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that-house · 3 years

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Viego Rant (villainy and character design and tragedy and all that jazz)

Introduction The more I think about Viego, League of Legends’ newest character, the more enamored I am with him as a villain (unrelated to his general sexiness, though that does tie in with what makes him such a good villain).

I’ve seen a lot of complaints about his design. The Ruined King, one of the greatest threats in Runeterra, the progenitor of the Shadow Isles, the lord of the undead, is finally released as a playable champion and he looks like this:

People were expecting another Mordekaiser (who is similarly an undead king with a ghost army), a lich-tyrant clad in iron, decayed flesh peeling from an aged face. What we got was an angsty anime prettyboy, and it was infinitely better than the alternatives.

Lore Viego isn’t a conquering king. While his combat abilities are indeed badass, his personality is far from it. He’s a whiny brat and that’s incredible. He isn’t bent on world domination. His character arc revolves around just how human, how fallible he really is. For those unfamiliar with his lore, I’ll paraphrase it here:

Viego was the second son of a great king. Overshadowed by his brother and with no expectations upon him and near-limitless wealth, he wandered around being an idiot fuckboy for the vast majority of his formative years. Disaster struck when his brother died in an accident, and Viego took the throne with no training, no experience, and no desire to be king. He was a shitty king. The worst king. Just all-around apathetic. Gave zero shits. Can you blame him? It’s a lot of responsibility to be thrust upon someone who isn’t much more than a child, and with no preparation. He didn’t care about anything, that is, until he met Isolde. She was a poor seamstress, but he fell in love with her upon their first meeting. Together they ruled the country but it was really just them staring longingly into each others’ eyes. His allies were kinda fucking pissed about that, and one day an assassin came from Viego. The assassin fucked up and stabbed Isolde instead, and the poison on the blade made her fall gravely ill. As she lay in her bed, slowly dying, Viego went mad seeking a cure. He ravaged the land seeking any knowledge that might help, pouring all of his money into finding an antidote. He failed. As a last resort, he brought Isolde’s body to the Blessed Isles, a place rumored to be able to resurrect the dead. It worked, to an extent. Isolde’s wraith, confused, afraid, and angry at being ripped from the peace of death, unthinkingly stabbed Viego in the chest with his own magic sword, creating basically a magic nuke that turned the Blessed Isles into the domain of the undead. Viego resurrected as the king of the Shadow Isles some time later, having totally forgotten that Isolde killed him. He controls a big-ass ghost army, could probably beat up any living thing in a fight, and has evil ghost magic. Now this stupid simp wants his wife back and if he has to kill every living thing on Runeterra, well, anything for his queen. He’s even a tier 3 sub to her Twitch.

Music His musical theme isn’t some heavy metal anthem or intense cinematic piece (unlike the Pentakill song named after his sword, Blade of the Ruined King). It’s mostly sad and slow, almost sinister, with a piano and a music box. It has its loud moments featuring violins and choral bits like any villainous music, but the song is mostly subtle. It is a banger though.

youtube

In the comments section of this video, someone pointed out that the music reflects his story from beginning to end:

Everything about this champion is so well done. Riot Games really outdid themselves on this one. Bravo, encore please.

Motivation While the Mordekaiser circlejerkers on r/LeagueofLegends won’t shut the fuck up about how powerful Mordekaiser is, Viego is the better villain. Mordekaiser may be a bigger threat to all life on Runeterra, but Viego is a better character. (There’s a guy on my League discord server who won’t shut up about Mordekaiser so forgive me for being pissed at Morde stans).

Mordekaiser is motivated by a desire for control, to rule the world. Viego is motivated by obsession and misplaced love. There aren’t a lot of Mordekaisers on Earth. Supervillains are rare in real life. But Viego’s motivations are a lot closer to home. People in positions of power that they don’t deserve can do a lot of harm (for example: Trump).

He’s a grieving husband who was never prepared to deal with anything more difficult than choosing what wine to drink with dinner, who is trying to get his wife back because the world had always complied to his every whim. He’s a funky mix between a truly hopeless romantic and a spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum.

Obsession is scary. It’s a real-world emotional state that’s been the cause of a lot of murders over mankind’s history. In contrast, Mordekaiser’s cartoonish Genghis Khan XXL schtick isn’t something that we encounter often. Of course a superpowered ultradictator would be worse for the world, but if you give ultimate power to a random person, you’re more likely to get someone like Tighten from Megamind. Or, more relevantly, Viego.

Design His design is sexy and stupid, just like him. He wears an open shirt into battle and wields his sword like an idiot (I’ve seen all the rants about how that’s not how that sword is meant to be used) because he was never really a warrior. Even at his most violent, right before the end of his mortal life, he didn’t do much combat himself, leaving his military endeavors to his underlings. Even now that he’s essentially a god, he still has a colossal wraith army that causes far more devastation than he ever could personally.

Despite his slim build (by League of Legends standards), he easily wields his colossal sword because of the strength of his state of undeath. Like his political power when he was alive, his posthumous magical and physical powers were never something he sought out, they were just given to him by circumstance.

The big cool-ass triangle hole in his chest where Isolde stabbed him is the source of the Black Mist, which is evil ghost mist that ebbs and flows from the Shadow Isles, bringing with it hordes of the undead. The sadder Viego is, the more Mist he creates. Poetically, his invasion of the world is inspired by his sorrow at his wife’s death and enabled by his wife’s reluctance to return to him. His story is perfectly reflected by his design.

Isolde Isolde’s spirit took up residence inside a young Senna (who’s another League champion, not particularly important here). This led to some Black Mist-related shenanigans and at least for the time being, Senna uses Isolde’s power to fight off the servants of Viego which threaten all life on Runeterra.

It seems pretty clear that whatever love Isolde felt for Viego is gone by now. Whether or not she ever loved him or was just unable to say no to the king is up for debate, but I’d like to believe there was something there. In my opinion, Viego’s story hits harder if they really were a great couple at first, torn apart by circumstance and obsession.

Much like the Maiden of the Woods in that one comic that circulates around here, to whom the knight gave his heart and she was like “yo what the fuck i literally never asked you to do this,” Viego went a little too far in trying to save her. They may have once been happy, but the Ruined King ruined his own life, too.

Unless Isolde is a lot less morally decent than we’ve been led to believe, I doubt she can forgive all the massacring that her husband’s been doing lately. In the recent cinematic, she was shown to be pretty anti-Viego. Maybe she’ll get a bastardization arc, but it certainly seems unlikely.

All of Season 2021 is based around Viego, Isolde, and the Shadow Isles, so we’ll just have to see what comes next. It’s possible that we’ll get Isolde as a playable champion, which should clear a lot of things up.

Final Thoughts Unlike so many villains, he’s not fueled by rage or hatred, but rather by sorrow. He’s stuck in his past, unable to move on. He regrets the actions of his life but is set on his course now. The sunk-cost fallacy comes into play here; he’s put so much time and effort and blood into bringing back Isolde, that turning away from it would feel to him like an insult, not only to her but to the innocent lives he’s taken in her name.

His tale is a tragedy, a love story gone horrifically wrong. Viego has suffered throughout his thousand-year life. Despite this, he’s undoubtedly the villain. His permanent death would be a net positive for the world. In has rage and grief he’s destroyed multiple civilizations, and will burn down the world to get Isolde back.

His heart may be in the wrong place, but it’s in a very human place. I don’t think he’ll get the ending he’s looking for, but I hope he finds some closure in the end.

#League of Legends #viego #i swear no one's gonna read this #even if you dont care about League i tried to make this interesting #even if you don't like League as a game the lore is pretty fucking solid

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sideblogformindtrash · 3 years

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CW: Deshumanization; conditioning; Death; Pet/slave whumpee; drugs mention; self-hatred; touching;

for context: is a few years before events with Haru and others.

The pet was unnerving him. He wanted to do something. Orfeu tumbled their fingers on the table, but that wasn’t helping, so they clutched their arms instead. Arms far too thin, nails that easily dug onto the skin.

But people were already looking at him weird from the moment he stepped in. He had money today – he really had. He paid for his food, and even if he looked ragged and filthy, he still had the right to be there. Right…?

But of course, he was still the demon and he would always be a demon. A fairly ragged one right now. And people already thought he was weird so… So what did it matter if he made even more of a scene?

He used to enjoy the company of the ghosts, their stories and peaceful slow half-existence. They were always so mysterious, and quiet too… But not the pet ghosts, those were something else. Anyone who had suffered just… too much in life… and couldn’t face death.

And he only saw those once he came down the mountain, into the mundane world. The priests always told him about how corrupted and evil the people downhill where and… sometimes it really seemed like it was true.

There were no pets up on the mountain. Not alive, and not dead. Everyone was a slave of god, sure, but that was fair and kind and just. No man was slave to one another. He didn’t knew the pets even existed. And it made him nauseous when he found out. He wanted to run up the mountain again but… He could never go back. He belonged to the mundane world now.

…And here, there were pets, alive and dead. The pet was crying, pleading, desperately begging and trying to grab the attention of a man eating on a table, completely oblivious to the absurd suffering of the creature at its feet. Judging by the looks – the long, black clothes – it might be one of the trainers. The ghost was clinging so hard to the person who might just be the cause of their pain in the first place. But what else did they knew?

He sighed. Fuck it, he decided, gathering the courage to walk up to them. People were already looking at him weird anyway so what did he care?

He walked up to the trainer’s table and kneeled by the side of their chair, right in front of the flickering, colorful person, half-defined by lines of neon-displaced colors that shifted and changed. Just enough so that he could see them.

The trainer immediately glared at him. The man was obviously used to having people kneeling by them… but not a strange, ragged teenager, at a dinner. And he knew the trainer must have thought he was a stray or something like that. He spoke before the man could.

“Stop. Pet. Stop, you have to stop. Look at me.” He was harsh, sure, but he doubted he could get the pet’s attention otherwise, when they were so badly crying and wailing. Besides… it worked. “Yes, good. He can’t hear you. So stop. He can’t see you either. You need to stop.”

The trainer raised an eyebrow, now with a perfect ‘what the fuck’ look. He was about to speak again, so Orfeu quickly turned to him and smiled, pretty sure that seeing his perfectly sharp teeth would be enough to make the man quiet for a few more seconds.

“T-t-trainer T-To-dd- s-s-aid I-It h-had t-t-to be g-good…” The ghost sniffed, managing to look at him “T-they won’t… Won’t t-t-talk e-even i-it is. I-is it b-being p-punished? C-can Sir t-talk to pet?”

“You aren’t being punished. They can’t see you, or hear you. They really can’t.”

“-W-wh-why?” they looked desperate. And Orfeu hated that question because the truth was painful and no lie would ever suffice.

“Because… Because you are dead” He bit his lip, letting the tiny points show trough.

“Kid, just what the fuck are you-“ the man said, on an annoyed voice.

“I’m helping you trainer Todd” they said, with a mocking tone on that last part, basically hissing at them “Unless you want to get haunted forever. You probably deserve it. But the poor ghost doesn’t”

“Wait… is that a runaway?” Someone asked to the trainer, who shrugged, picking up their phone to snap a picture.

“I think it’s just high!” a lady cut, shaking her head in disapproval.

“High on Christ, lady. I’m doing God’s work here.” He raised his hands up, just like at the sermons “Y’all with me? Singing hallelujah, hands to the air!”

“Th-tra-trainer is i-is a-angry” they lost the ghost’s attention, shit. They were staring at the man again, ready to go back to its babbling.

“Not at you” he cut quickly, so that the ghost wouldn’t get lost again “Look. You can’t do this forever. You can’t keep following them. Please. You are dead.”

They shook their head clutching their tiny hands against the trainer’s leg, incapable of letting go. The man must have felt a shiver, with the ghost touching them… without really touching. But they were cold. The dead were cold.

“H-h-how c-can y-you S-sir s-see pe-e-t i-if i-it’s dead…?” They asked, clinging so hard to the fucking bastard that hurt them… Just like Orfeu remembered doing so many times too. Who the fuck was he to judge?

“I made you a question! How do you know my name?” The trainer said with his hands into a fist. Yes, he definitely was thinking he was one of theirs. And that was a headache he didn’t want to deal with right now. He wondered if they had noticed the whip lines on his back. He looked with the deadliest expression he could manage.

“Because I’m an aberration of nature and god has cast a curse on me upon my birth” Answer worked for both questions –trainer and ghost-, but he said it a bit too harshly, then regretted it as the pet flinched. This almost was enough to send the colors that formed them into a prism.

Orfeu wanted to beat himself for it now the pet really doesn’t need to see him angry. He is the last person he can interact with and… He should at least be kind. He didn’t have to help, it wasn’t his problem but… he decided to do it so now it was his problem. They seemed to stabilize a little bit after a moment.

“See? He is high!” the lady repeated.

“…He looks sick” A worker from the store suggested, trying to de-escalate the situation.

“Please. You can’t cling to them forever. I know is scary but… But nothing can hurt you anymore.”

He offered a hand, a bit hesitantly. He hated hated hated being touched by the ghosts but… they needed the warmth. Those lost eyes carried only fear and loss and pain. They deserved a little bit of warmth, just this once.

The ghost hesitantly leaned forward… and let their hands touch, just slightly. Their eyes lit up as they felt… touch. Real, solid touch, like they hadn’t felt since… Who knows? They got a bit too excited and jumped on them, craving a hug… eyes absolutely glimmering with joy. Their colors stabilized so much they almost looked like a human again. Orfeu gasped, but tried to stay still and let them.

The touch wasn’t nearly as nice on his side. It was only half-real. And it was like ice. A shiver ran through his spine, color drained of his face and all his body feeling cold.

“What the hell? Is he having a stroke now?” noise of people around him. Someone threw a… table towel over his shoulder. He didn’t move. The trainer seemed to be on the phone.

“E-e-enough” he said, teeth clattering. The ghost backed down, and stared at him, horrified.

“D-did it… caused this?” their eyes widened, they blinked in and out of reality “is…is it…really…?”

“…Is fine… Y-your suffering has ended. The worms have been fed. You can rest” he said, trying to keep his head in place, make sense of his own thoughts “You… you remember your name?”

“It… It has a n-number….006778… b-but n-name…” they looked down, at their hands, multicolored, multi-dimensioned “No… it-it doesn’t. I-it d-desn’t… have one”

They cast a terrified look to the trainer, who was somewhere on the back, still on the phone. There is people moving around them awkwardly too, discussing something. Someone seems to be making a video.

“Kid are you okay?” some employee was kneeling in front of them now, their image somewhat merging with that of the ghost.

“I’m fine. Let’s get out of here. I’ll help you, I promise” Orfeu says, clutching the table cloth to retrieve his warmth faster, as the worker frowns, confused “I can go and ask for your files. If you feel like you need this to… to go on.”

“..G-go…w—where?” they asked again, tear streaming down their ghostly face.

“Kid, you don’t look okay. You need some water?” the worker’s voice is less real than the voice of the ghost now, and it doesn’t matter.

The pet lifted their eyes, glimmering and fearful. The people around them were closing in, so despite having nearly no heat left… they grabbed the pet’s arm and pulled them up, before they became too un-real to be held.

They walked out of the store, despite protests of the people around him. He couldn’t force the pet to follow him but… Luckily they did. At least they wouldn’t spend years tied up to the asshole trainer-guy until the man died too… And then wander alone forever wondering when the punishment would end.

“…I… I don’t know” Orfeu admitted, frowning “…Back home I guess. Same place where…. Where you were before you were born.”

“D-d-darkness” the ghost whispered, now not even bothering to… walk, just floating behind them “t-t-that’s what… was…”

“…And rest. Isn’t… Isn’t that right?” Orfeu asked, uncertain. People on the street now being disturbed by the weird teenager talking to fucking nothing, drapped on an ugly table cloth, half-running away from the diner.

The ghost didn’t answer, letting their head hang low.

“T-they… T-t-the t-t-rai-ner w-was p-punishing it… i-it thinks” they said, after a while, as Orfeu led them into less populated streets “i-it… i-it…r-reme-member… a… n-needle a-and… p-pain…. A-a lot o-of … pain… i-it c-couldn’t… h-handle i-it…b-but t-trainer s-said i-it ha-had too…”

“…But you really couldn’t.”

“I-it… really couldn’t”

Orfeu looked over their shoulder wondering if someone had followed them. Apparently not… But looking back wasn’t a good think for an Orfeu to do, he reminded himself. Only forward.

“You… You know you are outside now? It’s… It’s no longer the white hallways”

“I-is it?” they clutched the hands to their chest, looking around… and seeing for the first time, it seemed “Oh!”

“See… It’s… It’s not so bad now, is it? You like the flowers?”

“T-they… are pretty…” they nodded then closed their eyes, letting their non-body fall down on the floor, sitting crossed-legged.

“It… It is tired” they said, stopping, in the middle of an empty street, looking at the sun, and the houses and the flowers “I… I am tired”

“…You… You can rest now” he stopped too, looking as the ghost’s shape was less and less visible, a glimpse of foreign color under sunlight “I’ll… I’ll find were you are and leave you flowers.”

“I… I think I will” they stared a little longer “C-can you hold me? Just another moment… please? If… If you are not too cold”

He nodded and opened his arms again, giving the poor ghost a sad smile, sitting on the floor with arms opened. The ghost leaned into him, a sad, but peaceful expression. Acceptance.

They slowly faded, this time, for real. The ghost was un-made, leaving Orfeu alone, shivering on an empty street, despite the blazing hot sun, wrapped on an ugly table cloth of a dinner they could probably never go back into.

tag: @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpzone @twistedcaretaker @cupcakes-and-pain @oofthatsgottahurt

#oc whump #whump #orfeu and haru #screams in trying to interact with four different planes of existence at the same time #whump writing #is this confusing im sad #he pulling a ghost whisperer episode here

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vapormaison · 4 years

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2019 Best Press 3/4: カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title by TANUKI

While for many vaporwave vinyl is doubtless equal parts collector’s item and audio source, I don’t want to lose sight of the goal of this blog here: developing a canon of the genre for high fidelity enjoyment. That said, when I come across something remarkable or noteworthy about a particular piece of wax, even if it is not a “purely audiophile” object, I want to make mention of it.

