be confused or wonder how you ended up spread underneath him, your clothes long discarded while Diluc opted to push his pants down to bury himself deep inside you. It was lustful and passionate the way he made love to you, the way he brushed against all your sensitive spots had you both quickly reaching your climax, it was all too perfect, until he moaned a name that wasn’t yours.

You both froze, orgasms ruined and forgotten while the name echoes in your mind. You stared at the ceiling, thoughts plaguing you. There was no way he just did that. With the name branded on the forefronts of your brain, you looked over at your husband who was actively avoiding your gaze, sweat beginning to slide down his cheek and neck. He totally just did that. You pushed against his chest, a silent plea to get off you that he thankfully understood since he carefully pulled out and sheepishly put himself away while you moved off the bed to grab a robe from the closet to throw on. You knew that name, it was a name that you heard in recent conversations you’ve had with your husband regarding someone he occasionally works with. With your back turned against your spouse you began to wrack your brain over the past, how long had it been since you both had been intimate like this? Was he sleeping around without your knowledge? Who’s to say they haven’t already slept together? Before you could hurt yourself more than you already are, you turned to Diluc to ask what the hell just happened, only to be beaten to the punch.

“y/n I-I swear... It was just a spur of the moment! You know how stressed I’ve been lately, I promise this is the first time I’ve thought of them”, every excuse he threw at you was like a knife through your heart, and every word after like salt being poured on the open wounds. You can’t recall when you began to tune him out while you put your clothes on and reached under the bed for your luggage. You slapped his hands off you when he tried to stop you, mumbling at him not to touch you as you went around the room gathering your essentials. You didn’t process his pleas nor his cries, all you could think of was getting yourself out of this suffocating space right away. By the time you got the last of your things together you looked at Diluc sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and shoulders trembling with the guilt of his now disclosed desires of someone other than you. You felt tired, you felt crushed, yet you shed no tears, not for a man who you thought loved you as unconditionally as you did for him. For a second you cursed yourself for being blinded by love, you cared for this man, devoted yourself to him and even married him, all for it to go down the drain because he managed to slip up. How long he would have kept that name a secret if it didn’t slip out tonight?

“I want a divorce”, you finally spoke, turning away from Diluc’s raising head while you made your way to the bedroom door.

“I hope they bring you the happiness I couldn’t.”

Epitaph: oof, hurts so good QAQ this piece can also be found on AO3, I left the name he called out up for interpretation, so you can insert any name on there that would bring the most pain, as its my goal for this piece uwu Thank you for taking time to hurt with me today <3

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fic #genshin fic #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin diluc #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc angst #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #tombtales

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samwrites99 · 4 months

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1.How many works do you have on AO3?

20 works

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

170,154

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Law and Order SVU and Organized Crime

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

A decade without

Geocache

Bankers box

This is her story

Boarding passes

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, as much as I can now! I wasn’t too good at it when I first started writing fic about a year ago-ish, but I’ve come to like the interaction with people :)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

either uncharted (bc it basically was a prequel fic to SVU ROTPS (back door pilot to Organized Crime) OR Purgatory (which basically was EO stuck together in hiding but it’s just them *not talking* featuring an unused shotgun).

Idk I try to end my fics on a happy note bc that’s just the type of person I am.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

THIS IS HARD — like I said, I really try to end on a positive note because I love to wrap things up in a cutesy little bow but maybe geocache or bankers box since those are coming home stories.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I did once, but I’ve since learned the art of comment moderation 🫡

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I’m inclined to say no, but that would be a lie. I did in like 1 AU pilots fic. People said they liked it (maybe?) but I also am super uncomfortable writing it. It was a nice challenge to write it and to get out of my comfort zone.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

SVU/OC live in the same universe, so while technically a crossover, I’m not going to count it here.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of! But I have used Google translate in fic to have dialogue in another language.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Right now, it’s EO bc they’re the ship that got me to dive head first into all things fandom.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

….. gonna have crickets here…..

it’s not that I don’t like my 2 WIPs, it’s just that I think I bite off more than I can chew with both of them and I have second hand embarrassment from them now.

I also prefer to live in oneshot heaven 😇

16. What are your writing strengths?

Not sure… I like to think I can write a loosely enough connected thread to make a storyline come out of the woodworks… but I also don’t know exactly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh most definitely grammar.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’ve done it! It’s fun and at least for the EO ship, it’s a playground bc it’s a detail that we as fans know but the writers room seems to ignore/not sure how to incorporate it. Live laugh love continuity.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

SVU/OC

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

oh gosh… this feels like a toss up because I have a few I always rec to people… this is her story holds a special place in my heart, but I also ADORE bankers box and geocache. Probably those 3 I feel like best represent my work, but I have little pieces of my heart deposited into all my writing 🫶

Thanks for the tag @somuchwhatever . If you come across this feel free to do it yourself!

#eo #svu #elliot stabler #law and order svu #olivia benson #a03 #bensler #svufic #a03 writer #mariska hargitay

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vaimetanyx · 11 months

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Part 2 of my cosplay breakdown - Zagreus' skull belt

(Full process under read more)

[Skull pauldron] [Belt] [Greaves] [Toga + sash] [Wig + Laurels] [Armbands] [Flaming feet] [Satyr Sack] [Stygius v1] [Stygius v2] [Nectar]

Thankfully this one was a lot simpler than the skulls. My main issue was once again comparing inconsistent official art and trying to figure out what approach I wanted to take. I ended up with this pattern, with skulls at the front and a flat back.

I also had to consider how I was going to put it on and take if off, and went for a hidden buckle clip to make things easy. The strap was threaded through a white loop of material that I would later hot glue to the belt so it would be able to be adjusted if needed in the future, and to have a more uniform appearance. Unfortunately it turns out I didn't take any photos of this process but you can see how it looks attached here.

Back to foam work! After cutting out the base pattern and heat shaping it to have a slight curve, I cut out the circles for the skull bases, and and additional top half for depth. I should have dremelled these sections separately but instead contact cemented them together after heat shaping and had to be very careful with those teeth and eye sockets so I didn't dig into the base.

After attaching the flat backing piece and the skulls, using a bit of foam clay to fix up mistakes and add some detail/depth, and hot gluing the actual belt section, it was time to plastidip the whole thing. You can also see where I added some velcro to the opening side to better hide the opening and make the belt look like one solid piece. I over-sprayed way too much when using the plastidip, but it ended up with a lovely smooth finish.

Then time to paint. I added some very dramatic shadows before bringing it all back with several layers of off-white blending into the darker colours. Once all the 'bone' sections were done I gave it a coat of the same matte spray that I used for my skull pauldrons, and then finished it off with another layer on the gold details so they'd stay nice and shiny.

The belt may actually be my favourite part of this cosplay, not because it's impressive, but becuase i turned out exactly how I wanted! It wasn't super tricky to make, and it's so easy to take on and off (and with the nightmare that was getting that toga sitting right I had to do that many times)

#my cosplay #cosplay process #hades game #zagreus cosplay #if I were braver I could wear this out and about in my daily life but alas I don't have that confidence nor style to pull that off #also sorry for the lack of photos in this one and the shittier quality of the ones I do have #I take most of my photos when complaining so since this one went really smoothly I don't have a lot of documentation of the process

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chantsdemarins · 1 year

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🌙HIGH MOON

(LOKI X FEMALE READER)

Chapter 1

The Good Deeds of Replicant Harbinger 8970

Small warning that AI Loki is not a happy Loki. He's dark, so warning if mentions of depression or feelings of hopelessness are triggers. In this chapter no smut yet, just plot, plot, and more plot. I hope you like this, it's very different! Stick with it, please!!!

Loki stared intently at the geometric tapestry in front of him.

A white swath held a dark indigo band of thread in place, linking triangular shapes to offset the rest of the design. It was a snake or some other dragon, an ancient creature gone so long the name seemed to carry only tendrils of meaning. The image, though awakened something familiar inside him while he looked at the undulating shapes.

“I would love to know more about this piece, if you can tell me,” Loki mumbled, mesmerized. The older keeper bot was happy to tell Loki more, after all, remember and explain is all they did.

“The dark band is our pain, our suffering-the patterns we weave unknowingly,” the bot told him as they continued looking at it together. They held it against their small body, the bottom covered their boots by several meters. It was a masterpiece. Loki could sense their pride in having it as part of their collection.

“And what of this particular white band?” Loki inquired further. His long fingers desired to touch the old relic but resisted out of respect. Instead, they ghosted the form gently as he pointed.

“Ah, that is our grace, our redemption, but it wouldn’t look as beautiful, if it was all by itself,” the keeper bot continued.

“We only appreciate the details of the dark patterns because of the light yarn. That is how the designs of our people, were born-by following the threads of man.”

Nakoya looked up at Loki, wondering if he was moved to say anything more as they continued in their explanation.

Loki finally replied but was a little lost in the composition.

“It’s impressive you remember so much. This tapestry must be many thousands of years old,” he pondered.

“Things change very slowly, your highness, even with so much time.”

“You mustn’t call me that. I haven’t been a prince for a very long time,” Loki awkwardly said as he moved aside the almost shy keeper bot.

“Once a god, always a god, as we say around here, sir. We specialize in the concept.”

Nakoya quietly placed the tapestry back into the glass vault that housed the artifacts from that era of Midgard’s history.