And TANUKI’s カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title wax release is not only noteworthy, but contends for hi-fi consideration despite it’s status as a picture disc.

But let’s back up slightly.

Going back to the previous thesis on why we buy records, sometimes you just want to own a vinyl just because. Just because you’re a collector trying to compile a discography on wax — or, better yet, just because you truly love the album art. For me, カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title (Double EP) was undoubtedly all of the three “just be-causes”.

A while back, I noticed that the LP was going into its 3rd press, and decided to snap up a copy because I like Tanuki, I like Lum, and because of those other just becauses. Unfortunately the only format available was not the pink vinyl, but the picture disc. As I’m sure is well-known (because audiophiles are very loud about things they dislike), picture-discs are a big no-no in the audiophile community. This is because while a beautiful objet d’art, a serious listening session of a picture disc release will usually produce greater amounts of surface noise than any other type of vinyl. You can, of course, with the right system, neutralize and mitigate this process slightly, but true-blue hi-fi heads pursuing that elusive muse of “pure sound” would never give a picture disc a second look.

I’m not one of those people.

Tangentially, I’ve heard whispers of ghosts of rumors from when I was living in Shenzen, China — that various record suppliers (small batch Makers) are working out manufacturing and material processes that minimize these issues on pic discs to create appealing records that cover all the bases: hi-fi suitability, collector oriented visual esoterica, and price. I should also admit I have no idea where those companies are in terms of R&D and/or producing these. I end up catching a lot of very fast talk from extremely motivated enthusiasts, but Chinese is still as elusive a language to me at times as “pure sound” can be. With that in mind, however, it’s logical to surmise that advances in technology will eventually render the differences between picture discs and traditional black wax undistinguishable. So long as the world isn’t destroyed in some cataclysmic climate disaster (very real possibility), or -- as we are watching evolve now: World War 3. My view is that it’d be pointless to dismiss the format out of hand when there are active attempts to innovate it as we speak.

That all said, I know what to expect when a contemporary, big-label picture disc plays. During my college days, I used to spin wax at the university radio station. One of the previous catalog managers had a fetish for this “collectible” format, and was convinced he was doing the station a favor by purchasing all these vinyls, noting a pre-supposed resale value later. I remember throwing these on the well-worn Technics SP-10 we had as our main turntable, and listening to the occasional scratch, frequent popping, and constant surface noise, that for the uninitiated (bless you), sounds like a sustained “cracking” in your Rice Krispies — or for those born in the analog age, CRTV static.

So when I sat down with the Tanuki picture disc, I had this laundry list of preconceptions and prejudices about the format. I thought that I could listen to a moderately scratchy record once or twice, keep it as more a visual boutique item and then eventually include in an article where I bemoan the poor quality of the genre’s releases.

But then, I actually listened.

And it sounded… well, I won’t get ahead of myself. Here’s the full review:

THE MUSIC

BABYBABYの夢 — is doubtless the reason why many of us have bought the EP from a sonic perspective —especially if the band-camp reviews are indicative of trends. I still maintain that this is the Mariya Takeuchi sample/remix work par excellence. Tanuki hits all the essential notes here, a genuine respect and love for the sound-staging of its original source, Yume No Tsuzuki. I still get echoes of the original arrangement in my system, (ever so slightly) with a bright and dance-infused collection of unique sounds — particularly in that delicious, wide mid-range — that flesh out the track into its own sort of masterpiece.

何がGoin' On — the curatorial and conspiratorial side of my brain tells me that Goin’ On will probably go down as one the under-appreciated vintage bangers of this era of future funk. I can envision hipsters two or three decades from now sussing out a neophyte with pretentious questions about this track’s pitch-shifted sample draws from. It has that sort of vibe that you know hits with a certain subset of electronica fans — rich & vibrant, making the tweeters on your system work out in all the best ways — it’s just great.

がんばれ — Tanuki is at his best when he gets playful with brass samples. I firmly believe that the titans in this genre each have their go-to piece in their best arrangement — like Dan Mason’s creative vocal array, or greyL’s manipulation of micro-samples. For Tanuki, it’s whenever her gets a horn — synthesized or otherwise, into his production workflow.

ファンクOFF — continues Tanuki’s magic act, taking another city pop track more iconic for its soulful electric guitar riff and turning it into the most slap-worthy single on this EP. I prefer it when Japanese pop samples are fundamentally re-imagined, although I can see how the perfectionist tweaking of someone like Yung Bae is more appealing for some. Tanuki is undoubtedly one of the innovators of this genre, and there’s no more solid evidence of that talent than this track.

腕の中でDancin’ — if I ended up hosting a sort of mythical vaporwave grammies or something like that, (I’m available, folks!) I would probably go off on a Ricky Gervais style rant on how artists aren’t in touch with “the people” (read: me) because all we really want are more remixes of Meiko Nakahara songs — who given her impact on City Pop should have way more play in this genre than she does. This one, like most of the Meiko mixes I’ve heard, is a banger with an absolute fire bass riff punctuated throughout.

Radiant Memories — this might be my first certified “hot take” in the publication (they’ll be many more, I imagine) — but as far as I’m concerned this is the superior Plastic Love edit. I’ll just leave my thoughts there, so they can soak in with a portion of the fanbase who split my reddit account on an open fire of downvotes for suggesting that other artists than Macross 82-99 (Praise be upon him!) are allowed to touch this song as well. While Macross’s mix is definitely the more up-temo of the two, and that for some is the very essence of the genre, this slightly down-mixed version is both the perfect conclusion for the EP and ideal antithesis.

THE LISTENING EXPERIENCE

Signal to Raise ratio on the following albums:

カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title: ~61.9db (1 db MoE)

Tron Legacy, Daft Punk: 58.4db

Love Trip, Takako Mamiya, Kitty Records Press: 65.8db

(ratings based on averages 5 minutes of sustained play on the testing unit, the machine actually complied this data on its preset, which is another fascinating part about this sort of vintage press-testing tech). The margin of error is because the machine, according to my mentor Dr. Juuso Ottala formerly of Harman International, informs me it was never meant to give accurate readings of picture discs, and to add about a dB of error margin.

One of the benefits of growing up in New England and, subsequently, New York, is that there are no shortage of heritage professional audio brand HQs in operation around a 200 mile radius from Manhattan to Boston. Off the top of my head, there’s Harman/Kardon, Boston Acoustics, Bose, NuMark, Marantz, and Rane headquarters within an hour’s drive from my two hometowns. Early on in my audiophile quest, I got my hands on some cool vintage gear — vinyl lathe testing equipment that has collected dust in both an old Harman technician’s storage unit, and now my parent’s basement. Over the holiday, I recently brought it out to do some surface noise testing on it to get a rough confirmation of what I was explaining in yesterday’s hi-fi guide. The innards of the machine looks eerily like a plinth-less linear tonearm and plate pair attached to a monitor. After making sure I’m not violating some kind of Harman International trade secret, I’ll post it on instagram.

Wanting to also get a firm idea on just how good my ear-test sounded, I grabbed another picture disc vinyl I had received as a gift a few years ago from my brother — the Tron Legacy OST. While I found the film passably enjoyable, my own preconceptions about pic discs, and a general exhaustion with french house — left me with no discernible desire to spin the thing. I hadn’t even broken the seal on the plastic wrap, so it seemed like as good as a blind test as any. I also grabbed what my ears tell me is a “good”, “heavy” press, a 1982 original dead-stock copy of Takako Mamiya’s Love Trip LP pressed by Kitty Records Japan. I’ve played it maybe a half dozen times since I bought it, so it’s as close to “new” 80s audiophile pop record as you can get. The Japanese are infamously anal about low SNR on their vinyl.

And, well, the results speak for themselves. The sweet spot for most black vinyl records is between 60-70db depending on age, weight, and a host of other frankly uncontrollable factors that aren’t worth getting into detail here, as I’d go on forever. The main takeaway here is that Neoncity’s and Tanuki’s record sat at the low end of the audiophile vinyl reference spectrum. Which in itself is a remarkable achievement for a pic disc. It’s worth taking a look at Tron Legacy, which just barely scratches 8db above a cassette tape, and 7db a Japanese vinyl from 1982.

This is all in an effort to say: damn, this is pretty good.

This also somewhat counters the usual “picture discs sound like shit” narrative that’s prevailed pretty consistently in the audiophile community. Tron Legacy? Yeah, that probably sounds like shit if I could bother to suffer through a listen. But whoever Hong-Kong based Neoncity is using actually makes “good” — if such a qualifier needs to be attached — image-pressed records. And that devotion to audio fidelity should be rewarded.

It might be time for me to re-asses picture discs on the whole, and that mind-expanding moment is something I owe to the fine folks at Neoncity.

#bestof2019 #bestpress

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lonely-bored-writer · 5 years

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Is Everything Okay? Ch. 5

"It's going to be okay." Sam sighed, taking a bit out of her toasted grass sandwich. Danny gave her a skeptical look, shoving a fry into his mouth.

"But what do I do? I can't retract my statement, and I can't let him drag my dad through this…" Danny groaned, running a hand down his face. "Do I have to tell everyone?"

"I don't know Danny." Sam frowned. "I doubt they could find evidence of you dad hurting you...right?"

"She's got a point dude." Tucker nodded, speaking through the bite from his burger causing Sam to glare. He quickly swallowed when he noticed her. "Your parents only ever hit Phantom with the ecto-guns. With you saying they didn't do anything, increases the chances of it all being clear." Daniel just nodded, taking a bite from his burger .

"I wish I could just go back and stop Lancer from making that phone call." Daniel broke silence that fell over the three. "I'd rather tell him the truth then deal with all this…"

"Well, there is Clock-"

"No." Sam cut Tucker off, glaring at both boys. "You aren't going to see him, he probably won't even let you. Don't mess with time." Dejectedly, Danny agreed. He knew better than to mess with the timeline to fix his mistakes. But it would be so easy, he wouldn't have to keep making second guessed choices.

The table relapsed into silence once more. Everyone eating away at their meals. Each thinking about different things. It wasn't until their meals were almost gone when Tucker decided to bring something else into light.

"Are you really going to meet up with Dash?" Tucker asked, adding to emphasis. "Like alone, in the middle of a park, in the dark… Does that spell murder to anyone else?"

"Actually it's spelt M-U-R-D-E-R" Danny smirked, earning a glare from glare from both teens. "Look, I have you on speed dial, and you know who I'm going to meet incase I do go missing or is found dead."

"Can't we come?" Sam questioned, putting her trash onto the tray and checking the time.

"Guys, he wouldn't have said the park if he didn't want to be alone." Danny noticed his friends check their phone for the time. That's when he noticed the sun beginning to set. "I'll be okay guys, you should get home. I'll walk with you." The two other teens shared a look before nodding, and off the trio went.

"It sucks you still have to stay at the home." Tucker broke the silence after they dropped Sam off at her place. "If he does anything, Sam'll kick him for you." Tucker smiled, trying to make light of the bad situation. His smile grew a bit when his friend laughed.

"Yea, I'm sure it'll be fine." Danny's eyes landing on Tucker's house not to far from where they were. "I shouldn't have to stay there for too long at least. Hopefully all this blows over soon."

"Yea man." Tucker paused before his steps to his house turning to look at Danny. "Tell me what happens tonight, okay?" Danny responded with a nod, giving his friend a smile. The two exchanged goodnights, and Danny made his way to the park. He walked, not in the mood for flying right now. His mind racing with all the possible things Dash could say.

When Daniel arrived at the park, he noticed the time still read fifteen minutes until ten. With a glance around, and not noticing anyone, Danny went and sat on the swings. Trying to keep from thinking of the ways this can go badly for him.

With earbuds in, Danny's legs kicked softly. The swings squeaked faintly through the air, the playlist Daniel picked on spotify blasted in his ears. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the tranquility he was suddenly feeling. For once in the past days, Danny actually felt relaxed. He didn't know why, he was waiting for his bully to show up and talk about god knows what.

Danny kept his eyes close, and head resting against the chain waiting for the blonde jock to arrive. Humming softly to the song, he stretched and decided to check the time. He's been sitting there for twenty five minutes… Dash wasn't there yet.

Daniel's jaw clenched, not fully surprised that he probably got stood up. After a bit of mental debating, he finally decided he was just going to leave. He was about to get up, when he heard a noise through the music. Turning his head he saw a slightly out of breath Dash Baxter.

"Sorry, I entered through the other side." The blonde apologized taking the swing beside Danny. Daniel nodded, pulling his earbuds out and replacing them back into his hoodie's pocket. The two teens sat in silence for a bit, the only sound emitting from the rust chains of the swings.

"What did you want to talk about?" Danny mumbled keeping his eyes on the shifting shadow before him. Only the moonlight and street lamp illuminating the area. A silenced followed again… Danny was close to just leaving again. He couldn't believe Dash asked him to meet to talk, but no talking was going on.

"I get it." Dash spoke before Daniel snapped. "If you ever need to talk, I get what you're going through." Danny's eyes widened, blue eyes landing on the jock next to him. Dash offered a hesitant smile. "Doesn't mean we're friends though, Fenturd." The edge of playfulness that filled that statement begged a differ,dragging a soft laugh from the dark haired teen.

"Thanks." Danny smiled back, before turning his eyes back to the shifting shadows on the grassy floor of the park. The two lapsed in silence again, this time it wasn't as awkward as earlier. However, Daniel could sense that Dash wanted to say something. "What?"

"You aren't going to ask me how?"

"I'm not going to make you" Danny sighed, sparing a glance at the blonde. "You didn't lead with it, figured you wouldn't want to talk about it."

"Uh." Dash paused, his eyes searching Danny's face before he nodded. "You're cooler than what I expected, Fenton."

"You're nicer than I expected, Dash." Just like that, the two teens fell back into the silence, this time it was a comfortable, relaxed one. Danny swinging softly, while Dash sat mostly still. The two just enjoying the silence. Danny wasn't thinking about much, just enjoying it. But Dash, on the other hand, he was debating about telling Danny about his story.

"For middle school, my parents sent me to live with my aunt and uncle down south." Dash broke the silence this time, looking up at the moon. "They weren't going to be around for a long while and wanted me to have an adult around… But they had a different way of raising kids. I used to make excuses, I didn't see it as what it was, I kept thinking it was my fault until… I was sent to the hospital. My parents found out, and what you're going through right now was what I had to go through. I got cleared to go back home, and that was the summer before freshman year. Kwan and Paulina helped keep it all under wraps."

Once again, the 'meathead' jock was able to shock Danny into a silence. Danny's swings slowed to a stop, his eyes were still trained on his shadow. He never expected something like this to show him this other side of Dash, a side he actually didn't hate.

"Thank you." Danny smiled, looking Dash in the eyes. It was those words that seemed to signal the end of both shared a goodbye before Dash walked off, while Danny stayed seated in the swings.

Danny breathed, turning his gaze up at the moon. He didn't want to leave the park. After everything that happened earlier that day, he still somehow relaxed tonight. He didn't want to have to face his problems, he didn't want everything to become real. He still had so much to figure out, but he just wanted to stay at the park.

Rubbing his eyes, Danny sighed. If only life would let him. Once more, Danny put his earbuds back in, fully intending to go back to the holding home he was sent to. That was until a shudder ran through him, a puff of blue air escaping his lips. Quickly, he moved to survey the surroundings when he's eyes caught the ghost behind him, his crystal blue eyes tripled in size.

"Hello Daniel."

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #IM SORRY DANNY #danny phantom fanfiction #phantom #fanfiction #fanfiction.net #Is Everything Okay?

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inikavulpixelreviews · 5 years

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Let’s Talk About Pokemon - The Grass Type

Now we're starting in on talking about the objectively superior starter type, Grass! Of course, “Grass” is an ill way to define the type in general. Even if you just use “Grass” as a catch-all for plant life, that still leaves out Grass' inclusion of fungus! And even recently, a Pokemon made of paper!

The general Grass type aesthetic is definitely wired more into the “weird”. Plant monsters tend to lean into that a lot, obviously, but there's more here than your mouthy Audrey II-esque flowers! From eyed pitcher plants to a living tangle of vines, the designs definitely end up being some of the more bizarre body shapes in the series.

Obviously though, you do end up with your Gogoats and Leafeons, which are animals that are half plant. Makes you wonder exactly how much of them is made up of plant matter? A weird nitpicky wonder of course, who needs to worry about that stuff in Pokemon of all things but there's still plenty of artists out there that tried their best shot at making biology textbook-like illustrations of how exactly plants are integrated into half-animal-half-plant Pokemon. Neat to look at!

Grass types are weak to what you'd expect; burning due to Fire, dying because of cold Ice, being eaten by Bugs, wilting due to toxic Poison. The one that makes the least sense to me is Flying, because plants aren't necessarily a direct opposing force to air or anything. I guess if you remember Flying type was almost “Bird” type, you could go on the logic that a lot of birds eat seed? Maybe cause tornadoes can be strong enough to uproot or destroy trees? By that logic, Flying aught to beat everything at that point.

Either way, that's a lot of weaknesses, but to make up for it, Grass is strong against some of the more common types in the game, like Water, Rock, and Ground. Grass types also tend to focus a lot on healing, having access to three tiers of draining moves in Absorb, Mega Drain, and Giga Drain, as well as common access to Leech Seed and Ingrain. They also like inflicting status ailments. A good handful of Grass types have Effect Spore, which can give attackers a random status ailment between Paralysis, Sleep, and Poison. They also get to use moves like Stun Spore, Sleep Powder, and Poison Powder, which inflict these ailments as well. They got quite a lot of options to wear down an enemy!

Top 10 Favorite Grass Types:

We've already seen a good handful of these on my top faves for a while. Even some that got knocked off entirely, sadly. Welcome back!

Bottom 10 Least Favorite Grass Types:

Man, this makes me feel mean because Simisage and Pansage are the only ones her that I outright don't care for. Just some of these plant critters are a little less exciting than the real show-runners.

The Cutest:

The Coolest:

Yeah, the last three trail off a bit don't they? In seeing them all in one spot like this, I make the late realization not too many of them are all that badass looking. They're usually either peculiar, cute, or pretty-looking.

The Prettiest:

The Spookiest:

More like FINALLY HAVING GRASS/GHOST TYPES BABEYYYYYY

Obviously “Spooky” is a bit more context-sensitive so we'll probably see this category phase in and out depending on what type we're covering.

Weirdest/Most Unique:

Most Inventive Use of the Type:

Plenty of creative endeavors here! Kartana is interesting obviously because it's not made out of traditional plant material, rather being made of paper! And Tapu Bulu for being Grass almost solely by proxy of being a nature deity. Exeggcute is creative for being “plant eggs,” and the others are generally neat ways to create plant monsters.

GRASS TYPE WISHLIST:

Just as an FYI, my wishlists are already written out and will be posted as-is regardless of the Sword and Shield news that comes out. Just in the interest of listing off my current wants and later seeing what Sword and Shield does that fulfills them!

A Deciduous Tree:

Yes, I know there's Trevenant, but that's more like a tree that's been taken over by a ghost. It'd be nice to get a less spooky tree monster. And knowing their creative side, they could even give the traditional Ent a fun twist.

A Weeping Willow:

I realize this is cheating in two ways. One being I JUST said a tree. And two because my idea of a weeping willow would be an idea for another Grass/Ghost type. I'm selfish. I just need m o r e. And the idea of a sobbing, vengeful wraith that also happens to be a weeping willow is just TOO COOL to pass up. But one that uses projectile tears and is Grass/Water or cries poison or something for a neat Grass/Poison would be nice too.

A Christmas Tree:

AGAIN probably interchangeable for the Deciduous Tree idea. But I'd just love to get a second evergreen critter with little bulbs of fruit growing on it that look like Christmas ornaments. I just love Holiday aesthetics, don't judge me.

A Sundew:

We already got a pitcher plant and a venus flytrap, why not make a trio of carnivorous plants? Not to mention there's lots of creepy-but-pretty potential in a Sundew Pokemon. And plenty of applications for those bug-eating leaves it has. Either as arms, or even a tongue?!

A Bleeding Tooth Fungus:

Hopefully not a literal application of name. Body horror of the mouth is a huge no-no for me, eugh. But yeah, I could make a huge list of Fungi That Look Neat, but I'll narrow it down to one of the prettiest looking ones, the Bleeding Tooth! That's just BEGGING for a Grass/Fairy raspberry jam-oozing critter. Or even one that looks like a CAKE! Yes, I'm aware eating this thing is not a good idea. But that doesn't stop it from looking delicious.

A Wilted Flower:

Like fungus, I could give a big ol' list of flowers I like, but let's give it a spin on its head. Why not have a sad-sap looking little thing that's all dried up and wilted? It's something that's oddly missing from the Grass type in general, we don't really have a dead or dying plant yet! No, Trevenant doesn't count. Even Trevenant has really green leaves for something supposed to be dead!

A Dragonfruit:

Sure, let's throw a fruit into the mix to complete the Grass Type Trifecta. Rather obviously, Dragonfruit is just asking to become a Grass/Dragon type. And even if it were that predictable, I wouldn't mind. The fruit is pretty, and I'm still crossing my fingers for a Pokemon that's Grass/Dragon by default.

A Policeman's Helmet:

An odd name for a plant, I know. But to address the part where Pokemon has still yet to give us a Grass/Fire type, I present to you, this thing! It may look unimpressive at first, but this thing has seedpods that explode when something touches them! Obviously, not in a fiery blaze, but there's a very easy way to interpret it that way! It's be the less obvious go-to than making a Grass/Fire type a chili pepper.

A Lemon:

Okay, hear me out. Lemons are often known for their rather zesty lip-puckering sour flavor. Not only that, but lemons can also be used as batteries, much in the same way those potato batteries you made in school can! You get where I'm going with this? Sounds like he perfect opportunity for a natural Grass/Electric type!

[Archive]

#Pokemon #Grass Type #Grass Type Pokemon #Pokemon Reviews

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hexiva · 5 years

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S p i d e r s

a legion fanmix

Syd Barrett

I Am Her, Shea Diamond - There's an outcast in everybody's life / And I am her. I Keep Myself to Myself, The Boy Least Likely To - I'll never be lonely when I am alone / and I keep myself to myself / I live in a little world of my own. Don’t Be Afraid to Sing, Stars - And too afraid, you're too afraid to fall for anything / And too afraid, much too afraid to sing. How Much More, Stars - You asked for time, and time takes you away. Hallelujah, Rufus Wainright - There was a time you'd let me know / What's real and going on below / But now you never show it to me do you? Believe, Mumford & Sons - I had the strangest feeling / Your world's not all it seems / So tired of misconceiving / What else this could've been. Mad Girl, Emilie Autumn - Mad girl / Can you believe / What they've done to you? / Wouldn't they stop / When you asked them to leave you alone / In all your faerie tales / How did the prince say he loved you? Hero, Regina Spektor - I'm the hero of the story / Don't need to be saved.

Ptonomy Wallace

Photographic Memory, Emilie Autumn - But I'm relying / On my photographic memory / While painfully realizing / It's not all that it's cracked up to be. Mind, Sleeping at Last - First, the ground rules get established / Memory is historically inaccurate. Kerouac, Morphine - His memories pull shades up and down. Always in the Past, Tears for Fears - And I can't stop thinking / Always in the past. Brass Buttons, Gram Parsons - My mind was young until she grew / My secret thoughts known only by the few / It was a dream much too real / To be leaned against too long / All the time I think she knew. In the Mausoleum, Beirut - Time travels to know / Your secret life / In your mausoleum. Time Travel, Daley - I can get back to a feeling / That existed in the past / Find somebody with some meaning / Try to equal what we had. Switched On, Vaux - Try, tried everything but it's all been wrong / Got, got all the circuits, but all the circuits are blown / So now all the pieces, all the pieces fit / Become the machine and the scales will tip.

Lenny Busker

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, Cyndi Lauper - They just wanna, they just wanna / They just wanna, they just wanna, oh girl / Girls, they wanna have fun. Girls Like Girls, Hayley Kiyoko - I've been crossing all the lines, all the lines / Kissed your girls and made you cry, boys.Take it Off, Kesha - There's a place downtown where the freaks all come around / It's a hole in the wall, it's a dirty free for all. Smoke Weed Eat Pussy, Ängie - I smoke weed, eat pussy everyday / And everyday is kind of the same / I have fun and I feel no shame. Theory of Relativity, Stars - Now that you’ve grown so wise / Use that head and stop to think a little / Just cause you’re crazy doesn’t mean that you’re free. Girl Anachronism, The Dresden Dolls - And you can tell / From the state of my room / That they let me out too soon / And the pills that I ate / Came a couple years too late. Spiders, The Vapors - She's got spiders inside her head / She's in danger she's easily led. Hey Sister, Simian Mobile Disco - Hey sister / Hey sister / Could you come a little closer? / Feel like my brain is spilling over / Do I seem a little strange to you?

Amahl Farouk

Pet, A Perfect Circle - Pay no mind what other voices say / They don't care about you, like I do, like I do / Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils / See, they don't give a fuck about you, like I do / Just stay with me, safe and ignorant. Le Roi Des Ombres, -M- - All alone in the arena, I am the King of Shadows / All alone in the arena, master of the carnage / I am the shadow of your shadow. Plastic Soul, This World Fair - Consuming space and time, you welcome it / And drawing side by side the lines you see fit / To truth or consequence you yield and go / Take control and take control and take control. Das Böse, E Nomine - Ravenous monster / Evil comes to pass / Unclean monster / Forever tormenting. Spiders, Ozzy Osbourne - You think he's gone / You think he's dead / There's no escape / The spider’s in your head. Behind Blue Eyes, Navid Negahban & Dan Stevens - But my dreams, they aren’t as empty, as my conscience seems to be / I have hours, only lonely / My love is vengeance / That’s never free. Emperor’s New Clothes, Panic at the Disco - Welcome to the end of eras / Ice has melted back to life / Done my time and served my sentence / Dress me up and watch me die / If it feels good, tastes good / It must be mine. آینه‌ها, Farhad Mehrad - I see my face in the mirror / I rest my eyes for a moment / And I tell myself that it’s a mask / I can take it off my face.

Oliver Bird

Is That All There Is, Peggy Lee - Is that all there is / If that's all there is, my friends / Then let's keep dancing / Let's break out the booze and have a ball / If that's all there is. My Brain Is Like a Sieve, Thomas Dolby - Oh! My brain is like a sieve / Sometimes it's easier to forget / All the bad things you did to me. Comfortably Numb, Pink Floyd - The child is grown / The dream is gone / I have become comfortably numb. Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles - Always, no, sometimes . . . think it's me . . . / But you know I know when it's a dream / I think a "no" will mean a "yes" but it's all wrong / That is I think I disagree. Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall, Simon & Garfunkel - Through the corridors of sleep / Past the shadows dark and deep / My mind dances and leaps in confusion / I don't know what is real / I can't touch what I feel / And I hide behind the shield of my illusion. Feelin’ Groovy, Simon & Garfunkel - Doot-in doo-doo, feelin' groovy / Ba da da da, da da, da da, feelin' groovy. Dedicated Follower of Fashion, The Kinks - There's one thing that he loves and that is flattery / One week he's in polka-dots, the next week he is in stripes / 'Cause he's a dedicated follower of fashion. Turn, Turn, Turn, The Byrds - To everything (turn, turn, turn) / There is a season (turn, turn, turn) / And a time to every purpose, under heaven.

Melanie Bird

Oblivion, Bastille - When you fall asleep with your head upon my shoulder / When you're in my arms / But you've gone somewhere deeper. Go Where You Wanna Go, The Mamas and the Papas - You don't understand / That a girl like me can love just one man / You've been gone a week, and I tried so hard / Not to be the cryin' kind / Not to be the girl you left behind. I Won’t Be Your Yoko Ono, Dar Williams - But I won't be your Yoko Ono / If you're not good enough for me. Landslide, Fleetwood Mac - Well, I've been afraid of changing / 'Cause I've built my life around you / But time makes you bolder / Even children get older / And I'm getting older too. Heaven Forbid, The Fray - Twenty years, it's breaking you down / Now that you understand there's no one around / Take a breath, just take a seat / You're falling apart and tearing at the seams. A Hazy Shade of Winter, Simon & Garfunkel - Time, time time / see what's become of me / While I looked around for my possibilities. Battle Born, The Killers - You lost faith in the human spirit / You walk around like a ghost. Weight of Living pt. II, Bastille - All that you desired, when you were a child / Was to be old, was to be old / Now that you are here, suddenly you fear / You've lost control (lost control) / Do you like the person you've become.

David Haller

Villains pt I, Emma Blackery - I'll tell them that the villains on my list / They're what turned me into this / So I'll go / I'm better off alone. Dear Wormwood, The Oh Hellos - I have always known you, you have always been there in my mind / But now I understand you, and I will not be part of your designs / I know who I am now / And all that you've made of me / I know who you are now / And I name you my enemy. Spiderhead, Cage the Elephant - Either I'm in heaven, or I'm in hell / Am I losing my mind here? / ('Cause I can't tell) / I've been waiting for answers for way too long / Seems I'm always waiting around. The Villain I Appear to Be, Connor Spiotto - I don't have the time to tell you / Why I do the things that I do / Just please hold on and soon you'll see / That I'm not the villain I appear to be. Are You Out There, Dar Williams - Perhaps I am a miscreation / All I know’s the truth there is no future here / And you're the DJ speaks to my insomnia / And laughs at all I have to fear. Meds, Placebo - Baby . . . did you forget to take your meds? / And the sex, and the drugs, and the complications . . . Puppet Theatre, Thomas Dolby - One more night in the puppet theater / And I'm dancing on a string / One more pawn for the puppet master / The lines are drawn the hook is in. Brain Damage, Pink Floyd - The lunatic is on the grass / Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs / Got to keep the loonies on the path / The lunatic is in the hall. Life 2: The Unhappy Ending, Stars - Life was supposed to be a film, was supposed to be a thriller, was supposed to end in tears / But life, could be nothing but a joke, could be nothing but a con / Where's my unhappy ending gone? Villains pt II, Emma Blackery - How foolish of me / To try and divide people into categories / I found it so easy / But what can I do / When I've got nothing else / Not even myself.

#legion fx #legion #david haller #amahl farouk #xmen

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supernatural-squadd · 6 years

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Battles

Winchester sister imagine

Warnings: Depression/suicide warnings, and a cliff hanger that can be taken either way (there won’t be a part two)

Requests are open! If you'd like to send in a request, give feedback, ask me anything or just talk Click here!

Sister/daughter tags: @skeletoresinthebasement @noones-girl1980 @imjusthereforsupernatural al @jamric @sisterwinchesterwriter r r @pumpkinpiesandpocketknives @messy-buns-and-shotguns @graceb200371 @troubles-with-the-fandoms @littlegirlslost @happy-l00ks-g00d-on-y0u u @bartallenisbae @purplecatterpiller @killerunicorn3 3 @super100012

Forever Tags: @freaksforthewin , @sweetfinnie e , @cambriacaneatnoodles, @brokennoone , @@youtubehelpsmesurvive , @chrisevansthedoritobastard , @winchesters-favorite-girl , @@we-know-a-little-about-a-lot @godh8salyssa @dean-baby-Winchester @@straightasdeanwinchester @@animexchocolate @@fabulouslycassie @@lizbeth-loves-bobear @nicolesyneah25 @@lemonadegazeelle @i-am-an-outcast @@evyiione @27bmm @percussiongirl2017 17 @assbutt-still-in-hell hell @samsgirly66 6 @xxmizzlexx @mogarukes ke e ke @rosie-winchester r @lost-girl-of-onceuponatime @unicorn-sparkles123 @ria123love @bellero o @random-fandom-imagines-for-eve @unicorn-sparkles123 @ghost—facers @crazycharlie03 @unicorndreamer1622 2 @imintoomanyfandomsimsorry @likiyoshi-lijie @scottish-kid

There was this annoying beeping, it played on a continuous loop and kept a steady rhythm, yet you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was.

It felt as though you were being stabbed in the arm, and it made your brows furrow in even more confusion. There was a cluster of voices, all around you, but you couldn’t make any of them out, you couldn’t even put sounds to words and figure out what people were saying. It all just sounded like noise, noise that you wanted to stop. The beeping grew more rapid, faster and closer together. The more you wished the noise to stop, the faster the beeping got, and the more the sound drifted away.

“A lot going on out there.” Dean’s faded voice came from behind you, warmth and light surrounded him and fluffed his features.

“Out where? What’s going on?” You turned around greeting his smiling face with a concerned one of your own.

Your mind snapped to a different place. There you stood with Dean, looking down upon your body which sat on a floor crying and holding a bottle of pills.

“What am I doing? Why am I doing this? I don’t understand..” your heart sped up, wanting to scream for you to stop before you did something dangerous, but you didn’t respond.

“You did something awful, I don’t know why, nobody does, and nobody but you understands why.” Dean painfully looked upon your crying body, watching as you threw the bottle of pills after swallowing over fifty of them and traded it for the switch blade in your pocket.

“You made your choice...” Both you and your speaking brother watched as blood stained the freshly mopped floor and you slumped over began to close your eyes. “You chose to leave us, and now-“ he paused, eyes trailing off as your mind took you to a scene in the hospital surrounded by doctors trying to revive your heart to beat as it should. “now you have the chance to leave us forever, or stay and keep fighting.”

You left your brothers side, walking over to your bedside and gazing upon the unconscious version of yourself. This was the palest you’d ever been, eyes weakly shut, body in complete shut down and not functioning to keep you alive anymore.

“I remember why I did it now.” A tear strolled down your cheek, yet your eyes never tore from your body.

“You didn’t tell anyone, you know you can talk to me anytime you need to.” Dean softly spoke, voice low and rough but his words were kind and smooth.

“I kept it to myself, I didn’t want my pain to be yours. I was afraid to tell anyone how I felt because I knew it would destroy those I loved. So I hurried it deep inside where it could only destroy me.” You admitted, feeling wrong for what you’d done but not finding that peace you’d hoped for on the other side. “Now I’m dead.” A shaky breath forced the words out and only made more tears fall.

“Not yet you aren’t.” Sam’s voice filled an empty void from behind you, surprising you and causing your body to shift around and face him. “You did this for a reason, you did this to leave the pain behind. So come find peace, just let go.” He smiled, making you feel warmth inside and a desperation to seek out this peace he spoke of.

“Are you serious?” Dean scoffed angrily. “What about my pain? What about real Sam and his pain? What about Cas? What about family?” His words and tone grew more serious, his face hardening. “Your pain ends but ours only starts.”

“You won’t know our pain, there’s nothing here for you anymore. Just leave it all behind.” Sam tried to persuade you.

“My whole life, everything I am, everything I will be, was raised to protect you from the evil in the world, from the danger that would dare harm you.” Dean took a few steps forward, ignoring Sam’s presence completely. “I never would’ve guessed I needed to protect you from yourself.”

Tears finally stopped flowing from your swelled eyes, now it was tor heart that cried as you looked once more at your body and the doctors failing to get you to respond to them.

“If I go back, if I decide to stay, can you promise me this pain will go away? Can you swear to me I will never feel this way again?” The words stung your chest as you spoke them, just as they made your eyes sting with tears yet again.

“No,” Dean sighed. “I can’t promise or swear any of that to you.”

He approached you, placing a gentle hand on your cheek, watching as you closed your eyes and placed your hand on his.

“But I can promise you this: You will not fight these battles alone. You’ll never be alone through this. The pain will come, I’ll be there, we all will. The pain will go, we’ll still be there. Like it or not you’re stuck with your crazy ass family eternally.” His words of jest and seriousness made you crack half a smile. “I swear that to you little sis.”

“I don’t want to die, but I’m terrified to live. Brother.” You admitted with a sense of shame coating your words.