“Loki, sir, if I may ask. What are you specifically looking for today? Why did you come to our archive?” They were standing near him, arms unfolded. He shuddered a little. He might as well be honest-he had made it this far.

“I am looking for someone.”

“Alive or dead?”

“I ask this because you are visiting an archive. Everything here belonged to someone long gone. So, to find someone alive, that’s not our specialty, as you must be aware.”

“I am well aware.”

“Oh. Then perhaps you seek one of our genomic representations, the replicant visions. The projections. They are the closest thing we have to anything alive.”

Loki smiled. It was awkward. Everything about his quest was awkward.

The time

The charm

The favors

Just to get access to the archives. It was his last hope. If hope was something he was capable of feeling. He did want to find a specific replicant projection, one his studies had led him to.

“Yes, I think you should direct me to your files. I need the Harbinger that archived a specific culture I have in mind.” Loki shuffled his feet and looked at Nakoya, hoping all this was still going smoothly.

“What culture would that be sir?” Nakoya gently queried.

“Norse,” Loki said flatly. Maybe it wasn’t obvious. Maybe too much time had passed for the keeper bot to know of his old kingdom, back when he was a god and not a bot. Conversely, his own memory technology persisted too perfectly at times.

Although it could be noted that whoever designed his augmented convergence went a little too far with embedding feelings. He didn’t remember feeling such sad despair or the surprising roar of joy back when he was a prince, a brother, and a son on Asgard. These feelings were new, they were arranged and programmed on purpose.

Loki wished he could coast back to his old life of sublime indifference nearly every day. He was also consistently out of sync with the new era, which prided itself on transcending emotions. Yes, it was true most humans and other beings, even the bots, practiced a form of “perpetual mellow” which afforded them a limited range of responses, most on the pleasant side of things. His model was programmed with ancient feelings. Outdated emotions. Maybe the programmers thought a wild buffet of feelings were authentic to his era.

They were wrong, but they had been wrong to save him too. He was a prisoner of his never-ending existence as an augmented life form. There was no way to “end” augmented beings, not simply anyway. He had tried. The more he tried, the harder it was to keep going on when it didn’t work.

So, he slowly stopped trying. He used what was left of his clever mind to find another way out. He traveled back to Midgard, or the realm around it, as far as he could. Loki wanted to know where his ancestors went when they died. Although to even get as far as remembering the concept of ancestors and religion at all took hundreds of Midgard years. Piece by piece, data arrangement by data arrangement, stored memory and file after file, Loki began to remember.

He first recalled there was a veil, it was like opening the old cloth coverings that used to hang on windows in his family’s palace. Curtains. Valhalla would be waiting on the other side of the curtains.

Loki didn’t remember much else for a long time but there was a vague sense that his family would be there-and it became all he longed for. It is what led him to the archives. It was his curse and his destiny to also have been programmed to love, but he mostly kept that a secret. Missing his family might be part of that love, or it could just be something else, a glitch. Whatever is what, gave him just enough purpose, as dark as his purpose now seemed. He recalled the tapestry Nakoya had just showed him. The dark wefts. That was him.

Nakoya pried further. “Sir, I can have you meet a replicant projection, Harbinger 8970. You may find what you are looking for with her. Although the original Harbinger left existence nearly 500 Midgard years ago.”

“I have only met a few replicant projections, strangely. You’d think we would talk more,” Loki laughed.

“I look forward to the exchange,” he continued. He was indeed depressed, but life’s novelties still had their appeal. Replicant projections were a novelty. Not dead, not alive, not a bot. Something else.

“They aren’t easy to find. Politically they have fallen out of favor,” Nakoya said as they thumbed through what registered on Loki’s cerebral sensors as a very large paper book.

Loki stared out the window, while Nakoya was concentrating. Solar flares were visible from this height, trails of yellow particles magnetically swirled in spirals of light. They seemed beautiful to him. He was a bot-they were incapable of harming him. For Midgardians, such a sight would have likely brought on a dread and fear.

The sad epoch of destruction wore heavily on humans in its many iterations. Climate change, ice ages, meteorites, and now solar flares.

A true litany of disarray and confusion were still aesthetics he could appreciate.

Although given the destructive power of the solar flares, the archives were located on a sizeable quantum-fueled museum vessel called Obsidian Omega or something analogous in the local era dialect.

Midgard’s destabilized atmosphere made spending time on the surface challenging except in certain areas that were kept alive through practices Nakoya, and other keeper bots called “ancestor dreaming.” They specialized in the ways of people who lived before the Christ years on Midgard. The keeper bots had managed to resurrect nearly every tribal civilization, including his Norse humans who dreamed of him and his family all those thousands of years ago, opening the portal between their worlds. Their work was a wonder to him.

Time passed and Nakoya punctuated Loki’s thoughts with their finding.

“Here is the file,” they said, self-satisfied with their hardwork reading—something not all bots could do.

“You’re adorable, you know,” Loki flirted, kissing the bot on the head.

“And thank you,” Loki said with appreciation.

Nakoya grabbed Loki’s head unexpectedly, throwing him slightly off-kilter. “Kissing old keeper bots like me is dangerous. We get lonely up here on this ship, floating in space for hundreds of years, until a stranger comes knocking. Your caution programming should have warned you!” Loki wrapped his long arm around them and kissed their head again, pushing the limits of bot decorum.

“Anyway, you know where my quarters are. I am not leaving until dawn tomorrow, come by for some augmented being beverage?” Loki teased, yet Nakoya didn’t bite.

“Once a god of Mischief, always a god of Mischief,” Nakoya said as they placed the file in Loki’s wanting hand and then swiftly disappeared down the corridor.

“Just make sure you return it,” they called, rounding the corner.

“I will. I will. I know this is a favor,” Loki yelled, hoping they would hear him.

Nakoya trotted off, barely hearing Loki, silently nodding, they had a whole list of things to tend to. Transit bots were slated to intercept an abandoned news vessel later, the archives had first dibs on the contents, this was more exciting than any melancholy god bot.

Looking down at the file in his hand, Loki had one of those moments, one of those feeling moments. Something ancient erupted in his synaptic cables, something from so long ago, coursed through his veins-if indeed he still had veins…

There were only bots and augmented beings milling around the deck of the Obsidian Omega. If any Midgardians were in this part of the atmosphere, they would not be on an aging archive ship that some sentimental politicians funded during the “nostalgic era.” It was a bot project through and through.

There was some comfort in that for Loki but being both a “bot” and an ex-god was always utterly unacceptable. Hence his plan to depart this realm as soon as possible.

The bots he watched were carrying various boxes stacked way above their heads, practicing a form of movement Midgardians once referred to as “busy.”

They pushed carts of things that looked like fragile images of humans.

They hauled stacks of thin white material that seemed at once very important and simultaneously like refuse that used to pile on the Vanaheimr of his memory.

It was hard to tell what was meaningful, but that was always Loki’s problem wherever he went.

At his core, he often felt like what humans once called a phantasma. A ghost.

He would inch into the bot world of endless knowledge and circuity for a time and then swim back into his life as a once mostly immortal being, the god of chaos, Loki.

Finally, back to his room, he sunk into the couch in his tiny quarters and poured himself an augmented being drink. It was a red liquid that evaporated once it hit his motherboard, but it felt real, and that’s what Loki appreciated.

He carefully loosened the packing material around the file. With quick sips, his glass emptied, and his nimble hands made fast work of the metallic covering. Beneath the layers of paper and other material was an image and a short bio poem, something for the ones who came later. The bio poem was specifically not written in prose, which was long expired in meaning.

The poetic form was the only form of word life practiced during Harbinger’s 8970 eras. Loki looked carefully, studying the words, holding the image to the weak light of the antique brass table lamp. The decorator bots had good taste he noted briefly.

Loki’s eyes widened as he unfolded the poem further.

Harbinger 8970 had once been human. That was unexpected, he read on. He was sure that no human could perform archive tasks and note data like a bot. This was peculiar. Quietly he continued reading the bio poem as the hum of the solar flares vibrated the ship's hull.

…eight arrows fell into a wind that three ravens had already claimed as their own

Having no space for all things

The wind had to make a choice

Find a person for the arrows or puncture the raven’s wings

The wind could not choose and could not wait for the mountain to choose for them

The mountain had spent most of their life asleep

Was only just waking up

and had no time for arrows

birds or miscalculations…

Having once had a knack for poetry, he was secretly delighted. It always felt like a mystery to be solved and an experience to be had at the same time. The forms of now and the future battling for his attention.

What was this one…a poem, a mystery, or should he just pour another augmented being drink and read on? Tempted as he was to luxuriate in words, he was much too curious about you.

You were trapped in synaptic relay signals, sleeping like the mountain in your poem Loki thought, slightly pleased he had already begun to unravel some elements of your bio. He knew you were just waiting for the correct number of atomic currents to come and coordinate your essence into a form.

A form that could talk to him and interact with him. You were a form of life, Loki reasoned, albeit an odd one. So, he eagerly took the file and walked it over to the projector when he stopped mid-stride.

A green glow started to bristle at his fingertips, slowly inching its way to his entire palms.

His hands were in effect, glowing.

Never in all his awareness, in any of his eras as his augmented form, had this happened. He dropped your file to the brown carpeted flooring of the visitor quarters, aghast.

“Dear lord,” he shouted, quickly lowered to his knees, and picking it back up, afraid he had broken it and fearful of Nakoya’s wrath.

He promptly set the file on the table and stared at his hands. They were still glowing.

He rubbed them on the black leather pants he was wearing, and when that did not work to change their appearance, he sat back down. He was malfunctioning. If this was yet another way, he could almost die but not die, then he would be furious. Another feeling layered upon yet another feeling.

His thoughts and impulses coalesced and crashed in waves. His eyes darted back to the small file. He picked it up, and this time the green in his hands grew brighter, so bright he winced his blue eyes. If he was crashing, then maybe one of the tech bots could run a diagnostic, he didn’t have time for this.

But without much notice, the file expanded and folded open right in his hand, no projector necessary. As it emptied its content into the room, it was clear your projection form was emerging. Taken aback, Loki thought you looked like a comet or a Valkyrie streaking across the sky. He couldn’t tell if you were organic or godly.

As your form came to be clearer and clearer, you noticed Loki’s hands right away. You couldn’t miss the phosphorescent green emanating from his palms or the stunned look on his face.

“Ah, I see an Asgardian,” you said once you could find words.

“I haven’t witnessed seiðr in thousands of years. What else can you do besides pull a genie from a bottle?” you laughed heartily, referring of course to yourself.

Loki was confused. “A genie? A bottle?” Some reference to a long-ago story? Loki pulled through the files in his mind to see what you were talking about.

Finding the right words and references, Loki spoke cautiously- “you’re saying I can conjure a Jinn, the old Midgard spirits who sometimes got locked away for their own good? Surely, you’re not a Jinn. You’re a computer file, essentially, sorry. I hope that isn’t offensive.”

Loki stepped further from you, his caution programming was taking over his body. It was rarely utilized in this era, so it felt very strange once again, like something else was moving his limbs.

“Ha, I am not a Jinn, no, sadly. Sorry to disappoint. Although I don’t think I’m a computer file, either. Neither are you if you haven’t noticed,” you said with a spark of wit and eyes still glued to Loki’s glowing hands.

“Ah, but I am but a mere computer file,” he countered.

“Maybe you need a moment to orient yourself. I think you haven’t been, uh, accessed in quite some time, if um, ever….” Loki said, checking the papers in your file, holding them close to his face, re-reading every line with his still glowing fingers tracing each sentence.

“Yes, I see here, no access. It looks like I am the first since you’ve been dematerialized and laterally collated, to be technical about it.”

You felt your body. Solid enough. You picked up another antique item from the nightstand. You were stable enough to pick up things. You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the window but didn’t pay too much mind to it. Apparently, they decided to collate you as your 40-something self. It was more generous than your 160-year-old self, which was apparently the year you left your human form, not that you could remember that now. You pondered that it might have been nice to have had an option for age 27, nevertheless, here you were. You continued to stare at the befuddled being in front of you. He was rather pleasing looking and preserved at around the same age as you, you reasoned, maybe a little younger. For your first resurrection, a hot-looking blue rascal wasn’t too bad. Although the color was a bit peculiar. Rare even. You had to mention it before going any further.

“Hey, you’re blue. I don’t mean to be offensive, either. I just felt like addressing it directly before this goes any further. In case you need special conditions or something,” you said, looking around the minuscule quarters. Did he have a plug or need a charger, you wondered?

“I’m an augmented being. My origin when I was a god was Jöttunheim, of the nine realms. If that rings any bells,” Loki laughed dismissively.

You peered closer at him.

“Long story short, it seems I was not allowed to enter Valhalla upon my physical death. A being called Thanos killed me, I know that much. I found the records. I guess from that moment on I became destined for this eternal misery of meaningless, endless experience after someone found my body hundreds of years later. They couldn’t hold my Asgardian seiðr during the transference so well, so yes, I’m blue,” Loki hurriedly rattled on.

“I’m a frost giant bot, I guess”

“Thanos,” you repeated rather sadly, taking in his story.

“I know about Thanos,” you said as you continued to listen.

“You do? So maybe I am on the right track. You must have known my family then. You must have known my traditions. Or at least your human form knew of them. How long were you “alive” after your human form died?” Loki wondered aloud.

You moved towards him and picked up his palms. Not registering your intent or purpose, he let you hold his hands. His caution programming must have relaxed. No threat detected.

“It’s incredible. You still have seiðr even as a bot.”

Loki said out loud to you, “seiðr means magic, it’s the magic of Asgard, and that’s impossible. I’ve been like this for a very, very long time, and this has never happened. I have no magic. I’m a computer,” his voice was slightly raised, glimmers of agitation flowing through his circuits.

“I hate to break it to you, um, what is your name again? It seems they didn’t tell you all you were installed with,” you countered.

“Impossible, I’m just malfunctioning,” he said with fresh certainty.

“Do you remember your magic Loki?” you asked, with a gentleness only a once human could muster.

“I don’t, I mean I don’t think I had any,” Loki was looking at the ground.

You smiled. Boy did this guy have a lot to learn. Also, if Loki could blush, he may have neared it as he realized he had not introduced himself properly in all the mayhem.

His lack of social grace dawned on him, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Loki. My name was Loki Laufeyson or Odinson, but now it’s just Loki.”

“Loki,” you slowly said back to him.

“Well, you’ve come to the right post-human dematerialized projection. My specialty was gods, but I think you knew that, or you wouldn’t have dusted off my file after hundreds and hundreds of years.”

Loki smiled, something like relief flooded his synapses.

You briefly looked through your file papers while Loki poured himself another augmented being beverage and finally sat down, his hands growing dimmer. You spoke with a soft reverent tone. This was a special day.

“So, Loki, why did you wake me up? What do you want?”

Again, another unexpected impulse coursed through his body. Silence. Suddenly he didn’t know what to tell you. If his plasma currents could be weakening, they were. He didn’t believe his hands were glowing from his magic, he was still settled on malfunctioning. Was his caution programming overriding everything? Now his speech software was altered. What was next?

How could he tell this friendly dematerialized post-human projection-YOU-that he wanted your help to go to Valhalla and leave this realm for good? You didn’t just tell someone you just met that, did you? Loki was flummoxed. Another feeling. Another displeasure to endure.

“Let’s figure out what else those hands of yours can do Loki, shall we?” you said after the long silence of Loki’s confusion went on too long for your liking. Your ribald humor had transferred into this form, thank the gods.

Loki looked as if his circuits were forming an offended glare in your direction, “First and foremost I’m not that kind of bot and you’re not even solid matter, are you?” Loki tried to run one of his hands through your middle, only to be stopped by your stomach, landing firmly on it with a slap.

“Okay you’re solid. I see.” You stepped closer to him, this time more serious.

“Why did you find me Loki?” you repeated yet again.

Loki’s face fell. You were very surprised by this technology and frankly, impressed. Feelings were so 2090. He was a charming relic.

Loki couldn’t contain his agenda any longer, so he finally spat it out.

“I want you to help me find Valhalla, so I can go home, so I can die. I’ve had enough. I never wanted to be a bot. I was a god. This wasn’t my choice.” There, he said it. Done, it was over, but you looked unsettled. He immediately knew he’d probably said too much too soon. The propensity for oversharing also endured apparently.

Suddenly you could hear the solar flares, the doors open and shut down the hall, the tiny beeps of the vapor sensors, you could hear everything, the room was so very quiet. After a bit, you realized he wasn’t going to share much more. He’d emotionally maxed himself out so you could buy some time if you were clever.

“Well Loki that’s a tall order for someone who hasn’t used any synapses for hundreds of years. My plasma meter needs to be recharged before I can entertain that, and we’ve just met. I can’t see saying goodbye so soon. Are you in that big of a rush?”

“I am, I assure you I am quite done with this realm. If you can’t help me then I am certain I’ve got favors on other archive vessels and I can surely find someone else who would assist me.”

“Wait wait, my Jöttun friend, you really don’t have any patience, do you?”

“I’ve been in agony for thousands of years!” Loki’s voice, a buttery crescendo bouncing off the cabin walls.

Now it was your turn to be annoyed.

“Aren’t we all in agony? What is life-but a slog at times? Loki you surely aren’t the only life form who feels stuck. Now settle down and keep those leather trousers on. I’ll help you, but you must help me too. You can’t just show up and demand things!”

Loki dug his boots into the carpet, “What could you possibly want? Do projections even have wants? This is asinine.”

You looked him dead in his eyes.

“I want off this damn ship for one thing big blue, we can start there.”

#loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki god of mischief #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki series #mcu loki #loki smut #loki x you #norse gods #norse mythology #norse aesthetic #loki fanfiction

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ghostoffuturespast · 4 months

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I have to ask about SIG for the WIP game. Is it an acronym? Something else? I need more deets

WIP Game Here

😉 I think you're pretty well acquainted with this one lol

SIG - So It Goes

I don't really have any new snippets or anything to share at this point, apart from what I had earlier. But I figured this'd be a good opportunity to share some behind the scenes for this one. So here goes!

There's been three different plot threads I've been juggling throughout this thing. A-plot (which is the main events of the game, V trying to solve their relic problem), B-plot (the romance), and C-plot (for conspiracy). It's been an entertaining challenge weaving these three threads together, and also expanding on things that I wish had been included in the game. But I'm very excited about getting to the end of this thing so I can put a bow on this horrible magic trick.