Dean’s next words were the last you heard before it all happened. “Don’t live for anyone but yourself, don’t die unless it’s the same.”

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takealottodragmeawayfromreddie · 6 years

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Filling the blanks - Chapter 4

Pairing: Richie x Eddie x Bill (Reddie at the start).

Summary: During his last moments, Eddie realized he had something to say, but before he could finish the sentence, he was gone. Now he’s stuck between life and death and he knows he won’t be able to rest until he takes care of what he started. The only person he trusts enough to help him is Bill.

Or: The ghost AU where Eddie’s spirit can get inside of Bill’s mind to ask him for help to tell Richie he loved him.

Warnings: Canon Divergence (IT actually kills Audra) and, of course, death of major character. Some really heavy internalized homophobia in this chapter. Like, really heavy. Even some use of the F word that isn’t “fuck”. So, yeah, please be careful, the whole point of this fic is to make y’all have a good time, not triggering you <3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

AO3 link

Playlist on Spotify (mostly songs about Heaven and duel related stuff and 1980s hits)

And, as always, shout out to my beta reader @golden-marauders. Without their help, Richie would have a big obsession with coffee tables on this chapter. They’re amazing and super patient with me.

“Yeah?” Richie’s tired voice comes from the speaker of the electric doorbell.

Bill isn’t aware of what he had just done until he hears him. Before that, he simply pushed the button and waited for something to happen. It doesn’t feel that meaningful. But now, now that he knows Richie is there and there’s no way of going back, it all acquires a new importance. It’s weird how so many little actions like getting an airplane ticket, sitting on a plane and taking a cab can sum up to become such a transcendental experience. That’s all it takes to end forty years of denial. And a paper boat can be enough to break a family.

“Who’s there?” Richie insists, openly annoyed.

Bill clears his throat and notices Eddie’s difficult breathing in the back of his mind.

“H-hi, Rich. It’s B-Bill and…”

Wait. Not yet.

“It’s Bill,” he corrects himself.

Richie doesn’t say anything.

“B-Bill Denbrough. From… D-Derry.”

Bill licks his lips as they both wait patiently. Is a week all it takes? They can’t be sure. Being together, it’s obvious they won’t forget. But Richie is alone, and maybe he’s perfectly capable of moving on that fast.

“R-Remember?”

This time, Richie sighs.

“Yeah, of course. Give me a second.”

Suddenly, the gate starts vibrating.

“Come in.”

Bill nods as if Richie could see him and pushes the door open. It’s heavy. When he comes in and hears it closing behind him, he finds out everything in that house seems heavy, grandiloquent, exaggerated. The garden is way too big. Not even that complex, with lots of flowers or fountains or shrubs with animal shapes. Just plain large; foot after foot of short grass, healthy and bluish under the moonlight, and a broad way of gravel zigzagging all the way to the front porch. There’s probably a pool in the backyard, but this side of the house looks huge and vaguely upsetting. Vaguely empty.

They make it to the door and Richie is standing there. Bill can tell Eddie is nervous because he feels it in his own stomach and often finds himself fighting against the instinct of running away as he keeps moving forward.

“Calm down,” he warns him in a low voice.

Sorry.

The yellow light that comes from the inside through the open door, makes Richie look like a shadow, so it’s impossible to imagine how he’s feeling until they’re face to face with him. It’s a mixture of a well-received surprise and the expected fear of this meeting being about bad news.

“Hey,” he says, obviously trying to play it cool.

“H-hey,” Bill replies, scratching the back of his head.

They get quiet for a brief moment, Richie awkwardly looking around in search of something to say that can interrupt such a dense silence.

“It’s… good to see you again, Big Bill.”

The familiar nickname catches him off guard. It almost takes him back to the town they grew up in, where they went through the most traumatic experiences they could have imagined, where they learned that no one cared about anything. Where they lost two friends.

“I’m glad to s-see you, too, R-Richie,” he smiles, but it doesn’t seem genuine.

Richie nods, chuckling a bit. His content laugh fades away when he remembers what happened.

“I heard about your wife… I mean, not that I had to hear about it, I was there, but, you know. Everyone is talking about it on T.V. and... it sucks. It really sucks. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t get the chance to tell you I’m sorry back then.”

He gives Bill a small pat on the shoulder and Bill can’t help but smiling with sadness because of such a friendly gesture.

“I’m s-sorry, too. Thank you.”

“No problem. Just keep moving forward and you’ll be fine. It’s all about surviving.”

“W-well,” he says, staring at his feet, “It’s always been about sur-surviving, r-right?”

He notices Richie has gotten tense. It’s clear that they’re taking this ‘grown-up conversation’ way too far for him. He takes his time to talk again and, when he does, Bill can tell he’s trying to take weight out from the whole thing.

“It’s getting kind of chilly, don’t you think? Wanna come inside and… I don’t know, maybe have a beer or something?”

“I’ll say no to the b-beer, but I can… c-come in, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t. You’re lucky that all the strippers already left,” he jokes as they go into the house, “And I hope you don’t mind if I say yes to that beer.”

“Not at all, R-Rich.”

Richie closes the door behind them and Bill finds out he’s in the fanciest place he has ever seen. The interior of the building is even bigger, with a large corner sofa right in the middle of the living room, modern furniture like Barcelona chairs everywhere and a transparent coffee table along with them, and a huge kitchen integrated to the landscape. The dominant colors are black and white and several pieces of contemporary art —that Richie probably despises secretly— hang from the tall walls.

Astonished by the luxuries that surround them, Bill walks towards the couch and sits down, while Richie goes to the fridge and gets his beer.

“You sure you don’t want one?” he asks, not looking at him.

“No, t-thank you.”

“Alright, you’re the guest. But I wouldn’t sit there if I were you. Actually, I wouldn’t sit anywhere in this house.”

“W-why?”

“If something is in my house, I probably fucked someone on it.”

Before Bill can process what he just heard, his body stands up.

That’s it. I’m leaving.

“No!” He exclaims, louder than he intended to sound.

Richie stares at him from the kitchen, beer in hand and eyes wide open.

“Shit, I was kidding. I love that couch. I wouldn’t fuck anyone on it.”

Both Bill and Eddie sigh with relief and sit down again.

“Chill out, man,” Richie continues, “You look like you just—”

“Heard a ghost?”

“I was gonna say ‘saw’ but okay, you’re the writer.”

After shrugging, Richie goes back to the living room, sets the bottle on the coffee table and takes a seat next to Bill.

“Uh… you’ve got a… a n-nice house,” Bill comments, not sure of how to start a conversation.

Richie’s eyes seem to light up.

“Oh, why, thank you, Billy, my darling!” He answers, in a ridiculous southern belle voice, “Momma will be so pleased to know you find the family farm quite this—”

“Beep beep, R-Richie,” he chuckles.

They share a quick laugh. Bill can hear Eddie laughing, too. It feels so much like the old times he’s certain that he would be crying, if they weren’t busy enjoying the moment. But it doesn’t last long. As soon as the importance of the real reason they are there comes to light again, he stops. And Richie must feel the new atmosphere of seriousness, because he stops, too.

“Hey, I don’t wanna look like a bad host or anything, but… what brings you to my humble abode?”

It’s time. This isn’t a casual visit, and Richie knows it. He has to tell him the truth or give Eddie the space to say it himself. He waits a few seconds, but nothing happens. Eddie, who just instants ago was controlling him to leave because of a disgusting joke, is nowhere to be seen or heard. He won’t even talk.

“It’s…” Richie says, his grin falling and turning into a worried expression, “Everything’s fine, right? It’s not… It isn’t… Everything’s just… fine, isn’t it? I mean, we tore Its heart out. We…”

Bill soon gets what Richie is thinking.

“Oh, no, of… of course. It’s not about… It’s d-dead. It won’t c-come back.”

“Oh, great,” Richie exhales, relieved, “Well, you could have said that first, don’t you think?”

“S-sorry, I guess I’m a bit… n-nervous,” he smiles.

“Nervous? Why?”

Bill stares down at his own hands, fingers intertwined on his lap, foot tapping the carpet.

“I… Y-you know, with everything… what happened to A-Audra. We were… we were making a m-movie and now… Now I’ve got to talk to p-producers and get a new… a new actress or… cancel the p-project.”

“Oh, so… business trip, huh?”

“Yeah, buh-business trip. And I… I thought I could visit ‘cause… Well, we for-forgot once. We could make thing d-different this… this time. Like… keep in touch.”

This is not going like they planned. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But Richie seems so genuinely glad because he thought about continue with their friendship, that he doesn’t have the heart to rain on his parade. Maybe it’s better that way. He needs Richie to trust him as much as he can, if he wants the whole ‘unfinished business’ thing to work out.

“Uh…” Richie replies, “Yeah, why not? I mean, Bev kinda wanted to do something similar. She gave me her number and all. You know we were really—”

“C-close. Yeah, I know,” he nods, “So, have you… called her?”

“Nah, I don’t know if I will.”

“W-why?”

“She probably changed all her ways of contact, after… Well, after all the shit that sick fuck did to her. And she’s gonna marry Haystack, remember? They’re even looking for a baby. Even though I’d be the most amazing uncle ever, families aren’t my thing. They deserve their cute, suburban life, without someone to remind them of… of what happened. I guess the past is in the past for a reason… Shit, that’s deep.”

“It really is, R-Rich,” Bill chuckles, “But I don’t… I don’t think you’re right about t-that.”

“About what?”

“F-families not being your… your thing.”

“Oh, Bill, come on. ‘Hey, Haystack Jr., look, it’s Uncle Trashmouth!’ and I show up wasted and with two models in short dresses under each arm. Can you imagine?”

He shakes his head while frantically laughing, and Bill can’t help but laugh, too.

“It doesn’t sound that b-bad,” he jokes.

“No, you don’t get it. It’s Haystack Jr.’s birthday party. He’s turning five and all his friends from kindergarten are there! And then I try to hit on his super-hot teacher and pass out on the cake.”

“Okay, you’d be the w-worst uncle ever,” he agrees, still laughing, “But that doesn’t mean f-families aren’t your thing.”

“What makes you think that?”

“R-Richie, we are family. We always… we always were. Since f-forever. And you were always t-there for me. For… for everyone.”

Something changes in Richie’s face when he says that. His features get softer, sadder. He looks down and Bill knows, in that moment, that he broke his shell.

“Not for everyone,” Richie mumbles, and reaches out to get his beer and give it a sip.

“W-what… what do you mean?”

His friend laughs bitterly.

“We were the lucky seven. How many of us are still around?”

“Rich…”

“How many of us are still around, Bill?” He insist, a little more firmly.

“F-five, but—”

“That’s right, five!” He settles his beer back on the table with a loud noise and stands up, “Five of seven. Fucking five of seven.”

“R-Richie, that doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Oh, it doesn’t?”

“Of c-course it doesn’t!” he snaps, “We had a d-decision to make. You and I decided to c-come back, Stan decided to… to run away. That doesn’t m-make him better or worse, but it was his… his choice.”

“Oh, right, it was his choice. And what about what Eddie chose? Did he chose what happened to him, too?”

“W-well… yeah. No one f-forced him to—”

“Don’t give me that shit. It was us who were staring at the deadlights. It was us who left him alone, even knowing he was like a lost fucking puppy.”

“That’s b-bullshit! He wasn’t like… like that. What he did was b-brave.”

“Yeah, and you really taught him how to be brave, didn’t you? You really taught how to not give a shit.”

“Eddie didn’t n-need me to teach him how to be b-brave, ‘cause he was!”

“And how did he end? Huh, Bill, how did he end? What did ‘being brave’ bring to him?”

“He s-saved us.”

“Don’t say that.”

“W-why not? He did!”

“No, fuck you. Don’t turn his death into a poetic sacrifice or something like that. This is not one of your novels. He was coughing blood, Bill! It was dirty, it was disgusting, it was everything he hated… And we left him there. You made me leave him there.”

“W-what was I supposed to do? Carry his… his body out of the f-fucking sewers? It was still alive! It had my w-wife. My wife was still… a-alive.”

“And where she is now? Cool, we killed It, when are your wife and your brother coming back to life? When are Stan and Eddie coming back to life?”

Bill doesn’t answer. He just stares up at Richie, who was walking around the coffee table until a few seconds ago, and is now standing in front of him. By the look in his eyes, Bill can tell he regrets what he said. And of course he’s mad. Damn, he’s infuriated. He wants to punch Richie on his stupid face for all the poisonous things that come from his mouth.

But this is not about Richie. He needs to remember this is not about Richie. It’s about Eddie and, even if Richie doesn’t want to see him like that, for Bill, Eddie is a hero and his sacrifice was the most poetic and worthy thing ever.

Richie sighs.

“Shit, man,” he says, rubbing his temples, “That was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“It’s a-alright, Rich.”

“I’m just…” He sits down beside him once more, “Look, I really don’t wanna talk about Eds, okay? I just don’t wanna think about him.”

“Maybe that means we should… we should start t-talking about it.”

“No, I really don’t—”

“Maybe you s-should.”

“Why?”

“It’ll make you feel b-better.”

“I’ll feel better when I can’t remember anything of this shit.”

“But you can… f-feel better now.”

Richie groans, exasperated, and stands up.

“Ugh, you really want me to talk about my feelings? Fine, I’ll tell you how I feel. Take notes to use it in one of your stupid books, if you want.”

Bill nods in signal of being prepared to listen.

“Here’s how I feel,” Richie continues, “I feel like a fucking asshole, okay? That’s exactly how I feel: like a fucking asshole.”

“R-Richie—”

“No, listen to me. Remember when we met again? When we all, except Stan, were there? Everyone was excited. I mean, yeah, it was the worst situation possible, but we were glad to see each other again. ‘Cause we were best friends and we missed each other. Well, wanna know how I felt when I saw him?”

He makes a pause and Bill doubts if he’s waiting for an answer before telling him. However, Richie keeps talking without any confirmation.

“I was disappointed. I was so fucking disappointed I wanted to… I don’t know, to go back home!”

Bill feels a flip on his stomach and that’s the only way he can tell Eddie hasn’t left. He rubs his own shoulder in an attempt of comforting him.

“I was disappointed ‘cause I remembered everything. How ‘brave’ he was. How he didn’t take shit from anyone, not even me. He always spoke his mind and called me out when he thought I was being an idiot. Damn, when we were kids, I’m sure he could have bit my fingers off if I tried to pinch his cheek on a bad day.

”He even told his mom to fuck off when he found out about all the lies she told him. And you know how scared of that woman he was. Eds basically… feared nothing. But he changed. You can’t tell me he was the same when we met again.”

“Of c-course he wasn’t. So many… so many y-years…”

“No. It’s not about growing up. He didn’t grow up; he gave up.”

“W-what are you—?”

“He gave up, Bill! He grew softer. After all the shit that woman did to him, he ran right under her boot again when he had the chance. He yelled at her and then apologized, and looked after her ‘till she died. I heard him talking to his wife on the phone when we were in Derry. She’s the fucking same person his mother was! She controlled him in the same way his mother did. And he took it. And he told her he loved her and couldn’t wait to go back to her. Thirteen years old Eddie wouldn’t take that. He would fight back. And then I realized that that Eddie didn’t exist anymore… and I felt so disappointed. I couldn’t believe he allowed the world to tame him.”

I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t mean to do anything of that.

It’s the first time Eddie speaks in a while, and Bill knows he expects him to say that out loud. But Richie is not over yet.

“And then he… Then he kicked Bowers�� ass. He killed him. And he went and died for us. I know he died for us, okay? I just don’t wanna think about it. And I felt… and now I feel like an asshole. ‘Cause I felt disappointed on a friend that gave his life for mine. There, that’s how I feel. Are you happy now?”

Bill, tell him I didn’t mean to leave. Please.

“H-he didn’t mean to leave, R-Richie.”

Richie looks confused.

“What?”

I made a promise.

“He made a p-promise.”

“A promise?”

She didn’t want me to hang out with you guys anymore. She wanted to lock me away from everyone.

“His mom. His mom didn’t want him to… to s-see us.”

“What the—”

I promised her I’d took every pill and be with her forever if she…

“He p-promised her he… he’d do whatever she w-wanted…”

Didn’t make me get away from you.

“If she didn’t… make him get a-away from… from us.”

Richie thinks it over. His expression is skeptical, but Bill knows he’s trying to process it. He isn’t opposed to trust him and what he’s saying, it’s just that it’s not only hard to believe, but it also feels so far away. Bill has been with Eddie this whole week, his questions were answered and he had time to digest all the new information.

For Richie, who spent all these days alone and is consciously waiting to forget and resume his life, the events around It must feel, at best, like an odd dream he doesn’t want to remember. Being face to face with what happened has to be a big shock. They all thought it was over, and now it proves it will stay with them for years, even if they can’t put their finger on what is going on.

“How…” Richie begins, and Bill holds his breath, “How do you know that?”

“Uh… S-sorry?”

“How do you know about that? How can you know about that promise Eddie supposedly made?”

That’s it. If he keeps waiting for the right moment, it will never come. The right moment is now.

“’Cause Eddie… Eddie is not g-gone.”

Richie takes his time to answer.

“Fuck, really? You’re giving me the ‘he will live forever in our hearts’ speech? That’s why you came here?”

“No, R-Richie, you don’t… you don’t get it.”

“I totally get it. Alright, the man is dead, he was our friend, it sucks. Poor guy, seriously, what a shitty way to go. But he’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“H-he’s not gone. Lis-listen to me—”

“You’re the one who wanted to care for the people who are still around. I don’t say it in an ‘it’s all your fault’ way. I mean, you’re right, let’s worry about the living, that’s the best thing to do. And… I’m a Christian, too, you know? Okay, the worst Christian ever, but I still am. If believing that those who left are somewhere and look after us is your thing, that’s amazing. But I—”

“I-I’m not giving you the… the f-fucking ‘he lives in our h-hearts’ speech, id-idiot,” Bill interrupts him, frustrated, “I can literally hear him in my… h-head.”