One of my favorite sections to work on was probably chapters 16-22. Largely B-plot with a little bit of C-plot mixed in. For me, it was an interesting way to have Grandpa and River get to know each other better in a way that I think we didn't get enough of in the game, and I'm really proud that I also managed to expand the whole Monster Hunter gig (the one with Jotaro Shobo, which was pretty short) out with just the shards you pick up around town. Because there are a shit ton of them. Like the human trafficking situation in NC is bad, but finding out literally one sick bastard is fueling so much of it, on top of finding out how many other people were involved was crazy. But all the characters that were involved and the details I included in this part of the story were all inspired by and taken straight from the game.

Jacob Miller (the murdered media River and Han were investigating), dead NPC you can find under the Gold Beach Pier in Wellsprings. Callum Black (the cop that V and River end up kidnapping and interrogating), name dropped in the messages you get off Jacob and also, presumably, the one who killed him, since Jacob was trying to blackmail him. David Beemer (the detective that V and River made a house call too), NPC from one of the NCPD scanner gigs. You can deal with him and find out he's been working with the Scavs and SoCal border patrol. Jerry Fawlter, corrupt NCPD Commissioner was name-dropped in several shards you find in Northside. (I know everyone was excited about the celebs at the party in PL, but man, I was so excited to see Jerry. Evil middle-manager in a suit got to be a real NPC!)

One of the main reasons I love this games so much, is just how detailed and interconnected it all is. And all of that was a tiny piece of it. Like they didn't have to go this hard, but they did. And you don't put that much detail in for no reason. It's been a lot of fun tickling my brain playing connect the dots and puzzling all of this out.

Thanks for the ask!🧡

#tag you're it #reindeer games #wip game #ask away!#sig

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springvaletales · 16 days

Text

⋆ NAME?: Soli

⋆ PRONOUNS?: She/They (anything goes, really, so long as it's not meant insultingly).

⋆ MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)?: Michael, though I've been making an effort to put his four friends in the spotlight more, as they were originally meant to be. XD It's tough tho, because I also never turn down an opportunity to use some of my worldbuilding characters for some memes.

⋆ RP PET PEEVES?: Responses that disregard details or actions my muses have openly made/have/done. It makes me feel like my response wasn't actually read, but more skimmed just enough for the other person to continue writing the idea they already had down. If there's going to be an established plot or action sequence, I'd at least like a heads up so it doesn't feel like my muses are suddenly being benched for a Main Character cutscene.

Alternatively, responses that know things about my muse(s) that wouldn't be common knowledge (like who Michael's real patron is, knowing about Haaruma's scars, knowing how Bashur broke his horns, etc.). I'm cool with plotting for muses to know that kind of thing going in, but when it happens without any communication between writers it feels like metagaming, and makes the thread less of a collaboration.

⋆ EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS?: I've been writing/RPing in some form for about 15 years now. I started off trading giant empty notebooks with friends between classes to write painfully 2000's self-insert fics, and moved to Tumblr in 2009 when I realized there were social spaces beyond Facebook.

I've been here ever since. >:3c

⋆ FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT?: Of the three I most prefer fluff. I am ace, so writing smut, for me, is an exercise in frustration (I don't want to bang, but my muses do, and what my fictional children want they get even if it kills me) and takes a looooong time, so it's not usually something I share with others.

I do like angst, but only if it's wrapped up with some comfort at the end. I went through a period of my life a few years ago where all I wanted to read was angst, and it burnt me out like a dry piece of hay. I had to step away from angst fics for a few years, and while I'm better at handling that kind of content now, I still prefer it to have some kind of happy or hopeful ending.

⋆ PLOTS OR MEMES?: Both!! I love plotting out longer threads with people (whether serious, silly, or other), but I think memes are a great way to just throw characters together and see how they click!

I also like using meme interactions in the backgrounds of longer threads, to either quietly establish how muses met or just as extra information we can pepper in to past interactions.

⋆ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: As long as the response can move the thread forward and I have something to react to, I don't care how long it is. I tend to make mine a couple paragraphs, if ever possible, just because I like to give my writing partner's as much as I can to work with, but I never want to pressure anyone to match lengths.

I've lived that pressure, hated it, and don't wish it on anyone.

⋆ TIME TO WRITE?: Usually the evenings, 5pm-midnight. Sometimes inspiration strikes during the day, but I usually don't have time on a workday to fully write out responses, so I just have to sit on them until I get home.

⋆ ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)?: Now that I've gotten into therapy, yes. There are many ways in which I am like my muses. A lot of those ways are kind of personal, and I'm still fully detangling them all in my head, but I have definitely been using these poor NPCs to work through some things through D&D.

Tagged by: @deaddoveadventures

Tagging: @cupcakesmuses, @wanderingarcherviola

#OOC #ask box game

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nie7027 · 1 year

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Before I reblog more post about the TOH i just want to make clear I REALLY LIKED THE ENDING OF THE OWL HOUSE! IT WAS SUPER GOOD!

Like I'm usually super picky with endings but this felt very good and satisfying

To all those people saying it felt rushed and there were many plot threads loos Ei say WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING?

For a rushed/cancelled show i was really surprised it manges to solve most plot threads in just 44 minutes! Besides more lore ragarding the owl beast i don't think there was anything left unsolved! Each character arc was properly finished!

Like besides the owl beast my only gripe was we didn't get more content about Caleb Wittebane and everything that went down but I already expected that!

Like what I wanted was for Caleb to have his own voice and tell his story instead of it being told by others(and therefore warped) because I wanted people to truly knew him, and his legacy to not be tainted by below anymore (so hunter could see Caleb was more than just another witch hunter or for the clawthores to know his origin) but i always knew for that an episode a la A tale of two Stans would have need and that was possible with the cancellation/time constraints.

We already got a general idea of what happened with both the Hollow mind pictures and Masha's retelling of the story. It's not like we werent given info about we were just missing details.

But that's it! Details!

But that's something that wasn't as necessary for the plot.

As as much as it hurts me Caleb and his story also worked perfectly left as an open history (thus giving them more a sense of a folklore story that haunts the narrative)

It worked perfectly with the story and it's themes

Also something that can easily be inferred as something that was slowly recovered with Hunter and Luz and the Clawthornes researching more about the past) which they are shown to be doing! (Since Thanks to them Hunter was shown to be researching about Caleb and we know that Gus got Belos memories >

I didn't need an official confirmation of Evelyn being Clawthornes to know it, Danna left all the pieces there for us the viewers to pick it.

The same with what went down with Caleb in general.

The same to know Odalia and Alador got divorced and she was cut from her kids lives.

Raeda are together even if there wasn't a onscreen wedding.

The bat queen and it's palismen found a home.

Or how the fight between the archivist and the titans went.

Or the lore behind the archivists.

Even hootys Lore wasn't really needed for the show ending.

For such a short time they had Dana and the crew did an amazing work of closing on screen stuff that need to be closed that way and for less important things they left enough hints for us to viewers to pick up

LIKE THEY DIDNT HAVE TO BUT THE MADMEN MANAGED TO DO IT SQUEEZING EVERY SINGLE SECOND AND PIXEL THEY COULD!

That's an amazing feat!

For a rushed work the end product feels surprisingly complete and satisfying. very carefully crafted with all the love and care in the world

#like obviously im still mad at disney #becaus eif this is what we got with time constraints and cancellation and everything that happened #IMAGINE WHAT WE COULD HAVE GOTTEN HAD DISNEY ACTUALLY SUPPORTED THE CREW #but even despite all that IT WAS AMAZING #like i had expected for it to be missing stuff because of xircumstances #BUT NO #I think even without taking that into comsideration it is one of the best finale i have ever seen!#and considereing everything it went through its even more amazing!#the owl house

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sirowsky · 2 years

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The Lost Island

Chapter 19 - Once Again

Summary: Everything seems upside down now. Life keeps trying to go on, but Marcus is stuck. And you're not exactly helping.

Author’s Note: Popping back in from my hiatus to post this severely delayed update. It's been almost two months since the last chapter and I apologize. If you're still with me - you're awesome and I love you!

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Cursing, angst, grief, longing, comfort. Word Count: 6983 Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

Marcus sat in the scanner, trying to follow the threads of information that he already had, but he was so tired now that his own thoughts were getting criss-crossed. Him, you, the tree. A triangle of powers that had somehow come together and landed him here, three years in the past, with no way of getting back.

You’d left shortly after delivering him to R&D, trusting that no one would let a cuffed man wander about unsupervised until you got back, since you had too much on your plate to baby-sit him, and it was already 4pm. He was quite relieved about that. It was easier when you weren’t there. Less painful.

“Interesting.” Ricky mused to himself, while he watched something on his monitor.

“Why? What are you seeing?” Marcus asked.

“Well, there are clear markers of time-travel in your cells, the gaps I talked about before, which corroborate your story. Especially since I’m getting almost exactly the same data from you that we got from the alien tree. Are you sure you can’t remember anything else about how this happened?”

He hadn’t told Ricky any details about his powers or your sacrifice or the island or any of it. Only that he was displaced and that it had happened largely out of his control. But perhaps it was time to have a little more faith in his old friend. He’d known Ricky since he was a teenager, after all.

“Actually, I remember everything about it, I just can’t make any sense of it.” he tried, and the man abandoned the screens to come into the chamber and talk to him, face to face.

“Hey, I’m the scientist, remember? I’m the one that makes sense of stuff. So, just tell me however much you can, and don’t worry about it being cohesive, I just need the pieces of the puzzle, I’ll fit them together myself.”

Two hours later, Marcus had told him absolutely everything. The plane crash, the island, the Ozsha, the tribe, the portal, Eqlo’e, the spores and the confusing mess of time-jumps that had eventually led to your sacrifice and later his arrival here. Ricky listened patiently, taking notes and asking the occasional question, and then he just sat there. Staring at his own pen and notepad, going over things in his own head, twisting and testing the pieces until he was satisfied that he grasped the overall chain of events.

“It seems to me,” he finally started, after Marcus had let him ponder undisturbed for almost twenty minutes, “that this is indeed a permanent shift. A total reset of your own timeline. I don’t think you could go back anymore because the three years that you lived, can no longer come to pass.”

Meaning this was it. He’d have to live here now, with this version of you that didn’t know him and for all he knew, would never want to. And what about Missy? He hadn’t met her yet, but would she notice that he was different? Every version of her that he’d thus met had seemed unbothered by the idea that he wasn’t exactly the same, so there was reason to hope that this one would react similarly. After all, it wasn’t like she had seemed any different to him, regardless of timeline.

“I’m quite fascinated by these new powers of yours. Would you mind demonstrating for me?” Ricky continued, bringing him out of his own head and back to the room.

“Sure.”

He started with just the threads, showing off their versatile use as either individual strings, or a network of them, either to create one or several shields, or to connect to many things at once. Then he took it further, displaying the dark powers and how they evolved from one thing to the next, until lightning bolts were shooting through the room, which prompted Ricky to ask him to stop and then return to his screens.

“My god, Marcus… I have never seen power-readings this high. No wonder you could manipulate Earth’s electromagnetism before, you’ve had an effect on it all your life, without even knowing it.”

“It’s really that strong?” Marcus questioned, not really wanting to believe it.

“Oh, easily. Looking at these readings I have no trouble at all believing that you can tear a rift through spacetime. Especially if you already have access to a conduit.”

“But the portal jumps as it pleases, it already has the ability, I just tapped into it, I didn’t create the rift myself.”

“Sure. But how did you draw it to you? How did you reach it from another point in space and time?” Ricky asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“…Shit.” Marcus started, and then a question plopped into his head. “Does that mean that I was the one that sent myself here? No, that doesn’t make any sense, I wasn’t even trying to open a portal…”

“No, no, I don’t think you did this. You said that the tree called to you that night, almost compelled you to come to it? Well, I believe that that was indeed your Ace’s soul, and I don’t think she would’ve done that unless she knew that she could help you.”

“But how has this helped me, Rick?”

His old friend looked at him with a crooked little smile, and simply said:

“She’s alive here. You get to see her again, talk to her, start over. Even if it never becomes the same as what you had before, it’ll still be her. The same person you fell in love with. I know a lot of people who would give anything to get to have that.”

You walked in only moments later, looking a little worse for wear, your hair tousled and your clothes dirty, as if you’d been wrestling someone, and Marcus was instantly worried, which was of course, only annoying to you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked, pretty much reflexively.

“The answers to both those questions are entirely not your concern.” you bit back, turning to Ricky next. “What have you found?”

“Corroboration of his story. He is Marcus Moreno, and in all likelihood exactly from when and where he says he is. His powers are off the charts and there are no inconsistencies that I can find between what he’s told me and what my data is telling me.”

“Okay, but then… what happened to this Moreno? Our Moreno, from this time?” you pressed, trying to wrap your head around it.

“Well, they’re the same person, and the same matter can’t occupy the same space, so this is that Moreno. They’ve merged, for lack of a better term. Which is why he can still remember the other timeline even though it’s been erased.” Ricky explained.

“And the tree?” you continued, seeming to get increasingly frustrated with this whole situation.

“I believe that the tree is responsible for sending him here, by utilising the power it gained from the version of you which was absorbed into it. That Ace must’ve been so devastated to feel his grief, that she manipulated him into letting his powers rage unfiltered, creating a rift in spacetime. And using whatever strength she had left, to direct that rift here, and push him through. Actually changing time, rather than just visiting another timeline. I think she had to take herself along with him, as he needed to be tethered to the massive energy-reserve of the tree in order to keep the rift open and bring him safely through. And I think that she burned the last remnants of her soul out of existence by doing this, which is why you don’t remember anything about her.”

“Because otherwise our souls would’ve merged too…” you completed the thought, and Ricky nodded.

You took a few deep breaths, settling your hands on your own hips while you paced on the spot for a few beats.

“Right. So, if he’s just the same old Marcus anyway, then there’s no need for any security measures. Just an ordinary debrief, more or less.” you finally decided, but you still looked at Ricky for confirmation.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” he answered, and you nodded before coming into the chamber to uncuff Marcus. They were the sort of cuffs that kept the hands a full 10 inches away from one another, and restricted movement of the wrists, so you could reach the thumb-pad that released both sides, positioned at the centre, without coming into contact with him.

“Great, that means you’re no longer my problem. Report to Ms. Granada for your debrief first thing in the morning.” you said, and then left.

----------------------------------

He felt like he was a record, with the needle stuck on the same point of his life, as he once again explained everything, was met by the same questions that you and Ricky had asked, which he answered the same way, only to then be surprised by Ms. Granada’s final statement.

“Well, I think it’ll be best if we don’t advertise any of this. It’ll just cause unnecessary concern from the public, since they will inevitably learn about it, not to mention your teammates. They’re hard enough to corral as it is, and you’re one of the few people they all listen to, so if they should decide that something’s changed or that they can’t trust you anymore… honestly, that’s just a scenario I really don’t wanna think about.”

“You don’t think they deserve to know?” he countered, but she shook her head.

“It’s not about what they deserve or not, it’s about whether it would be of any benefit for them to know. And I can’t see that it would help either them or you in any way.”

“No, I guess it wouldn’t. It just seems like I’d be deceiving them.” he confessed.

“You’re not. You’re the same person, they still know you, you just know a few things that they don’t. Obviously, I’m not gonna tell you not to tell your family, that’s up to you. And Ricky will be available to help you if there’s anything you need.”

And that was that. Back to work as usual. On his way out to the car, he wondered if it would ever stop feeling so… odd. It was only his first day here, but so much had happened. His head was pounding when he stepped in through his front door and was met by the smell of his mother’s cooking and his daughter’s usual “Hey, dad”. He stepped out of his shoes and slowly walked into the kitchen, watching his family with a melancholy sort of pain in his heart. Because even though nothing had really changed, everything had, and it could never be the same again.

To his own surprise, he chose not to tell them. For the same reason that Granada had given – it wouldn’t help or make any difference. And they didn’t seem to notice any change in him, which made it easier to just fall back into his life as if those three years had just been a dream.

It was so much harder at work, though. And that was all because of you. Sure, it was true that he was grateful to get to have you around him again, alive and feisty and unyielding, but it also hurt so badly to know that he wasn’t invited. That he couldn’t ask you for a hug or even to run his fingers over your cheek. He tried to think that it was still better than lying on the floor, wishing that he’d never existed, but it didn’t really help. A couple of weeks later, though, he got a welcome distraction, when Tech came to give him an update on something that Marcus had tasked him to do.

“Hey, man. Got a minute?” Tech asked, poking his head through the open door and waiting for a nod before he stepped in, taking a seat opposite Marcus’ desk.

“I’m all ears, T.” he said, clasping his hands together and leaning back in his chair.

“Okay, I’ll admit that when you asked me to look for a hidden island in the middle of the South Pacific, I was slightly concerned that you’d lost a few marbles. So, imagine my surprise when I found the damned thing, right smack in the middle of the area you’d suggested I should focus on.”

Marcus suddenly sat up straight.

“You found it? How?” he demanded.

“Oh, it wasn’t easy. None of the usual filters or light-spectrums revealed anything, so I tried something different. Using one of our satellites, I bounced a laser against the water-surface of millions of different points all over the search area, and then compared depths between them.” he explained, while opening his laptop to show Marcus the rendered image that all those points created together. “And voila! Your island appears. Or, an anomaly, at least.”

Looking at the image sent shivers down his spine, even though it was just a dome, because he knew what was inside of it. There was no doubt that this was the correct place, and there was no reason for anything else out there to be cloaked or shielded.

“How’d you know it was there at all, Mo?”

He’d prepared for these types of questions, and had a few answers lined up.

“I wasn’t sure that it was real myself, that’s why I asked you to look for it in your downtime. It’s just something I thought I saw once, and wanted to confirm.”

“Well, it looks like it’s being cloaked. So, what’s next? Take the team, check it out?” Tech asked, but that wasn’t an option.

“No, I need to bring this to Granada first. Let her know we found something, then we’ll see. I’ll let you know what she says.” he promised, and Tech closed his computer and got up.

“Alright, you’re the boss. I sent you the file, if you wanna show her.”

“Thank you, T. This is great work.” Marcus called after him as he left, feeling a sting of regret as he immediately set to work, with no intention of including anyone from the team at all.

Granada had already given him clearance to work on and investigate all things concerning the island at his own discretion, the only condition being that he was indeed extremely discreet about it. She trusted him to bring anything potentially dangerous or damaging to her attention as soon as he found it, and he had every intention of following those orders. If the island was still alive, then it was still a serious threat to the entire planet, and that wasn’t something he felt particularly eager to take on alone.