Richie frowns. Until now, the tone of his voice has been empathetic, almost amused, like he thinks Bill is going through a denial phase and he doesn’t want to break his bubble. Like he’s so over this all that listening to Bill talking about Eddie still being around awakes his compassion. Now, that compassion is gone. He stays in silence for an instant, he takes a few steps back, and everything that’s left is perplexity.

“What?” He questions.

“I know it’s hard to b-believe, but… Eddie’s here. Here,” he taps his own temple with his index finger, “He’s inside my… my head.”

“Uh… are you into scientology or another crazy celebrity cult? ‘Cause this sounds like cult stuff.”

“N-no, please, listen. Eddie d-died, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t leave. He still had something to d-do on… on Earth.”

“Oh, so you are into a cult. Okay, won’t judge you, I just… It’s scientology, right?”

“Will you just h-hear me out, please?”

“I just wanna know if it’s scientology!”

“No, I’m not into fucking s-scien-—”

“Scientology,” he finishes, pointing at him.

“What-whatever, I’m not. J-just listen. E-Eddie got into my b-body because he had to… to do something. And that’s why I’m h-here.”

“Buddhism!” He exclaims.

“No! F-fuck, no, you don’t even know what B-Buddhism is ab-about, do you?”

“I first thought about Judaism, but Stan was Jewish and he never got possessed or anything like that.”

“Fucking God…”

“Are you sure it isn’t scientology?”

Bill groans and stands up.

“I’m not a fucking s-scien-scientologist! This isn’t… This isn’t r-religious stuff or cult stuff or w-whatever you said. I’m telling you the truth! A f-few days ago, Eddie got into my body and asked for my help. He said he wanted to leave, but… h-he couldn’t. He has un-unfinished business and he won’t rest ‘till he takes c-care of it. It has something to… something to do with you and that’s why I came. I’m just trying to h-help him.”

“Man, are you okay? You want me to call someone or anything? Are you doing drugs?”

“He’s here r-right now.”

“’Cause let me tell you, drugs aren’t cool at all, okay? If your friends pressure you to take them, they’re not your friends.”

“He’s hearing this whole c-conversation.”

“Bill, I won’t ask you again, put all your drugs on the table.”

“Please, R-Richie! You’ve got to listen. He… he needs you to l-listen.”

Richie growls.

“Okay! If it means that much for you, tell me. C’mon, tell me what ‘Eddie needs me to know’. I’m sure it’s gonna be bullshit.”

“Y-you’re such an idiot! He was in love with you!” Bill snaps.

This time, he seems to reach the part of Richie that has been hiding during the whole meeting. Sure, he had his emotional moments, but now he looks so hurt, so enraged, Bill starts thinking he’d be capable of committing murder at this point.

“Excuse me?”

Bill crosses his arms over his chest. Even though he is scared, he has to stay firm.

“W-what I said.”

Richie takes a deep breath, as he’s trying to calm down. He probably doesn’t want to harm him and has to put a lot of effort into controlling himself.

“If that was supposed to be a joke, you should leave the comedy to me, Big Bill.” He quietly warns.

Bill gulps, building up enough courage to not withdraw what he’s saying.

“It’s not… it’s not a joke.”

“Bill, really, take that back. This isn’t fucking funny.”

“It’s not a j-joke!”

“Look, I’m really trying here, alright? I’m trying not to break your nose for this, ‘cause you’re my friend and I care for you and I know you’re going through some heavy shit right now. But if you don’t—”

“J-just think about it! Why… why would I l-lie to you? W-we fought an… an evil demon clown! Is this… That’s not harder to be-believe?”

“No, it’s not fucking harder to believe! I saw that thing, It was there, It killed people. But you’re telling me our dead friend is inside your body or whatever and that he was…”

“I-in love with you,” he completes, soft and careful.

The words still affect Richie like the first time he pronounced them. It’s like Richie is sticking to his common sense, looking for a logic explanation, and every time Bill tells him Eddie loved him, it goes past his rational side and goes straight to his unconsciousness. He is not ready to accept it, but he knows it.

Despise this, it doesn’t pulls him out from his anger for too long.

“Okay, you’re asking for it,” he tells him, a look of determination and fury in his eyes as he walks towards Bill, rolling up his sleeves.

Bill wants to stand there and use his words, try to bring Richie back to his senses without physical violence. But during his attempt to be polite, a fist gets shot against the air, and it passes so close to his face he realizes talking is not an option.

Luckily, Richie had a beer and is upset, while Bill remains sober and functional, so his reflexes are enough for him to bend and avoid another punch.

“P-please, you’ve got to—” he begs, taking the first chance he gets to run away from his reach.

“Shut up!” Richie shouts, going after him and throwing more arbitrary hits that never touch him.

They trot around the couches and chairs of the living room, even walking over them when it’s necessary. Bill knows Richie is not at his best form. When they were kids, it would have been a very tough fight and any of them could have won, but now Bill is sure he’s capable of sending his friend to the hospital.

He doesn’t have a reason to escape. Also, escaping wouldn’t be a hard thing to do. If he hurries, he can get to the door and Richie won’t ever be able to find him.

There’s a lot of things he could do, but only one will help Eddie.

“R-Richie, I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna fight with y-you…” He says when he’s at a safe distance.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fight?” Richie mocks him, shortening the gap between them, “Sure, you’re so over this, aren’t you? You’re so fucking mature. Well, if you really wanna be a man, then come here and fucking fight like one!”

Bill is cornered now. His back is touching the front door —subtly palming the doorknob, in case he can’t no longer control the situation— and he can smell the alcohol in Richie’s breath and feel his hands grabbing his collar. They’re in pause, no more pulling or throwing fists, but it won’t last. They both know it won’t last.

“I-I’m not gonna fight you. I… I won’t. You’re my f-friend.”

“Then why are you doing this, Bill? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you… I don’t know, are you gay for me? You want my dick or something? I mean, c’mon, your wife died like… a week ago! What do you want from me?”

“I’m not gay! I’m just… I’m trying to… to help E-Eddie.”

Richie reliefs a cynical laugh.

“You’re trying to help Eddie? How? What the hell are you talking about?!” he reclaims, shaking him.

“I already… t-told you. I promised I’d… I’d h-h-help him.”

His eyes are starting to burn, filling with tears that Richie doesn’t seem to mind. His fury is consuming him, turning him into someone else. If the term ‘monster’ applied for them like it applies for common people, that would be the word to describe him right now.

“You’re fucking crazy, Bill! I don’t know what this all about, why you’re trying to make me believe in your ghost bullshit or what do you want from me, but you’ll shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear anything and the least you can do now is saying you’re sorry.”

“S-sorry? For what?!”

“For spreading lies about him! You can’t say shit like that, he’s not here to defend himself!”

“But—”

“No, you listen! He was not a faggot, got it? Get it inside your fucking head: Eds was not a fag—!”

He doesn’t end the sentence. As soon as he tries to repeat the insult, Bill’s left hand raises and slaps him in the face so hard it makes him lose balance. So hard his fingers leave a red mark all over his cheek.

Bill wants to apologize. He’s mad, of course, but he didn’t mean to take it that far. He didn’t mean to do that. However, the expression of regret won’t come out. He can’t talk. He can’t move one single muscle. All he can do is stand there, staring at the prettified mess that is Richie at this moment, looking at him with wide eyes and his chest raising and falling agitatedly, as his feet make him go backwards, short and slow steps.

“Don’t call me that,” Bill’s voice murmurs, except that he didn’t order it to do that.

Richie watches, even more disconcerted than before, be it for the words themselves or for the fact he didn’t stutter once.

“W-what?” he asks, no trail of wrath in his tone.

Bill can see the bottom of his own frowned eyebrows as his chin raises in a gesture of challenge. His left fist is closed, but his right arm hangs against his body, not moving at all.

“I said don’t fucking call me that, Richie.”

Richie gulps, still touching the mark on the side of his face. His eyes look slightly wet.

“You know I…”

Silence.

C-come on, Eddie. You can d-do it. I know you can. I know how b-brave you are.

Bill’s lungs slowly fill up with air. Then his mouth exhales.

Richie is waiting.

“You know I love you.”

Tag list: @trippy-alexissss

I know there was more people who wanted to be tagged, but I lost the list with their urls so, if you want to be tagged, please let me know and I’m so sorry for these problems.

#tozenbrak #reddie #kaspbrough #bichie #bill denbrough #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it (2017)#it (2019)#it (1990)#it (book)#it (movie)#the losers club #fanfic #my writing #filling the blanks

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Booktober 2020 Wk 3: Creatures

Hello my lovelies, it’s week 3 of Booktober. The month we talk about books, books, books! Or in this case, I’m talking about horror and paranormal books. Anyone is welcome to join in, I have put up prompts on my twitter and tumblr! If you decide to join in and use the tag booktober, at me, ginnyzero, on social media and I’ll try to reblog your posts.

This week, I am talking about creatures! What books do creatures in interesting ways? Creatures are a huge part of horror and paranormal culture, ghosts and cyptids and people who can use magical forces for good or for ill.

I’m going to start with my favorite creature, the werewolf. Of course, you can say, “Ginny that’s not fair, your favorite werewolves are the ones you write.” Yes. Yes. They are. My favorite werewolves are my werewolves in the Heathens because I love cozy werewolf drama family stuff with action sequences and explosions. Write what you love. My werewolves are based on a couple of things, old folktales where werewolves are actually benevolent creatures rather than out of control monsters, modern wolf science where wolves are families with siblings that squabble instead of a strict hierarchy of stranger wolves (wolves in zoos) and a bit of ‘science’ like the first werewolf movie put out by Universal; Werewolf of London. (It was a bit of a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde thing where they became a werewolf through the power of science.) But those are my tastes and may not be your tastes.

I think the most diverse werewolves in a book would be in Jim Butcher’s Fool Moon. Fool Moon uses a bunch of different werewolf types to drive the plot and conflict of the case Harry is working on. Harry has to figure out and work through the different werewolves in question to solve the mystery. He goes up against a gang of Beserkers, who are men who take on the spirit of wolves to be faster and stronger. There is a loup garou, the French and Cajun cryptid of an out of control wolf monster who rampages on the full moon. There are some werewolves who have made a pact with a ‘demon’ and use wolf belts in order to change into wolf monsters. There’s a group of DnD larpers who have figured out how to turn into wolves who are more benevolent and in control. And lastly, there is a wolf who has learned to change into a human.

It was really neat to see all the different types of wolves. I think all that was missing was the excommunicated/cursed by a priest wolf, and the ‘born werewolf.’ Unfortunately, outside of this case. These werewolves haven’t been hugely important to the story since. Other than the DnD group who Harry plays with on Friday nights. It really can get you thinking about the types of werewolves and how you can use them in a story.

Another popular creature and one I was fascinated with for a while are vampires. Okay, my favorite vampire is still The Count from Sesame Street but we are talking books. So, the most interesting take on vampires I’ve seen in a book is in Angela Knight’s Mageverse series. The Vampires in the Mageverse series are warriors who were originally turned by Merlin and Nimue in order to protect the Earth from alien invaders. Yes, Merlin and Nimue were powerful aliens. So, these vampires are all male, they drink blood of female ‘witches,’ they’re powerful warriors, and they can turn into wolves. (Yes. I know. But there are actual werewolves in this ‘verse too who are there to make sure the vampires don’t go nuts, but they aren’t as interesting.) If the vampires don’t feed off the witches, the witches get too high blood pressure and die. It’s paranormal romance so, there’s a lot of sex involved. The concept of “we’re the ancient round table of Arthur turned into magical vampires by the alien wizard Merlin’ was just so interesting to me.

Now, for demons, I really have to go to Christian literature. Because if you’re going to do demons, no one really doesn’t like the Christians do. Christian literature was the first place I was exposed to the supernatural. (Really, Christianity is metal and gothic, especially Catholicism. Catholicism is probably the most ‘mystical’ of the different groups.) To young me, Stephen R. Lawhead’s This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness were fascinating. He built this world where demons and angels were fighting over the mundane souls. They had personalities and jobs. So, you had two or three layers of story going on where the actions of the mundane characters gave power to the angels or the demons. Lawhead is a decent writer. The books are very, very protestant Christian making the concept of spiritual warfare very real but not trivialized like the way Left Behind did. And I haven’t seen anyone else do it precisely that way since.

Ghosts are difficult. I have seen books with ghosts that have really good concepts and poor execution. My favorite book with a ghost protagonist is Haunted by Kelly Armstrong. It’s part of her Women of the Otherworld series. In Haunted, the main female character is set a task to discover how another ghost is possessing people in the mundane world and causing murders. Kelly sets up rules for the ghosts. There are limitations to what the main character to do and this puts obstacles in her path as she has to navigate the realm of the living with these rules, different sections of the realms of the dead, prison realms, and make deals with demons. She ends up having a personal stake as well, when the other ghost targets her daughter! So, thrilling adventures.

So, what type of witch am I? I am a Cosmic Witch. I enjoy astrology, horoscopes, and all types of zodiac signs. I have looked into the Eastern Zodiac, Celtic Tree Calendar, blood types, the 12 moons of the year. I just enjoy delving deep into how different times of the year can affect your personality, whether or not you believe it’s real or not. If emotional energy is celestial energy, then I’m all about it. I also know some green witchery like herbalism and essential oils, but um, only for if you’re really sick. I mean it folks. It’s medicine. And like all medicine, it reacts differently with your body. I’m something of a night owl. So, being a cosmic witch makes a lot of sense. (Maybe I’m a Cosmic Werewolf Witch. Hmm.)

Now about books with witches! The most interesting books about witches to me were Rachel Caine’s Weather Witch series. Yes, it also involved fast cars and fashion. I really enjoyed the concept that there were different types of witches that could control different parts of the earth and the weather. So, like, fire witches could do forest fires and volcanos. While Weather Witches did storms and everything to do with the atmosphere. And Earth witches were mudslides and earthquakes and that sort of thing. Their powers also involved the Djinn. The main character was a female weather witch. She discovered corruption going on in the witch and wizard organization and abuse of the Djinn and yeah, lots of trouble. The witch craft that was shown was pretty scientific too the way it was described. It made things feel real.

Now for real old school horror, we need to talk about the fae. I’m not talking about the way fae are now portrayed in most paranormal romance and urban fantasy books. Because, the fae are just very, very powerful, and scary, so much so if you live in a world where they are still active, you don’t talk about them and you don’t try to gain their attention because they are capricious at best.

It’s really difficult for me to find a portrayal of the fae to take seriously. Maybe it’s too much Tolkien, maybe it’s DnD. I dunno. The best portrayal of the fae I’ve encountered was in the Lark and the Wren by Mercedes Lackey. Which is the first book of her Bardic Voices trilogy. Lark and Wren are in the middle of nowhere, when the fae kidnap Wren and Lark has to use her skills with the fiddle to get him back. (Kind of like a Devil Went Down to Georgia thing.) The fae are portrayed as capricious, deadly, and powerful. The books otherwise don’t have much to do with them. I’d really love to see a fae oriented book where the fae are portrayed this way.

I know Laurell K Hamilton did her Merry Gentry series, and yes, there are lots of horrifying parts to it (and not for the reason I think they were supposed to be horrifying.) But um, they’re erotica and for erotica they can be decent erotica. But for a fae story, they just don’t 100% hit it for me. Plus, she never finished them and it went to a really dark place (and I mean, like I thought she’d hit as dark as she could, but nooo.)

Now for the most out of the box creature book I’ve read is Terra Harmony’s the Rising. It involves mermaids and werewolves. Which, at first glance, don’t seem to have anything at all in common, but Terra works a way to give them something in common. The solution to the story is a bit horrifying, but I’m not sure I’d classify them as outright horror or even paranormal romance. Like Angela Knight’s the Mageverse series, the idea was very interesting to me. Plus, the mermaids are really well done.

I haven’t really seen books with gargoyles, mummies, djinn, actual sirens (sirens are birds, not fish) or secular books with demons in them. I don’t do zombies. Zombies are a hard no from me. So, here are some more interesting books for me books about creatures and witches.

Next week, I’ll be discussing classical horror and myths! Including some actual ghost stories and crypids. Once again, anyone is welcome to join in Booktober! Here is a handy image for next week’s prompt. (You don’t have to use it unless you want to do so.)

#booktober #writing tumblr #writrtumblr #amreading #amblogging #creatures #books #book #paranormal books #horror books #fantasy books #paranormal romance #urban fantasy books

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psi-psina · 6 years

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The Hounds of Baskerville read-through

Pt three, UMQRA. [pt one] [pt two]

(this is again a direct continuation of pt one & two)

Credit as always to Arianne DeVere for her transcripts :)

This is the final part of this read through that I wrote before intervening events, and I don’t know if/when I’ll be continuing as I’m quite busy now. This is also quite a bit longer than the other two posts bc I just CAN’T shut up about this part, sorry about that lol.

And we’re finally out on the moor! Night falls as they approach the hollow and as they enter the wooded area, John is distracted by some ghostly rustlings and wailings and he spots a tiny light blinking off in the distance. He exhales heavily and whispers after Sherlock, but finds himself suddenly alone. Sherlock never waits for him.

He thinks the light is someone signalling, coded in morse, and writes down what the morse spells out: UMQRA. The light then vanishes and John, stumped, goes after Sherlock and Henry.

Back with Sherlock and Henry, Sherlock needling about Frankland; he says Frankland seems worried about Henry, and Henry says Frankland’s a worrier at best, and that he’s been very kind to him (Henry) since he came back.

So thinking about Frankland as a Moriarty mirror; Frankland acts kindly and concerned towards Henry (Sherlock) but this is only in order to exploit him. Frankland is literally gaslighting Henry and making him doubt his grip on reality, in order to discredit Henry to make sure no one would ever take him seriously if he ever started to remember Frankland’s crime. Perhaps he was even hoping to simply push Henry to suicide. It is a clear foreshadowing of what Moriarty intends to do to Sherlock in The Reichenbach Fall in which he seeks to discredit and destroy Sherlock “inch by inch” in the most public and intimate ways imaginable, in his attempt to solve their “problem”.