Getting to the helipad, he made a beeline for a chopper, but found it locked, which they never were while there were pilots in the building. He didn’t even know where they kept the keys to them. But then, there was a distinctive rattle just a few feet to his side and he turned towards it.

“Looking for these?” you asked, holding the keys up in front of your face and dangling them back and forth. “Do you even know how to fly that thing?”

Shit. Well, at least he didn’t need to lie to you.

“I know enough to get me there. Please, give them to me. I have to go, it’s important, I have a lead on the hidden island.”

“The one you were stranded on?” you pressed, and he said yes. That made your face go blank for a second, and then it turned to steel. “I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not!” he all but screamed at you, making you flinch, which then made you angry.

“It wasn’t a question. And don’t you dare yell at me again.” you were impressively composed, despite your anger, so he tried to calm himself.

“I’m sorry. But this really doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” you were the one almost screaming now, but you quickly reeled yourself in. Something he’d never seen you do back before the island. Not where he was concerned, at least. “Look, according to you, I’m part of how we stop this place from destroying the planet, right? So, how do you know that I don’t need to be there?”

“Because none of that happens yet. Not for two whole years.” he tried, but you weren’t giving up.

“Except that timeline is gone, so we don’t know anything. For fuck’s sake, Marcus, you’re really gonna go to a place you know is a death-trap, without any back-up?”

“I don’t need back-up!” he shot back, and you scoffed humourlessly.

“Right, because Marcus Moreno is the most powerful human being in the world, the rest of us are just useless.”

That stung somewhere, because he’d always considered you his equal, even back when you’d been enemies. And after the island, and all the times you’d bested him, even when he’d hurt and frightened you, he’d learned that he could never measure up to you. But this wasn’t about whether he wanted or needed back-up, it was about his fear that history was about to repeat itself. Him, you, an aircraft and a hidden island. It was too familiar, turning his blood to ice and his mind to dark places.

“You’re not coming. I can pry the lock open without the keys. Go back to work.” he finally spat between clenched teeth, turning back to the machine and heading for the pilot’s door.

“Leave me here, and I’ll go straight down to the team to let them know exactly what you’re doing.” you threatened, and he stopped moving with a heavy sigh. “They’ll all come after you. You know that. They’re way too curious and meddlesome to leave a dangerous secret island alone.”

You were nothing if not cunning.

“Fuck! …Alright, come on.” he finally caved, letting you unlock the helicopter and then you both climbed up, strapped in and you prepared to take off.

“Don’t you dare crash.” he added, just before you eased the machine off the roof.

“Don’t piss me off and we should be fine.” you countered, and he kinda had to give you that, since he’d been the one that had gotten angry and caused the plane crash.

<><><><><>

He didn’t say much more for the duration of the flight, which was several hours long, but that was fine by you. You couldn’t fathom how any version of you had fallen for this arrogant ass. Okay, maybe he wasn’t arrogant. But something about him just annoyed you, and it took most of the flight before you’d figured out what it was. The knowledge that you were apparently capable of developing deep feelings for him, made you reflexively need to keep him at a distance, because you were not a person that let people come that close to you. And you weren’t gonna let this guy change that. You didn’t even know him.

“Slow down, we’re close.” he announced eventually, and you obliged.

“How do you know? I can’t see anything.” you said.

“Now that I know what I’m looking for, I can feel its energy. It’s generating a cloaking bubble around the whole thing, even underwater.”

“Then how are we supposed to land?”

He answered you by opening the door on his side, and letting three threads flow from his fingers, down into the open air underneath you, and you stopped the helicopter, hovering while you waited to see what he’d do. The threads did indeed reach a barrier some hundred yards below you, something only visible as long as he disturbed its surface. But after just a moment, he sent something from his hand, down one of the threads. A deep purple sparkling something, and when it reached the barrier, it kind of exploded, branching out into hundreds of threads that had spread unseen from the first three. They encircled the entire bubble, and as the continuous explosion travelled along all those lines, they cracked the barrier until it finally disappeared completely, revealing a whole world hidden underneath.

“Now you can land. But not on the beach, use the ledge over there on the mountainside.” he pointed to a spot at the base of the volcanic rise, and you set down without any trouble.

“It’s like something out of a dream…” you said, mostly to yourself, but loud enough that he heard it.

“More like a nightmare.” his voice was grim, full of bad memories, and you wondered just how much had happened to him here.

But you weren’t talking about the scenery.

“I meant that I feel like I’ve been here before. Like déjà vu.” you explained, and he looked at you with a strange expression, and then turned away just as something that looked a lot like fear, crept into his eyes.

“For your sake, I hope that’s all it is.” he whispered as he began to walk down from the hillside, and you refrained from asking what he meant by that, because you honestly didn’t wanna know.

“You’ll warn me about anything deadly among these plants, right?” you asked as the two of you made your way through the thicker vegetation, following a narrow-trampled path towards the center of the island.

“The only one you really need to worry about is the vampire tree, and we’re not gonna go near that.”

“The what?!” you exclaimed, and he chuckled, just a little.

“Remember I told you that this place is one giant organism? Well, the vampire tree paralyzes you and drinks your blood over the course of several days, until you die, to feed the island. Its own ‘blood’ gets too acidic without the occasional dilution, and for whatever reason, human blood does the trick.” he explained, and you took a deep breath.

“Let’s just find this tribe and get them the hell outta here, so we can bomb this fucking place.”

“We can’t bomb it. That wouldn’t ensure that all the spores died. But the matriarch should offer a solution. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”

“Fine. But the plan is still to evacuate the tribe, right?” you asked, trying to keep your mind off fucking man-eating trees…

“If they want to, yeah. How many can the chopper take?”

“Uh, with the amount of fuel we have left, I’d say thirty, including you and me. You said there’s about fifty of them?” you calculated.

“Thereabouts. So that’s two trips.”

“Or we call in another chopper.” you suggested, but he shook his head.

“They won’t get through the barrier. It closed over us about a minute after we landed. I can break it again, obviously, but it also cuts off all communication to the outside world, and I can’t keep it down permanently. It’ll be easier for me to only have to keep track of one transport.”

“Right. Okay.” you agreed, and then realized that you’d suddenly stopped being angry or annoyed with him. When had that happened?

You both grew quiet then, as he led you deeper and deeper into the heart of the island. You were behind him on the trail, his broad shoulders keeping you effectively blind to whatever was in front of him, so when he eventually stopped, you had to step around to his side to see why. A beautiful little village spread out before you, filled with happy people going about their day. Children playing tag and tic-tac-toe or clapping games, while their mothers and some fathers cooked and sang together, others were building something, a few elderly people were working with dried leaves and herbs, or making clothes out of vegetation. Just a normal, functioning community, out here in the middle of nowhere.

Then someone spotted you both, and called out a warning, but Marcus just put his hands up and calmly walked into the village, so you followed suit. An older man with a weathered look about him came towards the two of you, and something about him calmed you. Glancing to your side, you could see Marcus swallow hard against strong emotions, and even though you knew nothing about this tribe, you knew that this man had mattered a lot to the Heroic beside you. The older man stopped three feet away and inclined his head to you both.

“Welcome, travellers. How have you come to be here, in this lost place?” he asked, and his voice seemed to dig into your brain, as though there was something in there he was trying to pull out.

“Chief…” Marcus whispered, and the man locked eyes with him, studying him closely for a good thirty seconds.

“We’ve met before… haven’t we, young man?”

“In a different time, yes.” Marcus replied, failing to keep a slight tremble out of his voice.

“Yes. I named you…” the old man started, then paused for a moment, before adding, “Kahele. Your name is Kahele.”

Moreno nodded, unable to keep the tears back anymore, and the man hugged him tightly, as though they were suddenly old friends reunited, even though they just met. Then the man let go of him and turned to you.

“And you, miss. I gave you a very special name. Do you know what it is?” he asked, stepping closer, but keeping his eyes on yours.

And there was that feeling again, like his voice was somehow inside your head, rather than in front of you.

“Mana…” you said, having no idea how you knew that, but you just did.

“Indeed. And what does that mean?” he prodded, and you were now getting a headache.

“Spiritual power.”

“Good, you remember.” he smiled at you, and you felt your frustration build.

“No, that’s… I’ve never met you before, how could I remember anyth-…” you cut yourself off as the pain in your head turned sharp.

“But you have, dear girl. Every version of you has met me, because one version of you did. You’re all one person, one spirit, and yours is remarkably strong,” he said, putting his hands on either side of your head and then leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Stop fighting her, and the pain will end. Don’t be afraid. She is you, Mana.”

His voice finally reached that thing in your brain that it was digging for, and you felt something stir. A chill went through you, from your toes to your scalp, and then pain followed, first in your feet and legs, and then your abdomen, chest and arms. Confused, you pulled your sleeves up, looking for the damage that must’ve caused it, but there was nothing there, and after a few seconds, it faded again. Something lingered in your shoulder, though. A deeper, burning pain that wouldn’t quite settle. Old bruises long since healed, but still remembered. And then you knew.

“Akela. That’s your name.” you whispered, scarcely believing your own words. “You saved me.”

“We saved each other; I believe.” he said, letting go of your head to pull you into a hug too.