This is also, however, the root of Sherlock’s fears about John that are explored in this episode, which is dealing entirely with Fear. This is why Frankland is heavily paralleled with John, and his two mirrors (Dr Mortimer & Dr Stapleton) throughout this episode. Frankland is the same physical type as the other villainous John mirrors (Jeff Hope and Culverton), he has a military past and is also a Dr who works at Baskerville with Dr Stapleton. He’s very worried about Henry just as Lousie is, but where her concerns are genuine, his are dishonest and exploitative. Which we will see very shortly is the exact gist of what Sherlock fears about John, and the nature of their relationship. Frankland as Moriarty is this episode’s embodiment of the fears Sherlock has projected onto John which, when understood make his behaviour throughout this episode extremely transparent.

ANYWAY.

SHERLOCK: But he worked at Baskerville, your dad didn’t have a problem with that? HENRY: Well, mates are mates aren’t they. I mean look at you and John.

Sherlock snaps suspiciously at this, clearly on edge about any insinuations about them.

HENRY: They agreed never to talk about work (Baskerville), Uncle Bob and my dad.

Hm. They agreed to never talk about Baskerville (❤️). And when they did, Henry’s dad ended up…dead. Henry points out the hollow as he and Sherlock arrive at the scene, and we cut back to John. As he’s searching for Sherlock he hears an odd sound, one that appears to be part of the soundtrack but he reacts to it (I could be mistaken but this also happens in The Blind Banker so I have a feeling it’s legit). There’s an odd pulse that is almost like an eerie distorted heartbeat, to which John reacts. And he looks for the source and finds water, dripping from an unknown source onto a drum. He looks a the oddly leaking water with no apparent source and seems curious and rather bemused, until his inspection is cut short by the Hound tearing through the woods behind him. This moment is mirrored a bit later in the episode with Henry (Sherlock) who’s attention is drawn to some carelessly leaking water in his backyard before he too is terrorised by the Hound. I’ll go into the symbolism of water a little later. Back with John, the Hound howls and John starts to run, the water forgotten, and we cut back to Sherlock stumbling down into the hollow as the Hound’s motif escalates. He fixates on huge paw prints in the mud before looking up at the sound of another howl.

On the edge of the hollow we can hear the Hound snarling and rustling and see it’s shadow on the forest floor but -

There’s nothing there.

Sherlock looks like he’s seen a ghost as a frantic Henry lurches up behind him, demanding to know if Sherlock saw it. Sherlock completely ignores him and pushes him aside brusquely, storming off. When they meet back up with John, Sherlock denies having seen anything at all.

HENRY: Look, he must have seen it. I saw it – he must have. He must have. I can’t ... Why? Why? Why would he say that? It-it-it-it it was there. It was. JOHN: Henry, Henry, I need you to sit down, try and relax, please. HENRY: I’m okay, I’m okay. JOHN: Listen, I’m gonna give you something to help you sleep, all right? HENRY: This is good news, John. It’s-it’s-it’s good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound, there ... there is. And Sherlock – he saw it too. No matter what he said, he saw it.

John escorts Henry back to his home and kindly prescribes him some downers to help him calm down after his close encounter. Henry (Sherlock) is having a strange experience however, he seems equally relieved as he is horrified at having actually SEEN the Hound. Because, as horrifying as it’s existence is, a confirmation at least allays his fears about his own sanity. We transition from Henry in the classic Holmes thinking pose as he contemplates and consoles himself, to a highly distressed Sherlock striking his own Holmesian pose by the fire back at the Inn. I love that transition, one of my many favourites. This show has THE MOST emotive transitions, it’s the BEST.

John takes the chair opposite Sherlock at the Inn, and we see them before an empty dinner table set for two, with a heart-shaped wreath of thorns hung right over the flames in between their bodies. This is one of my favourite shots in the whole show;

Like…this image speaks a thousand words. Visual poetry. I mean the entire show is but there are moments like these where they just… completely outdo themselves man. Obviously, a burning heart made of a wreath of thorns is evocative enough in itself, it also looks like another piece of Christian imagery. It brings to mind the Sacred Heart, which is a pretty well known symbol for divine and unconditional love…the cause of Christ’s Sherlock’s immeasurable suffering. :( All of which is…contextually relevant.

^ An accurate image of Sherlock’s heart, tbh.

JOHN: Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. And there isn’t, though, is there? ’Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works. …Er, listen: er, on the moor I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it’s Morse. …Doesn’t seem to make much sense. …Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean ... anything ... So, okay, what have we got? We know there’s footprints, ’cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something. …Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog. SHERLOCK: Henry’s right. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I saw it too. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I saw it too, John. JOHN: Just ... just a minute. You saw what? SHERLOCK: A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.

John smirks. Sherlock blinks back the tears. This scene is absolutely excruciating. What is it with Mark writing these horrible inability-to-communicate scenes in his episodes. I mean I know why but...I hate it.

“Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works.”

Interesting, because even though the Hound is not actually real, the idea of the Hound very much is, and is VERY much for sale. The idea of the Hound is, literally, used as a ‘tourist attraction’, an in-joke that drums up business for the township, irregardless of the fact that it’s driving Henry insane. This is, undoubtedly, a meta comment on cultural gaybaiting, probably also an underhanded reaction in response to the criticism they themselves have received for it. I am not joking. Like in and of itself it’s excruciatingly poignant and incredibly well done purely in the episodes context, but as all their bullshit subtext has amounted to nothing remotely tangible, it remains an underhanded tantrum. >(

Anyway. John goes from disbelief to a weak attempt at pacification which only serves to embitter Sherlock even more towards him.

JOHN: We have to be rational about this.

This scene is an interesting role-reversal. This is, in a way, Sherlock getting a taste of his own medicine from John. This is basically John treating Sherlock the way Sherlock treated him in their argument in The Great Game (one of my favourite scenes EVER), and is absolutely 100% written as a parallel scene, simply with Sherlock the one having an emotional crisis, and John completely misunderstanding what he’s seeing. And even in these role reversals, John is still rather kindly, and Sherlock stiflingly cruel. Anyway, Sherlock is no more able to ‘be rational’ in this situation than John was as they started at each from their chairs in 221B (although again, John behaves, as always, far more rationally than Sherlock does lmao i WILL NOT discredit him there!!). And John can do nothing to appease him because they are communicating across a gulf so wide right now they might as well be speaking different languages.

The way Sherlock admits to having seen it is so sad; it’s like a concession, “Henry’s right, I was wrong. I saw it too. He’s always been right about it.” He’s always feared, deep down, that it was real and what they all say about it is true.

SHERLOCK: Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid. *[1] JOHN: Sherlock? SHERLOCK: Always been able to keep myself distant...divorce myself from...feelings. But look, you see…body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.

Sherlock looks at his shaking hands with disdain as he raises a glass of scotch and takes a couple of swigs. “Look at me, I’m afraid.”

What’s got him so wound up to be shaking and forcing back tears in a room full of people? Sure he’s been drugged, but neither Henry nor John react anywhere near this viscerally to the drug or their encounter with their Hounds. This is because John, and probably Henry, are both far better adjusted than Sherlock is lol. All this is has been just below the surface all along, the drug, the Hound, just knocked his defences down.You get a big hint in Scandal, in fact, as to the nature of Sherlock’s fear here.

In that scene in Scandal, we get the first appearance of the musical motif used solely in the aptly titled “Pursued by a Hound” which is exclusive to this episode bar that one moment in Scandal (another thing linking the Hound to Irene and the events of Scandal). In that scene, we see Sherlock drugged against his will by Irene, just as he has been now, in the Hollow. The scene above is the one in which Irene wholly defeats Sherlock, and she does so by drugging him. His defeat by her, the mirror of his desire and sexuality, is not intellectual, it is wholly physical, she imposes her will upon him with a drug. She causes his body to utterly fail him and leaves him entirely at her mercy. Drugged and completely physically vulnerable.

“…Body’s betraying me.”

So you could argue that this betrayal is fear itself, but it simply isn’t. Sherlock is not immune to emotions, he only pretends to be. He’s no stranger to fear. His desires got totally carried away on him, he fell desperately in love with John, and he is quite certain now that he was mistaken to do so. He does not hate emotions in and of themselves, he hates HIS emotions because they are not correct, they are doomed, unrequited, unfulfilled, a source of nothing but pain and suffering for him. He hates his emotions and he is terrified of his weakening body betraying his desires. To John. This fear, this visceral shame that can so easily grow and become basically synonymous with desire inside gay people living in ambient homophobia, is embodied in this episode by this idea of the Hound literally mauling it’s unwilling victims to death. It is embodied by mirrors, when Henry loses control and attacks Lousie in his home. It is embodied in The Reichenbach Fall by every man Sherlock touches being violently killed or committing suicide as a direct result of being touched by him. It is mirrored again by Eurus in The Final Problem, when she talks about raping one of her guards.

He’s on a(nother) downward spiral. Mind’s tearing itself to pieces, body’s betraying him. He feels like a monster.

”The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.” But John can’t see it, and he has absolutely no chance of making any sense of it because he would never think in a million years that Sherlock is behaving like this because of him. He could never know that Sherlock’s cold disdain for emotions is an expression of the pain his own cause him, of the fear that John get a glimpse (or a faceful) of what Sherlock feels for him, even though John does suspect his friend is not alright. Like, this is certainly one of John’s uglier moments, he certainly could have handled this with more tact, and once you’re able to read Sherlock it’s so easy to fault John in this scene because once you’re in Sherlock’s head, John can appear to be a truly insensitive, oblivious dick. Which he sort of is, but you just can’t. You can’t truly fault John for being cynical and guarded at this stage, Sherlock has cut him dead and hurt him too much for John to be anything but lost when they’re in these situations now. This cynicism does grow into something uglier down the line, in Culverton, and I feel like this scene is where the seeds of that monster are first sown in Sherlock, which then properly bloom at the end of The Sign of Three.. :/

Jesus. Like I’m not joking, if I was a damaged robotic gay person having a nervous breakdown in front of my best friend with whom I was desperately in love only to have them inadvertently make a mockery of my self-hatred and inability to express myself I definitely would not be able to handle this any better. (I mean personally I would just start crying and run away).

John, getting more and more uncomfortable, tries to get Sherlock to rationalise, saying “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there, and got yourself a bit worked up.” Like you would to a child. Even with that slight smile. This sounds infuriatingly patronising to Sherlock, and Sherlock gets defensive, then angry, and inevitably lashes out the best way he can; with his deductions.

“There is nothing wrong with me, do you understand!? You want me to prove it yes?” **[2]

So he launches into an incredibly scathing and specific deduction about the widow and the fisherman sitting across the room from them: very blatant mirrors for Sherlock (the widow) and John (the fisherman). (They even have matching hearts hanging above them! Although the one hanging over the fisherman is made of rusty old tin or something, make of that what you will.)

SHERLOCK: We’re looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes. JOHN: Yes? SHERLOCK: She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for. JOHN: Sherlock, for God’s sake ...

The widow (Sherlock) has a little Hound, of course…a West Highland Terrier. Like Bluebell, it’s not exactly a horrible monster. I mean. I mean look at this. Look at this monstrous Hound.

I just…I am going to scream and physically die, I’M IN TOO DEEP.

SHERLOCK: Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economise on his own food. JOHN: Well, maybe he’s just not hungry. SHERLOCK: No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes.

So, this is what’s going on in Sherlock’s heart right now. :/ The fisherman (John) is treating the widow (Sherlock) to a meal, and indulging her by wearing a jumper he clearly doesn’t like because it was a gift from her, but not because he just loves her and cares about her or wants to spoil her or just spend time with her or make her happy, but because he wants to impress her and get into her ‘good books’. Why? Almost certainly money. His actions aren’t sincere but manipulative and made purely in self-interest (RE, Frankland) and he gives himself away by ‘economising’ on his own food, in spite of being ‘hungry’. John suggests he just might not be hungry but Sherlock is adamant; he’s (John) definitely hungry and not well off, and remains certain that he’s only interested in exploiting her. Those earlier awkward moments between them about money? They hint at this well of resentment. Sherlock’s the wealthy, sentimental widow and John’s the scarred, threadbare, unemployed tradesman.

Left alone with his heartbreak and insecurity, it seems this is what Sherlock thinks about John in his ugliest moments, and now the ‘drug’ lets his fears run wild. It’s eating away at him. I don’t think for a second he truly believes this of John as a person, this is another product of his own self-loathing more than anything and it is WILDLY unfair to John. It seems this is the conclusion he draws about them when trying to figure out why John chooses to continue living and working with him, despite the fact that it causes so many problems in other area’s of John’s life, particularly romantically. He would never think for a second that John stays with him because he’s like, the love of his LIFE, because he doesn’t think that’s possible anymore. :/ All of the above is the reason Sherlock is such an asshole to John in this episode. He’s so insecure he’s convinced himself that he means nothing to John beyond the social/financial perks their partnership provides him. It certainly doesn’t make it okay, it just makes him very transparent, and…sad.

The stuff about the Christmas jumper is something because

I mean, if this possibly implies that Sherlock actually gave John that jumper for Christmas I would just…Die. That seems like a rather…unSherlock thing to do so personally I don’t think it was lol. I always thought that jumper was probably from Jeanette or Mrs Hudson before I thought about this deduction, so…I don’t know really.

SHERLOCK: Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain around her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog ... tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” ’Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening, I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I’ve never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone.

Where it get’s a little bit too friendly. ...I mentioned he hates himself right.

Anyway. John sits quietly and endures this tirade like all the others, looking more and more hurt as it goes on and Sherlock starts to mock him on top of everything else. When it’s over, he just sadly says “Yeah, okay. Okay. Why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.” Looking close to tears himself now and Sherlock twists the knife one more time; “I don’t have friends.” he says viciously and John just

😞

Honestly, the rejection Sherlock feels is mostly self-imposed, which is why his character arc thus far has culminated in him finding self-love, but John…god the rejection John has endured from Sherlock over the course of their relationship is just beyond. Sherlock is just so casually cruel to him so often. Like now. John tries to remind Sherlock that he is in fact his friend, and Sherlock essentially tells him “You are not my friend.” John does the only thing he really can, bitterly says “Naah. Wonder why.” And walks away.

John storms out of the inn to get some air, breathing heavily, trying to calm down, and then spots that light again. Signalling him off in the distance.

We get this sequence.

John sees the distant light and goes after it immediately and we transition to Henry (Sherlock) curled up rather pathetically on his sofa, a blanket draped over his face. He sits, looking pained and tired, then stands and walks to the window. As he reaches it, Liberty In (Death) crashes through his skull and he rubs his temples, holding his head in his hands and breathing deeply.

Liberty in death.

As this is happening to Sherlock/Henry we transition back to John as he hurries toward the source of the light. And what is it? What’s sending this garbled signal John can see off in the distance? It’s sex. Specifically it’s a sexual activity known as Dogging in Britain. Wow 😩

Like, if you were not convinced that Dogs are connected to and referencing sexuality in this episode, this really ought to put that matter to rest. I can’t imagine the agony it must have caused Mark Gatiss to figure out how to work this euphemism into the mystery in this episode in a meaningful way lmao. There’s nothing else to say.

Anyway, John, realising that the light that his curiosity thought to be a meaningful signal is just a product of some voyeuristic pervs bonking, believes he’s made a mistake, turns and heads back toward the inn, kicking himself. As he retreats, with the light flashing eerily over his shoulder as though it’s trying to call him back, his phone pings with a text from Sherlock, asking him to interview Louise Mortimer. John texts him back in all caps, Ajsdhfn I love him. And Sherlock just sends through a photo of Louise for him. 😩 I swear to god, Sherlock could not be any saltier right now if he were a literal puddle of brine. John halts momentarily as he looks at Louise and he mumbles, “Ohh you’re a bad man” and in my opinion he’s talking about…both of them. 😩 Useless jerks.

As John walks off, we transition back to Henry (Sherlock).

The simplest way to look at the following sequence is pure dream logic. It is almost certainly an actual nightmare that Sherlock/Henry is having, as all Henry says the next morning is that he ‘didn’t sleep well’ and not, y’know, that there was something lurking around his yard last night that was setting off the floodlights and scaring the living daylights out of him and would Sherlock mind taking a look. No, it isn’t real. The sole purpose of these scenes at Henry’s house is to show you what is going on inside the iron box. Emotional context, with Henry simply being Sherlock’s avatar so as not to give the whole game away.

Henry (Sherlock) is sitting listlessly and being plagued by Hounds on the television. No matter which channel he tries the Hound is everywhere. Then the floodlights flick on, drenching his yard in harsh white light. We see a hose on the patio leaking water everywhere, and as the lights fade out, the silhouette of the Hound tears across the screen. This moment is the dead ringer of John’s earlier encounter with water in the woods. The attention on this eerily leaking water (Henry’s resigned and heedless as he just lets his hose leak everywhere rather than do anything about it, John’s curious and benign as he’s drawn by this mysterious dripping of unknown origins [kind of in the same way he was drawn by the mysterious light]), which is promptly shattered by the appearance of the Hound. Interestingly, the second time we see the hose, after the Hound tears through the yard and the floodlights flash for a second time, the water has stopped.

We all know the symbolism attributed to water in literature and dreams, it’s all relative to emotions and energy:

“In most dreams water indicates emotions, moods and flow of feeling energy. Because of the nature of water it lends itself to depicting aspects of how you relate to your feelings. For instance you can ‘drown’ in or feel swept away by some emotions. At other times you can feel cleansed and refreshed. But because water is vital to your existence it can show how you long for or thirst for something, and feeling fulfilled.” [x]

Everyone’s picked up on how heavily and literally this symbolism is used in Sherlock (particularly drowning), especially in Series 4, but the focus in this episode is on leaking, and leaking water carries it’s own particular meaning:

A leaky hose faucet represents issues that weaken your ability to control yourself. Loss, disappointments, or frustrations may be distracting you.

To dream of a something springing a leak, or taking on water represents loss, disappointments, or frustrations that may be distracting you. Issues that were repressed or kept at bay may coming to the forefront. You may also feel that you are wasting your time or energy. It may also reflect an uncertain situation that is getting out of control.

Small problems that may have the potential to get out of control if you don't deal with them immediately. The potential for a problem to spiral out of control or become destructive if left unattended. Possibly a warning dream about procrastinating or ignoring problems. [x]

Leaking water in dreams represents a leaking of emotions or loss of power. Dreaming of a leak that you can't stop might symbolise an emotional situation in waking life that seems to be out of control. Passively watching a leak without taking action to repair it might be an indication that you are in a reflective stage and are not quite sure whether you want to repair the leak or just let it go. [x]

Leaking water: This can mean that your emotional energy is be used unwisely, possible through such things as anxiety or fear, especially if the water is coming through a ceiling or wall. [x]

So we have…

Loss of self-control - check.

Fear - check.

Disappointment, frustration, anxiety - check.

A(n emotional) problem spiralling out of control and becoming something destructive while left unattended - check.

So, I hope these flashing floodlights are bringing to mind another light we’ve just seen flashing in this episode.

This is what is happening inside Sherlock’s heart right now. Or just watch the full sequence tbh.

The Hound is all over the television, it’s in his home, it’s in his backyard, it’s in his reflection, it’s in his heart. It won’t leave him alone and he can’t get away from it. But all that escapes the iron box is

UMQRA. That bright blaze just a tiny light, glimpsed off in the distance, blinking in nonsense morse. An utter inability to communicate what is in one’s heart. “Every time I close my eyes…I’m lost…lost in the sky and…no one can hear me.” This is what just played out between them at the inn. And John is worried, because he picks up on the signals, he does notice, and he wants it to mean something, he wants it to be a code because that’d mean he might have a chance, however small, at cracking it, but it’s Sherlock’s own actions and endless rejections that make him doubt and dismiss his own perceptions and he will never be able to act on his instincts as long as Sherlock locks him out and refuses to open his heart.

We then transition from Henry, sunk onto the floor weeping, to John and Louise at the pub on a sort-of date, horror transitioning to mirth as she cradles her head in laughter at something John said, uttering “That’s so mean...”, as Henry (Sherlock), gun in hand, cradles his head in despair on his living room floor. Another one of my favourite transitions.

JOHN: Um, more wine, Doctor? MORTIMER: Are you trying to get me drunk, Doctor?

Doctor to Doctor. John chats with Louise and ply’s her with wine as he tries to get a rapport going, changing tack and asking about Henry’s father when she stays firm on her refusal to talk about Henry.

JOHN: Okay, what about his father? He wasn’t one of your patients. Wasn’t he some sort of conspiracy nutter - theorist? MORTIMER: You’re only a nutter if you’re wrong. JOHN: Mmm. And was he wrong? MORTIMER: I should think so!

Of course, like every other Conspiracy Theorist on the show (Sherlock, The Geek Interpreter boys, Anderson & Co, etc), Henry and his father are in fact right about everything. John then makes an appeal to Louise’s concern for Henry,

JOHN: But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn’t he? With what they were doing in there ... Couldn’t Henry have gone the same way, started imagining a hound? MORTIMER: Why d’you think I’m going to talk about this?! JOHN: Because I think you’re worried about him, and because I’m a doctor too…and because I have another friend who might be having the same problem.

John probably genuinely wants to talk to someone about this because he is worried about Sherlock and he has no one to talk to about anything, ever. :/ And just as they may have gotten somewhere, Frankland interrupts and sends it all to hell. Keeping in mind the connection between Frankland/John/Jaqui in this episode, it’s obvious Frankland is acting as John’s demon here. A vexing presence that pops up just in time to prevent John from gaining any insight into Henry’s/Sherlock’s state of mind, AND an annoying cockblock. In keeping with the theme, Frankland fucks with John by insinuating that Sherlock and John are Gay while making sure Louise gets that John’s only there to get information out of her.

FRANKLAND: Didn’t you know? Don’t you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes! Private detective! This is his PA! JOHN: PA? FRANKLAND: Well, live-in PA. JOHN: Perfect.

Wow it’s almost like, every PA we see on this show is a) a mirror for John and b) romantically involved with their Sherlock-I mean, employer. Commander. Except for Janine, who is a PA who is just involved with Sherlock himself. 😩

Frankland mutters to John about Stapleton conspiratorially and finally leaves. John looks back to Louise and makes an appropriately sheepish gesture. As she leaves, Louise snarkily suggests John buy Frankland a drink instead of her, then walks away. Awkward. John sighs, foiled again, as always.

The following morning Sherlock is back on the rocky outcrop alone, contemplating his Problem. We transition to Henry’s house, as he wearily approaches the door to Sherlock’s banging. Sherlock bursts in more manic than ever.

SHERLOCK: Morning! Oh, how are you feeling? HENRY: I’m ... I didn’t sleep very well. SHERLOCK: That’s a shame! Shall I make you some coffee? Oh look, you’ve got damp!

It’s like the shittier he feels the more manic he gets. And of course, they also have “damp”, from all that leaking going on. :/ He promptly storms into Henry’s kitchen and goes straight for his sugar, stealing a couple of sachets and then dramatically making out like he’s putting coffee on. Henry wanders in and tries to ask him what his deal was last night and Sherlock abruptly slams the canister down and cuts him off and tells us what’s REALLY on his mind. Hound; this absurd term for an ordinary love…..i mean . .. . .dog. He then abruptly storms off having got what he came for, leaving his exhausted Henry behind. As he’s walking back through the village he comes across John sitting alone in the cemetery, framed by 3 huge crosses:

So the morning after, Sherlock gazes at John through a field of crosses and they are so prominent in the frame it literally looks like they’re warding Sherlock off. Like a warning. Or reminder: John is off limits, remember that, b*tch. John, meanwhile, has situated himself amongst the dead, sending a pretty clear message about his current state of mind. He looks quite different from the day before as well. He’s gone from the striking (passionate!) combo of deep red and black, to this frigid khaki scenario that basically camouflages him.

An impressive change in mood.

Sherlock approaches him, chewing on his mouth like he’s about to swallow his own tongue, and with no preamble, awkwardly asks John if he got anywhere with Sherlock’s..I mean, that “morse code” from last night. John curtly says no and starts walking away.

SHERLOCK: U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it? UMQRA. U.M.Q... JOHN: Look, forget it. It’s ... I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t. SHERLOCK: Sure? JOHN: Yeah.

Thought I was on to something…I wasn’t. :(

YOU WERRREEEEEEEEEEE!!! HE’S EVERYTHING YOU WANT HIM TO BEEEE JOOOHHHNNNN!!! 😫

Sherlock tries to ‘break the ice’ by joking with John about his ‘progress’ with Louise Mortimer, basically confirming that his sending John to her the previous night was some bullshit self-hating gesture that seems simultaneously spiteful (towards himself), conciliatory (towards John) and deeply ashamed. I mean can you imagine. Actively alienating yourself from the person you’re obsessed with by nudging him towards a woman bc you hate yourself and feel guilty and disgusting for lusting after him because you think he’s straight but you know he’s a bit easy so you maybe feel like it’s a good thing to do by him as a MATE which is what you SHOULD be, but it’s actually just sad and makes you even MORE bitter and self-loathing because it’s pathetic, while it ALSO continues to push him away from you (the whole point BUT STILL) and give him the COMPLETELY wrong idea about your motives and feelings and just alienates him from you even more! Like there is literally No way in which Sherlock has not fucked things up with John! He’s doing his best but he is useless! UGH. Anyway, John isn’t having it, saying funny doesn’t suit him (NOT TRUE) so he should just stick to ice. Mr. ice-man. 😩 HE’S NOT!

Sherlock then gets serious, grabbing John by the arm and explaining that what happened to him last night was more than just fear, it was something he hadn’t really experienced before: Doubt. He felt he couldn’t trust his own senses. John says he (Sherlock) can’t actually believe that he saw a monster, and Sherlock says no, but he DID see it, so that leaves the question of how that could be. So this is a lame attempt at justification and also Sherlock spinning it trying to downplay the meltdown he had the night before while using his usual tactics when he’s trying to get John back on board with him after he’s fucked up: dangling the mystery and the danger and the intrigue in front of him, hoping John’ll bite and all will be forgotten. On the subtextual level, this is the emotional conundrum; Sherlock’s a rational person, he doesn’t (want to) believe the ‘monster’ is real and yet something has caused his own mind to turn against him to allow those fears and doubts about himself (the Hound), and about John, out of their carefully manicured iron box where he can no longer ignore them and pretend he’s above them. Sherlock thinks it’s the ‘sugar’ that has ‘drugged’ him and caused his senses to fail him. He’s an idiot.

The fact that he specifies doubt here I find interesting, specifically doubt with regards to his own senses, as this is another thing that rears it’s ugly head again in The Lying Detective: In which his own ‘memories’ are thrown into turmoil and he has a crisis of Faith (in John), then loses Faith (John) completely, when forced to assume Faith (John) was only ever a figment of his lonely, overactive and drug-addled imagination. He’s forced to accept his senses have betrayed him, as a direct consequence of his ‘addiction’. Here, he holds the ‘sugar’ he likes to have responsible for his close encounter with the Hound. He is wrong on both counts, a little sweetness never harmed no one (actually that’s a lie, Sherlock’s poisoned sweetness is about to hurt John a LOT) and Faith WAS always real.

So anyway, because Sherlock’s a fuck up and can’t deal with John being upset with him, John is just like hmm yes good, got something to go on with then have you, have fun with that and walks away again. Although I think at this point it’s already pretty obvious that John is struggling to stay angry with him (and is just as [if not more] angry with himself), irregardless of how hurt he is. Everyone’s made a lot of this moment and the way John’s eyes keep dropping to Sherlock’s neck as if he’s just so mesmerised by it (which, y’know, fair enough) but that was never what struck me about this scene lmao. John’s upset with Sherlock and here Sherlock is again getting right up in his personal space, putting his face mere INCHES from John’s and making intense eye contact with him. Sustained eye contact with someone at that proximity is VERY intimate and, I always felt like John’s wandering eyes here were more an attempt to break eye contact with Sherlock because it’s too uncomfortable. And, he’s upset with him! Sherlock shouldn’t keep getting away with this crap! He can’t afford to be gazing right into Sherlock’s big blue eyes like this! Dammit!!

Sherlock like...reel him in reel him in. Boy.... :/

As John is walking away Sherlock finally makes an effort at one of his awkward sort-of apologies, saying that he meant what he said last night, that he doesn’t have friends, in the plural, because John is his only friend, gazing at John like a PUPPY. :( It certainly does the trick;

Sherlock must see that tiny smile and nod. John clearly accepts this as Sherlock’s version of an apology, but isn’t quite ready to let him have it just yet, and abruptly turns away from him again, but with that out of the way Sherlock is on John’s heels immediately now showering him with praises because John’s just given him another brain orgasm.

John, you are amazing! You are fantastic! You stimulate me like no other! He literally calls John a conductor of light which is STILL one of the most excruciating things to ever come out of his trash mouth, but as always he tempers his earnestness with glib nonsense, causing John to prompt him to maybe not start ruining his apology QUITE yet (alas, he’s only getting started 😞). John asks what he’s done that’s so bloody stimulating (if only you knew…) and Sherlock turns around and holds up his moleskin, the word HOUND jumps off the page across Sherlock himself, as we look at him from John’s POV;

Beware the Hound, John!

Sherlock looks positively devilish doesn’t he. Why did they ever stop using Paul McGuigan??? A GOD DAMN mystery. This is an obvious marker, just like the moment in The Blind Banker in which Sherlock is marked as the Deadman; so he is marked here, as the Hound. This shot, like the one at the inn the previous day, is from John’s POV because in both instances it is marking Sherlock as John’s “Hound”. John is not tormented by the Hound that torments Sherlock/Henry, because, among other things, John is not gay. John is tormented by Sherlock. Sherlock is the thing that Hounds John. It is also, without a doubt, hinting at the monstrous thing Sherlock is about to do to him. HOUND!

Sherlock speculates that perhaps Hound is actually an acronym, when he turns and spots Lestrade inside the Inn and dramatically swans over to interrogate his presence. He looks put out as John warmly greets Lestrade as Greg, and continues to petulantly demand an explanation.

Sherlock deduces Mycroft must have sent his Handler (conscience, better part, keeper; whatever you wanna call him :P) to look after him “incognito” at the mention of Baskerville, and asks if that’s why he’s calling himself Greg, which John helpfully points out is actually his name. His own better part, his GOOD man, and he’s such a cock he doesn’t even know his NAME! (But John Does!!!) The homoeroticism latent in calling Lestrade Sherlock’s handler is already enough but like look at them...

Like, I am sorry but this is sexual tension aljkald. Greg indignantly says he doesn’t just do whatever Mycroft tells him, rather giving away the fact that he probably does just that. 😩 Then John chips in and halts their squabbling, bringing forth the invoice for all the meat apparently being gobbled by the owners of this strictly vegetarian! establishment. And off they go to shake down Billy and Gary and get to the bottom of this Hound business.

*[1] Another parallel in The Lying Detective that doesn’t really need any elaboration, they’re just parallels that add more context:

I’m afraid, John. Can’t do it, not now. .....Not alone.

Like...they’re begging you to actually LOOK AT HIM. SEE what’s right there in front you!

**[2] And another:

Aaaand of course...

tagging again @sarahthecoat, @devoursjohnlock, @inevitably-johnlocked, @impossibleleaf, @tjlcisthenewsexy, @gosherlocked, @221bloodnun, @northstargrassmaiden, @poisonousindigo (u get tagged in this one bc i remember u asking me about umqra which is what really set off this whole thing lmao), @love-in-mind-palace

hope ya’ll’s enjoy :) I sure did!!

#tjlc #sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock meta #my meta

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trbl-will-find-me · 7 years

Text

Every Exit, An Entrance (15/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option.

Read the rest here

Shout out to @inbatcountry17 for letting me borrow @commanderweir for a cameo.

They manage to make contact with the local cell a few days later, buying their trust with food and medical supplies. In return, their scouts lead Moon and Kelly right to the perimeter of the complex.

“Don’t get close, but see what you can gather,” she instructs over the comms. “I don’t want to go in totally blind.”

“Looks like an outbuilding and some sort of tracks on the approach,” Moon says. “Hard to see the facility from here.”

“Any sense of what kind of cover we can make use of?”

“Not much,” says Kelly. “A lot of low, barrier-type fences. Could maybe scale that outbuilding, but that’s more perch than protection.”

“What are you seeing in terms of a defensive complement?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Confirmed visual on an officer, some grunts, and a Sectoid, but other than that, it looks pretty light.”

“They weren’t counting on anyone finding this place,” Central says, crossing his arms. He stands across the Hologlobe from her, eyes fixed on scan data of the AO. “Still, I’m betting they’ve got some kind of back up.”

“Well, let��s not meet them just yet. Kelly, Moon: head back to the ship. We’ll debrief here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wilco.”

“Thoughts?” She asks, turning her attention to Bradford.

“Whatever’s in there, I doubt we’re gonna like it.”

“Agreed, but who do we send in? Zaytsev’s down. Krieger’s in no position to be back on the duty roster. Thomas, Kelly, and Wallace are the obvious answers, but I hesitate to field them again without having a better sense of what they’re up against.”

“It’s a luxury we don’t have.”

She sighs. “I don’t disagree, but everyone has a breaking point. We can’t afford to have any of them finds theirs. Especially not on this op.”

“They’ve had time to process.”

“Digging graves isn’t exactly R&R.”

He rubs at his neck. “Unless you’re hiding seasoned recruits somewhere, Commander, I don’t see many other options.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, jostling strands loose from her braid. “We need more people.”

“I’m working on it. But for now ---“

“We’ll have to make do.”

He nods.

She knows the rules of war. If you want people to fight, you have to give them a cause to believe in. It can’t be any cause, though, and it can’t just be a good one. People don’t fight futile wars; they fight wars they believe they can win. Half the job of a propaganda campaign is convincing the masses they aren’t stepping into a slaughterhouse when they commit to the fight.

The other half, of course, is reassuring them that the cause is worth the lives of their brothers and sisters, the blood of their children, the conspicuous emptiness where friends once stood.

They’ll need concrete results if expect to make any inroads.

She leans on the rail surrounding the Hologlobe, eyes fixed on stills from the video feeds. “God, please let this go better.

Bradford shoots her a look. “Not like you to tempt fate.”

“I’d throw salt, but I don’t think we have any to spare.”

“They’ll make it in, Commander.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

A key part of successful subterfuge is plausible deniability, minimizing the risk that they’ll both be caught if the Council catches wind. A key part of plausible deniability is minimizing interactions inside and out of the public sphere.

It leaves her with entirely too much time on her hands.

She is sprawled on the couch of the Common Room, scrolling through the news on her tablet, when she clicks onto some story about the resurgence of the Asbury Park boardwalk.

She’d been to Asbury once, years ago. She’d gone with friends to see the sights, walk in the footsteps of Springsteen and his E Street Band. The Casino was an empty shell, a gorgeous, rotting ghost at risk of being reclaimed by the ocean. From the empty winter beach, she could see trees spouting from the ruined interior. They had bundled their way down to the Wonderbar, shrugging off coats and gloves and scarves to wrap themselves in the mystique of the shoreside town.

They’d made sure to leave before dark.

Apparently, some things do change.

The pictures of the boardwalk shine with color and life. People crowd into bars and restaurants, stroll down the street with armfuls of beautiful packages. Her gut twists at the sight of the Casino, badly damaged by storms and the forward march of time. Tilly is still there, smiling down, but the place is otherwise unrecognizable.

There’s a link at the bottom to the local paper, the Asbury Park Press, with an article from some years ago. Her gaze flicks up to the clock on the wall; she has plenty of time before her shift begins. She clicks, and finds her way to the most recent headlines.

There’s nothing particularly interesting at first. News of local school sports teams, of recent real estate developments, an editorial about the governor pass unremarked before her.

And then she stops dead.