It was odd, because you didn’t actively remember anything, you just kinda knew things. Like you could feel her life rather than see it, but once you came across something that had significance to her, you just knew what that was. And my goodness, did the tribe matter to her. Suddenly you knew their names, songs they’d taught you, recipes you’d tried to master and… loss. You remembered grieving for these people. But they didn’t remember you the same way. The Chief was the only one that did, perhaps because of his powers, which you knew to be similar to yours.

“Chief, we need to talk. There are things we know that might change your circumstances.” Marcus said, and Akela gestured to the central firepit and meeting-place, and the entire tribe made their way there with you.

You left it to Moreno to explain everything, and he didn’t spare any details this time, except maybe concerning you, you weren’t sure. But then they started deliberating in Hawaiian, so you both pulled back, stepping out of the crowd and finding some porch-steps to rest on.

“Hey, Marcus, did she… I ever hurt my shoulder?” you asked, still struggling to accept that this could really have happened to you.

“Uhm… one of the Ozsha threw a really nasty dagger at you. It took a long time to heal.” he said, and you felt like there was something he was avoiding. Something more that happened concerning that incident, perhaps.

As it were, he apparently felt guilty enough about it to elaborate without your asking.

“I could’ve prevented that. I could’ve helped you, but I was… they did something to my mind… I wasn’t… it was like I couldn’t see what I was doing. How wrong it was. They had me do terrible things for them, and I never understood.”

“I’m sorry, that sounds terrifying. What made you realize it, in the end?”

He sighed and shook his head, looking out over the tribe for a beat, looking for strength maybe, before he turned his head to meet your eyes.

“I never did. You forced them out of my head.”

That sent a lot of emotions through you. Hope, fear, determination and love were all associated with that memory, and something dug its way to the forefront of your thoughts.

“You’re stronger than this.” The words just fell out, and he froze, still staring at you while something big and significant passed through him. Much bigger than just the meaning of those words.

For a fraction of a second, he leaned towards you. But then he blinked, changed his mind and all but leapt to his feet, walked ten steps away and then started to pace back and forth.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I don’t know how to not touch you! Not love y-… fuck.” he rambled, throwing his arms around in pure frustration, while his voice brimmed over with pain, breaking into sobs before he cut himself off, and just buried his head in his hands.

He looked like he was breaking, and you waited for some memory to come to the surface, to help you understand what you’d felt for him, because surely, this man had to have meant more to you than the tribe. But all you felt was what you’d thus far always felt around him. Except there was pity in there now too. You wanted to comfort him, but only so that you wouldn’t have to see this anymore. He made it easier for you, though, by leaving before you could make some half-ass attempt at caring. And of course, it was only minutes later that Akela came strolling over, the town meeting over.

“Where did he go?” he asked, and you shrugged.

“That direction,” you pointed to the west, “that’s as much as I know.”

“You should follow him.” he suggested, only it sounded more like an order.

“I can’t give him what he wants. So, I think it’s better if I don’t.” you tried, but you felt guilty saying that, for some reason.

“You still don’t remember him?” he pondered, and you shook your head, which made his eyebrows travel up. “You remember me, but not the man you love more than life itself? Hmm… I think, my dear, you’ve misunderstood yourself here.”

“Yeah, how so?” you played along, although you weren’t really in the mood for a lesson in love, which this seemed to be building towards.

Akela smiled and then sat down next to you, resting his elbows against his knees and looking out over the village, the picture of ease.

“It’s not that you don’t remember, I promise that you do. The problem is that feelings of such magnitude and significance are extremely hard to grasp the scope of. And whenever our hearts or minds are too confused to know how to respond to something, they choose to push it away instead. That’s precisely why so many people suffer with their own minds, because they don’t know how to process what they experience.”

“But how am I supposed to process something that didn’t even happen to me?” you threw at him, a little harsher than necessary. “I don’t understand how that would work.”

“That’s the thing – you don’t need to understand. Has anyone, from any era in time, from poets, to singers, to dreamers, ever understood love?” he suggested, and you had to agree, but that still didn’t seem to apply here.

“No, but I didn’t fall in love with him… I don’t feel love for him.”

The Chief turned his head then, to look into your eyes, and something very sad settled into the lines around his.

“Then perhaps… your soul has been broken. Perhaps you’re no longer capable of love. That’s the only thing I can imagine that could keep such a beautiful thing away from you.”

Once again, his words seemed to be probing the insides of your brain, looking for whatever answers you couldn’t find yourself, maybe. But then he looked away, and it stopped.

“We’ve been trapped here for so long that we no longer remember what the outside world looks like. And I’m sure it’s moved on since we left it. But this place has always been a prison, and while we’ve learned to live with it, we won’t pass up the chance to be free again. We’ll come with you. And it is our hope that we’ll get to return to our mother islands.” he declared, bringing your focus back to the here and now.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. I expect you’ll need to stay quarantined for a week or two at first, just to make sure that you haven’t become immune to any pathogens that other people could get sick from. Or that you’re carrying any of the deadly pollen with you, inert or otherwise. But once that’s done, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t get to go home.” you reassured him, and he nodded softly.

“Give us a moment to decide who leaves on the first transport. We’ll let you know when we’re ready.” he finished, before getting up and joining his people again.

You didn’t think that they’d need very long to make those decisions, so you went to look for Marcus, to let him know you were getting close to departure. He hadn’t gone far, though. You found him sitting on an overgrown tree-stump that was covered in moss, just outside the village, and he looked like he’d calmed down at least.

“Hey. They’re coming with us. They’re just organizing now, so we’ll be leaving in a bit.” you said, approaching him from the side to keep from startling him, but he didn’t react to your appearance beyond letting his head dip forwards slightly.

“Moreno? You okay?” you tried, but at first he didn’t respond, so you stepped closer, intending to shake his shoulder a bit.

But then he started talking, and you stopped.

“It’s not fair to you. Either of us, I guess. I can’t turn my feelings off, and you can’t just switch them on,” he said, the emotional tremble still very present in every syllable he uttered. “You… she… was the love of my life, and you look, sound, act, move, react exactly like her. You say everything I expect you to say. You are her.”

He paused, turning his head to look at you, and you wanted to run away, because you’d never seen pain like that in a human being before.

“I see her. And as long as I do, I can’t be around you. So, when we get back, I’m gonna go. I’m gonna take Missy and leave. Start over.”

He sounded like he was dying just uttering those words, and it tore at you. You hated that your mere existence was causing such hurt, and that there was nothing you could do about it. But this still felt wrong.

“No, Marcus, don’t do that. If this is that painful to you, I’ll go. The Heroics need you; I can find work anywhere, I’ll be fine.” you pleaded.

He stood up, looking like he was trying to lift half the jungle with him, and slowly walked past you.

“Missy’s the only one that needs me. They’ll be fine.”

There was a tight and uncomfortable knot in your stomach for the duration of the time it took to make the two trips to L.A with the tribe. He was right there next to you for all of it, and on the last leg, the second return trip, you spent a good hour searching yourself, looking for any hint of all that love that Akela had been sure you had for this man. But nothing made itself known.

Once everyone had been quarantined, Ricky looked the two of you over thoroughly, and upon finding nothing alien either in or on you, he released you back into the world, and you saw Marcus head straight for Granada’s office. It might just be to get her up to speed, and make sure she knew what story the two of you had cooked up to explain to the team why you’d gone out there when he’d promised Tech to keep them in the loop. Or it might be… the other thing. Why did it feel so wrong? If he wanted to leave, if that was what he needed to do to feel better, then he should do that. So, why did the thought make you feel increasingly unwell? You tried to shed the feeling, making your way back to your office to catch up on the in-house work you’d missed today, trying not to think about what Moreno was doing. Was he packing already? Would he bother to clear out his office, or was he just gonna pack some clothes, put Missy in the car and go? Leave everything behind…

An hour later you still hadn’t gotten anything done, so you took a brisk walk over to his office, just to calm yourself. Which backfired spectacularly when you got there and found a cleaning crew packing everything up and clearing it out. He really was leaving. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. No, this was wrong. This was just so terribly wrong, you had to stop him. Rush hour traffic would’ve moved way too slowly at this time in the afternoon, so you never even contemplated your car, running back up to the helipad instead. The aircrafts were strictly forbidden from being used for personal business, but you were trying to keep a member of the Heroic family from running off, so screw the rules. You did pick a much smaller craft this time, so it would be possible to land in a residential area.

Thankfully, he lived in a villa that stood on its own at the end of the street, with a big lawn out back, past the pool. Missy was the first to come out and investigate why a chopper was landing on their backyard, so you waved to her and got out, just as Marcus slowly walked out of the house behind her, and you were unreasonably relieved to see that he was still there. He sent his daughter inside before you’d gotten to them, clearly expecting this to be unadvisable for her to hear, and then just stood there, staring at you with an expression somewhere between pain and despair.

“Don’t go.” you pleaded, and he closed his eyes, dipped his head and drew his arms up to hold himself.

“How dare you ask me that…” his head snapped back up, but there was still no anger in his eyes. “I can’t do this… You’re killing me, Pita.”

Pita. That name mattered. Holy fuck, did it matter. The sound of it from his lips sent an overpowering mass of emotions through you, from the most spiteful anger to the sweetest tenderness, and you doubled over as your head was suddenly burning as badly as your chest. A part of you knew this, all of it. Had lived through it and learned from it, and that part also knew what it meant. Akela’s words about the brain failing to grasp emotions that were too colossal, now made complete sense. You felt like you might split down the middle as you clumsily made your way towards him, stumbling on a water-hose left lying on the patio, and tumbling forwards. Strong hands caught you and pulled you back up, and just like the last time you’d touched, there was a jolt, but neither of you pulled away this time. And in that contact, in the real and prolonged exposure to his skin, you found it. You knew this touch, craved it, cherished it. You knew how those fingers felt on your body, how his lips tasted, how they moved with yours. You knew what his desire felt like, his passion, his needs, his devotion… all of it.

All at once, you could breathe again.

“I know…” was all you managed to say, even though there was so much more rumbling around in your head.

Too much to be able to explain right then, so you just grabbed his neck and kissed him, and somehow everything fell into place. You no longer felt like you were being torn in half, and instead as though you’d been broken all your life and had finally been made whole. And when he realized that it was really you, that you felt right to him too, that this wasn’t some misguided attempt to ease his pain, his hands turned greedy on your skin, needing more contact, more reassurance that you were his, and you didn’t even try and stop him. If you ended up on a sunbed or the lawn or the hard stone of the patio, you had no idea. All you knew was that when he drove into you, it felt like you both came home.

—————

Link to Chapter 20

Thank you for reading, and I’d love to know what you thought :) Have a wonderful day/night!

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. I would dearly appreciate it <3

@deadhumourist @idreamofboobear @bison-writes @dornish-queen @ladyphantom96 @sarahjkl82-blog @shsoba05 @cannedsoupsucks @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @nolanell @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @myfavpedrothings @generalfoolish @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @spishsstuff

#the lost island fic #marcus moreno fic #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x female reader #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes au #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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itsclydebitches · 2 years

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@thewhitehairedwitchgirl many ramblings below feel free to ignore hard agree with everything you’ve said in that thread (I’m snagging a portion in a new post for brevity’s sake). I also think it’s worth acknowledging that of course Jacques needed a PR team to manage his own slavery. Not because that’s the only way to cover up any kind of abuse, but because he was running a slavery operation. As in, thousands of faunus workers mistreated across Remnant with major tragedies like the cave-in that killed Ilia’s parents to try and cover up. But one hotel owner? The Madame doesn’t need all that to hide her abuse. Hers is much smaller (in the sense of the number of people involved, not the emotional damage) and therefore much easier to keep out of the public eye. Jacques required PR damage control because of his status and the scale he was working on, not because every abuse case requires that level of power, funds, and manipulation.

As you point out, The Madame is legally Cinder’s mother. We as the audience know there’s no love there and that she pulled Cinder from a dubious hovel whose paperwork probably isn’t up to snuff, but on the surface they’re legally a Happy Family™. If we’re bringing Jacques into the mix, this is far more comparable to his public relationship with Weiss than it is his treatment of the faunus. And, just like Weiss, Cinder was conditioned to present an “Everything is totally fine!” front to the rest of the world.

Compare how Cinder looks in the hotel to when she first arrives. She’s clean, hair tied neatly back, wearing a spotless white uniform, and if you don’t know that the necklace is a shock collar (which, given that she’s only shocked in the privacy of the kitchen, no one does) you’d think that her mother gave her a very nice piece of jewelry to wear. It even matches her eyes! Aww, how sweet. She works, yes, but so do the two stepsisters (we see them carrying cakes and such out), so clearly these are sisters learning the family trade together, and if you’re only visiting infrequently - like, say, short-term at a hotel - you’d never notice that she’s doing the bulk of that work. Cinder smiles while delivering food to each door and when she trips Madame looks furious for a moment... but then very swiftly covers that anger up. Because she’s playing a part. She can’t afford to yell or shock Cinder here because people are watching. Out here, they’re a family. You know, just how out in public, Weiss is the perfect heir to a stern, but ultimately loving father. We likewise see her practicing smiling before she calls home. She knows how to work to keep things looking normal.

Despite the major issues with the episode as a whole, I think RWBY did a good job here of demonstrating how insidious abuse is; how easily you can hide it behind convenient excuses and a clean set of clothes. As a useful exercise, it’s worth going back through episodes and asking what do we as the audience know vs. what do other characters know? Because in Cinder’s flashback, I guarantee that what most other characters know, even Rhodes, is minuscule compared to our own knowledge that’s informing our outrage (shock torture sessions, soundtrack detailing her misery, obvious fact that Cinder is a villain and most likely didn’t have a happy childhood...) and the rest is just suspicion and speculation that people are going to have a hard time acting on. That’s one reason why abusers get away with it. When people see the Madame briefly get angry they don’t think, “She’s an abuser about to shock her daughter once they’re alone” they think, “She’s a frustrated mother who almost lost her temper over an accident that broke a ton of dishes, but then didn’t. Good for her.”

I agree wholeheartedly that Rhodes could have told someone, but I question whether that would have done any good in this world (I question if it might have made things worse) and, by extension, if his choice to go a different route that he thought would benefit Cinder (training her) is automatically irredeemable in the way most of the fandom has described. This isn’t a man who wrote an abused child off, this is a man who decided to help her in a way others don’t agree with... and those are two very separate things. Because yes, there’s this disconnect between how fans view the worldbuilding and I’ll always be on the detailed, practical side of, “What exactly do you want done?” Just saying he should have told someone sounds wonderful on the surface... until you require specifics and either someone can’t offer up an answer, or that answer is easily undercut by canon. Who’s he meant to tell? The CPS which doesn’t seem to exist? The police which, uh... has a whole host of other problems attached? The robots that got hacked and made out as symbols of oppression? (And that’s a whole other can of worms in the, “You shouldn’t have children fight” conversation.) Other huntsmen? Part of the shoddiness of the worldbuilding is not knowing what parties have what power and whether they’re trustworthy enough to send a child to. We have no idea if Rhodes or another huntsmen could have arrested the Madame with the evidence he’d gathered because Volume 7 treated Weiss’ arrest of her father as a joke, not a moment of clarification. We have no idea if someone official were to turn up, how easy it would be for the Madame to play everything off as just having a troublesome teenager. But given all those other details (how Cinder looks, how she’s been taught to smile, how careful the Madame is to do everything behind closed doors, the other girls being given ‘equal’ work, how common it is for kids to have weapons and how stealing a sword probably isn’t going to come across as a red flag in Remanent like it would here, etc.) I’d say it would probably be pretty damn easy. And, if we’re really going to treat this fantasy show ‘realistically,’ Rhodes had better be damn sure he can get Cinder out of there before he starts making accusations, otherwise she’ll be the one bearing the punishment for his actions. Like, that’s the entire point. It’s easy for abusers like the Madame to get away with their domestic abuse in a way it’s not easy for a billionaire to get away with large-scale slavery of an entire race. It’s so much harder to prove and as a result, it’s very likely that Rhodes telling the Yet Unestablished Safe Party Who Might Totally Save Cinder leads to him being banned from the hotel, Cinder shouldering the Madame’s fury, and now she’s out of any huntsmen training that could free her later.

Which brings me back to Weiss because again, we’ve got another domestic abuse case right there. In the interest of fairness across characters, I have to wonder if we’re going to condemn Rhodes for not doing enough, what does that say about every character who has come into contact with Weiss across her life? She has an older sister who - shock, shock, surprise, surprise - in true Remnant fashion, chose to train Weiss in an effort to allow her to escape Jacques herself, rather than just sweeping her away to safety (and she seems to have forgotten Whitley entirely because he can’t be trained). There was an entire party where people watched Weiss get manhandled by her father and become upset enough that she instinctively summoned a grimm to defend herself. Based on the trailers people have listened to her sing songs about trying to regain her own autonomy and break free. Her friends (who, going back to the original conversation, are on the cusp of adulthood) at the very least have a strong suspicion about her home life... but no one does anything.

All of which I say not to drag those characters, but to point out that Rhodes, in turn, is not solely responsible for solving the deliberately secretive abuse of a stranger because even friends and family have been unable or unwilling to do anything. That’s not an excuse, just a really sad fact about the state of this broken system. Accusations require authority to follow up on, which RWBY hasn’t shown us exists in Remnant, let alone is established enough to be relied upon. We have no idea how much characters can actually do and, by extension, when they haven’t done enough. If Winter who has first-hand knowledge of her father’s abuse towards her, and her sister, and her brother, and her mother, and is a huntress, and in a really powerful position in the military, and has the ear of Atlas’ primary leader, and despite all that she still decides that the best course of action is to train Weiss in the dead of night so she can escape to Beacon and someday get out from under her father’s thumb on her own... I can’t personally fault Rhodes for doing the same? I mean, I could from that ‘realistic’ perspective, but not within RWBY’s canon. Like yeah, we as the audience in the real world are rightly going, “What the fuck you need to CALL someone and get that child OUT OF THERE” in the same way we’d hopefully go, “WHAT THE FUCK YOU CAN’T GIVE A 13 YEAR OLD A GIANT SCYTHE” but this is a fantasy story and I find it weird to continually judge characters by our real-life standards that, time and time again, RWBY says do not exist. If RWBY had told us that there was a Remnant 911 that Rhodes could have called to safely pry Cinder from the Madame’s hands then yeah, he’s the Fucking Worst for not doing that. But all RWBY has done is heavily imply that every problem is solved by giving kids weapons... which is what he did. Go figure.

#rwde #rwby #abuse tw #mymetas

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