Four missing in Pine Barrens, reads the headline. Fifth confirmed to be mauling victim discovered last month.

She opens her email and briefly scrolls through. She doesn’t see his address among her recent mail, but that’s hardly surprising.

She copies and pastes the link to the article into the body of an email and addresses it, trying not to smile as she does: [email protected]

Only Weir, she thinks.

She tabs up to the subject line. Pertinent to your interests … assuming you’re not on scene already, she types.

She keys in a cursory search, turning up a string of recent disappearances, and adds those links in. She suspects he’s already well aware, but she’s in want of anything better to do.

Besides, she thinks. Maybe, one day, he’ll actually catch the bugger.

She tries to picture Weir’s face, almost always serious, with the grin of a proud fisherman, catch hung from a rack beside him, its blood pooling below, splashed across the front page of a newspaper. It’s a ridiculous image, the mere concept of it an exercise in absurdity.

Still, it makes her laugh.

As if Weir would ever allow that kind of publicity.

She hits send and checks the time yet again. The whole endeavor has only taken up a paltry fifteen minutes.

She sighs. There is a reason she did not go into intelligence work.

“Hit the deck!” She shouts, as the MEC launches a grenade volley.

It had been going well. It had been going so well. They had made short work of the troopers and the captain, and had dispatched the Sectoid without incident. Kelly had caught the Lancer as it rounded the corner, greeting it with a shotgun blast to the face.

They had moved through the trainloads of bodies, taking cover behind the glowing green sarcophagi, and picking off would-be assailants. She knows that the sight of her men, living and breathing amidst a sea of the dead and good-as-dead will be an image she carries with her for the rest of her life, the memory of Central’s horrified whisper in her ear.

The turret had given them all a scare, but even then, they’d managed to breach the facility with only the most minor of injuries.

But, they had all missed the opening volley, and things had gone downhill rapidly from there.

“Fuck,” she hears Wallace mutter. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“Medkit it and get ready to fire,” she says. “Moon, what’re your sightlines like to the target?”

“They’re good, ma’am.” “Take the shot.”

The spray of bullets connects squarely with the MEC’s chest armor, sending it clattering to the ground and exposing the understructure. “Nice shot! Kelly, see what you can do to weaken it, but stay back.”

The ranger takes aim and fires, grazing the device. “Damnit,” she mutters. ”I’ll get it next time!” “Thomas, your move.”

She watches in vague horror as he removes the pin from his grenade and hurls it towards the MEC.

“Down!”

The feed from all four cameras distorts, the shock and debris from the explosion occluding her view.

“Menace? Menace!”

“Everyone’s here, ma’am,” Kelly groans.

“What the hell were you thinking, Thomas?”

“It solved the problem, no?”

“It’s not a solution with the risk of collateral this high!”

“It is down, and that is what matters.”

“Come on, cowboy,” she hears Kelly say, and watches the feed as she hauls Wallace to his feet. “Break time’s over.”

“Ugh,” Wallace groans. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Just a little longer,” Kelly says, voice softer. “We’re almost there.”

“Prepare to breach the facility, but don’t take any risks you don’t have to,” the Commander says. “Thomas, keep it in your pants and let Moon and Wallace handle the demolition duties. That’s an order.”

“Putain de merde,” Thomas mutters.

“Je vous comprends,” she retorts. In the background, Sally chuckles to Central’s obvious displeasure. The ranger’s cheeks flush red and she grins, satisfied.

She takes a moment to watch them, caught in one another’s video feeds: Thomas’s disdain, Moon’s vigilance, Kelly’s gentle concern, and Wallace’s growing fear. She forces herself to swallow the growing lump in her throat. Not the time, she thinks. You’ve got a job to do and people counting on you to do it. “Come on, people, let’s go find out what ADVENT has in store for us.”

He is waiting for her at her office door when she clocks off shift that night.

“Commander.”

“Central.”

“Do you have a minute?”

She nods. “Come in.”

The whole interaction feels like a kind of elaborate kabuki, some grotesque approximation of their relationship. Even so, it’s a comfort to have him close.

He leans back against her office door, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have good news, and I have bad news.”

She sinks into her desk chair, trying to get a read on the situation. There is still color in his face, which bodes well, and he does not have the hunched look of a man on the lam. He catches on quickly. “It’s not that bad,” he adds.

“Alright, shoot.”

“We can fake an intrusion, but we’ll need help.”

“You have someone on the outside?”

He shakes his head. “We risk too much if we go out of house.”

“So, we’re cooked.”

He shakes his head. “Not exactly, but this op got a lot more risky.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Engineering a hack is way outside my scope of practice.”

“But not Dr. Shen’s.”

She leans back in her chair. “We can’t. He’s got a kid. I can’t ask him to do that.”

“We give him a device entirely isolated from our network. We destroy the hard drive after he’s done.”

“Where do we launch it from?”

“We can proxy it off, make it look like it’s coming from somewhere else.”

She nods. “How do we keep Vahlen off the scent?”

He sighs. “That’s the risk.”

“I don’t think she’d turn us in, but ---“ “But, if anyone would use that information for leverage, it’d be her.”

She nods. “Exactly.”

“For the moment, I think you’ve appeased her. She’s got plenty of work on her hands and once she’s involved there. Well. She’s a dedicated professional.”

“Fanatical.”

“I was trying to be polite.”

She shrugs. “I’m just glad there’s enough of an institutional safety net to keep her in check.”

“Harm reduction’s never a bad operating procedure.”

“My policy of choice.” She pulls the elastic from her hair, shaking it loose from its bun. “So, this is your area of expertise. How do we bring Shen in?”

He cocks his head. “Sooner, rather than later. Odd hours. Entirely word of mouth.”

She nods. “Who’s making the ask?” “Probably easier if it comes from you.”

Again, she nods. “Sometime tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here when you need me.”

She chews on her lip. “I can’t believe this is what it’s coming to.”

“We made the right call, Lizzie,” he says, with far more certainty than she’s expecting.

Her gaze shoots up. “You’re seem awfully confident in that.”

“Comes with having friends in shady places.”

“So, they’re moving on something.”

He nods. “No one’s sure on what, though.”

“Damnit,” she mutters. “How are they always one step ahead of us?”

“Power, money, sleep. Take your pick.” His face softens. ”If it’s any help, general consensus is they have no idea what’s going on from our end.”

She nods. “Small mercies. Still, I don’t have a good feeling about that call.”

“They’re absolutely looking to weaponize the modified SHIV, but that’s not a surprise.”

She shrugs. “There’s only so much it can do with conventional weaponry. Still, I’ll take that over the alternative.”

“You and me both, Commander.”

She buries her face in her hands for a moment, wishing for a little peace and quiet, a few weeks without an emergency. Somehow, she doubts even that would soothe her nerves. “So, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

#fic #xcom #every exit an entrance #commander/central #that is weir's canon email address friends

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immaobituarywriter · 7 years

Text

Poem For Father

Isn’t it funny? Isn’t it funny isn’t it funny it isn’t funny isn’t it funny that it’s not funny anymore? You’re not a wise guy and nobody is laughing, you’re none the wiser and nobody is laughing,

you’re not a wise guy,

you’re not a real wise guy

you’re not a wise man

you’re not a man

you’re nothing but a ghost

you are nothing at all.

Father oh father of mine, would you care to listen in?

We were just talking about you and how you never seem to wake up,

your eyes are open but you’re not here,

you’re not present

you’re nowhere

nowhere man sitting in his nowhere land

you can’t see me anymore,

you can’t hear me anymore,

you’re no longer my father

f a t h e r

f a t h e

f a t h

f a i t h

f a t h e r

f a t h e

f a t h

f a t

f a t h e r

f a t h e

f a t h

f a t h o m

can you fathom?

I can’t possibly fathom

how you’re still fifty million fathoms deep in your own head,

you see me through a veil

you hear me faintly when i wail

you are a child,

infantile, hooked on pot and booze, you hide behind a wall of beer cans, you can’t see me anymore, you’re content behind your aluminum cage, behind your pot smoke veil,

sometimes you are dead to me,

sometimes i wish you’d come back to life,

sometimes i wish you’d go back to your grave,

sometimes i just wish you’d leave

sometimes

s o m e t i m e s

repetition is all you’re good for anymore

reminisce

eyes glazed over

voice attempting to be louder than anything around you,

ears full of cotton,

lost in your head

you’re lost in your head

you are lost in your head

you can play beautifully won’t you play a song for me?

you play beautifully won’t you play a song for me?

Your music is spiteful,

Give me an apology?

give me an apology?

you’re no role model to me

when i grow up i wish to be everything you weren’t

i wish to be everything you aren’t

i wish to be nothing like you

i never want to be like you

you’re full of spoiled dreams due to drugs and the wrong crowd,

you talk big but in reality you are small

you are prime example of wasted potential

you’re talented

yeah you’re talented

wasted talent

what dreams did you have little boy?

What dreams did you have little boy?

In ways you’re more experienced than i,

but in ways you are far more naive

did you know that you’ve grown little boy?

do you know that you’ve grown?

you’re not a child anymore , you’re not a child anymore

you’re no longer in your prime

so father, when you reminisce, do you remember me often?

When you reminisce do you remember mother?

so father, do you remember me and mother?

i hear so many stories come from you, i hear of your mother i hear of your father, i hear of your friends and i hear of your drug daze, i hear of a time before me when you’re in a cheap beer induced haze,

i want to hear of what you think now, i want to hear of me and of mom, i want to hear of now i want to hear of now i want to hear of now

w a n t

t o

h e a r

o f

n o w

tell me about now daddy dearest, tell me about now, tell me of now

tell me tales of now,

stop reminiscing

get your head out of your horrible past

its consuming you

stop rehearsing the past and start performing the now so we can have a future

I’m growing up father

I’m growing up

blink now and you’ll miss it

blink now and you’ll mis it

blink now and you’ll miss it

god knows i’ll miss it

blink now and you’ll miss it

you’ll miss it

you’re gonna miss it

you’re fucking missing it

blink now and you’ll miss it

as of now you’re no role model to me

i hope you read this one day

because when i say it you fail to hear me

when i say these things you’ll fail to hear me

blink now and you’ll miss me

blink now and you’ll miss me father dear

my first word was dada but it won’t be my last

you were my first word, you don’t deserve it

stop looking back at me then,

look at me now

stop taking credit for me now, you’ve got nothing to do with it

stop taking credit for who i am, you’ve got nothing to do with it

you’ve got nothing to do with it

stop taking credit of my creations,

stop taking credit for my talent,

stop taking credit for me,

you did not work as hard as i did,

you did not go through what i did,

you did not feel what i did

you do not feel

you do not f e e l like i do

you do not sympathize

you do not empathize

you do not understand

you don’t understand

you don’t try to understand who i am

you do not deserve me

you do not see me

you do not look at me

you only look back

you’re missing it kevin

you’re missing it

do you miss it?

will you miss it?

choose me or choose the booze

please choose me

choose the booze or choose me

please choose me

you’re not choosing me

you’re gonna loose me

i am going to cut. you. out.

you’re turning me into a hateful person

i don’t want to be a hateful person

i don’t want hate in my heart

i don’t want your hate in my heart

i don’t want to inherit your hatred

stop giving it to me

i don’t want it

i don’t want to forget who i am under you

i don’t want to become you

i don’t want to lose myself in booze

you’ve lost yourself in booze

you’re right here but you’re nowhere to be found

you’re nowhere to be found

and pretty soon we’re gonna stop looking daddy,

we’re gonna stop looking for daddy

he’s long gone

you’re long gone

you are long gone little boy,

you are long gone

i’m not pathetic but empathetic

i’m not pathetic just empathetic

yeah i’m pathetic, empathetic

you are apathetic i am empathetic

you are pathetic

you are a pathetic

you are apathetic

you are a pathetic

you are

p a t h e t i c

I want to inspire people

i want to inspire people

you aren’t inspiring anybody

i want to inspire people

i want to change lives,

i want to help people,

i want to show people love

i want to love people

i want to save people

were you not my father, i would never associate with you

were you not my father, i would be disgusted with you, i would avoid you,

i would look down on you because you are below me

i would look down on you

were you not my father

you are my father,

i don’t want to associate with you,

i am disgusted with you,

i want to avoid you,

i look down on you

i am above you.

you do not deserve me,

i love you you are my father,

i hate you you are my father

i love you you are my father

i hate you you are my father

you are my father you rip me apart

you rip me apart you are my father

i don’t want to hate you

stop making me hate you

i don’t want to inherit your hatred

you’re ripping this family apart with your hatred

you are ripping this family apart with your hatred

i don’t want your hatred

i d o n o t w a n t y o u r h a t r e d

stop giving me your hatred

stop giving us your hatred stop stopstopstopstop

you are not a man you are a coward

you are not a man you are a c o w a r d

you are not a man, you are a coward

you are not a man, you are a snake

you are not a man, you’re a snake

you strike, and then you slither away,

you hiss and strike, then you slither away, leaving your venom to cause damage far after you are done

your venom is causing damage after you’re done striking

your venom is damaging us

your venom is going to kill us.

i’m sick of this shit

i’m sick of your shit

you make me sick

you make me

s i c k

your head is full of static sickness

you’re roaring to hear yourself over your static sickness

you’ve got static sickness

you’re drowning yourself in booze to fix your static sickness

your booze business is worsening your static sickness your booze business is worsening your static sickness

you’re in denial

an alcoholic in denial

you’re in denial

you deny it

you’re in denial

you are in

d e n i a l

grow the fuck up old man

grow the fuck up

i’m growing up,

blink now

and you’ll miss it.

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mild-lunacy · 7 years

Text

stranger in a fannish land 2: the unpopular opinions

So there's a meme where people are weighing in on what they'd change about The Raven Cycle and it's like.... Many people in fandom really have no sense of what's 'good for the story', or the difference between your personal satisfaction or reaction and 'a good idea' for the plot. Like, I realize that some things are sad, or unfortunate to have happen. But like, just because it's unfortunate (for ex, a character-- say, Noah-- doesn't get a happy ending) doesn't mean it's better not done in fiction. Alternatively, just because you can imagine it, doesn't mean it's even remotely a good idea for the fictional situation and/or characters as they stand. I mean... anything *can* happen, but not everything *should* happen, given you're trying to justify it as a Good Idea in the first place.

Sure, Ronan could've been together with Gansey, or even Kavinsky before Adam. Why not? He also could've been kidnapped by a pedophile as a child, or he could've been hit by lightning and got grey hair, or he could've been born on Maui and never met Gansey. He simply could've died as a baby, etc etc. If you're actually talking about desirable outcomes or things helpful to the relationships between Gansey, Adam, Ronan and Blue, you have to limit these potentialities and look at what *ought* to happen to preserve their dynamic, though. So yeah, Ronan/Kavinsky would be especially destructive to every major relationship in the books, and any hope for growth Ronan has, and in that sense it's equivalent to Ronan being born in Hawaii or dying as a baby. But Ronan/Gansey is just differently destructive to the group dynamic as we know it, with the characters as we know them. It would mean Ronan isn't so romantic and innocent, either, so his whole characterization changes, or it means they're not simply best friends. I mean, you can't 'just' casually have a crush on your closest friend if you're a romantic. If you do, it's usually not something one quickly or easily gets over to move easily onto the next friend, whether that's Blue or Adam. Further, Gansey's power over Ronan would start being really questionable all of a sudden, to the point where you'd have to wonder if Kavinsky was right. Jealousy and weird unrequited feelings would probably threaten the boys' connection with Blue, and this would probably change both Gansey's and Ronan's relationship with Blue. Regardless, an actual canon attraction or relationship between Ronan and Gansey, or between Henry, Blue and Gansey, is not just a fun, sexy little detail you can easily insert at any time. Every choice has consequences like ripples in a pond. That's how life works, but more importantly, it's how fiction works. This is the very thing that fans seem particularly oblivious of.

In general, my point is that just because you have a preference for X thing, or you react in a negative way to Y plot point, it doesn't mean that said X is good and Y is bad. I dunno, I feel like I'm stating the obvious. These aren't super-deep thoughts, are they? I mean, it's actually really blatant that say, Noah had a great arc and/or served his purpose wonderfully in the books, and yet maybe 5 people out of 100 seem aware of this in Raven Cycle fandom. Almost every post complaining about TRK states Noah's resolution sucked 'cause he 'deserved better'. I'd understand if 6 year-olds said that sort of thing, because it takes a while to understand dead people don't get better, but otherwise, I don't see how ghosts deserve happiness. Like, they're already dead, basically. Noah started out dead, and this had a major purpose in that plot. And dead is dead, man. That's kinda the *point* of being dead. It's both permanent and unhappy. As far as being dwelled on afterwards, none of the events of the climax got dwelled on afterwards. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, so the number one thing that drives me batty in fandom is people ignoring the entire idea of characterization or plot requirements in the story and assuming any old thing or headcanon that they wanted could actually somehow work. I dunno if these fans even think in terms of things 'working', though maybe I should be more optimistic. Like, for example, even agreeing it'd be great if Gansey also kissed/liked boys and was bisexual... why would he *randomly* kiss his friends? Who in the world does that outside pure romantic/sexual fantasies? Why not at least ask the question of 'why Gansey' first? Or why not demand Adam kiss random boys, 'cause at least he's confirmed to be bisexual in canon? Is there any other point except that everyone needs to be queer at all times? Even individual fanfics would usually at least try to make sense, rather than randomly putting in an assortment of happy headcanons. (Granted, I've seen fics that claim to incorporate an assortment of headcanons, but this isn't typical.) Who really wants books to be a collection of politically correct boxes checked, double checked and triple checked? Honestly.

What really drives me nuts is not really the fact that people want these counterproductive things to be canon, because surely the heart wants what it wants. It's the misunderstanding of the way fiction works, and consequently that these posts blame the writer(s) for their so-called failure in delivering what makes no sense in the first place. Like, some critiques are valid, obviously, even though I don't think the characterization of either Ronan or Adam (as it stands) easily transfers onto a POC character. Their background would need to change to some degree (particularly Ronan's, being Irish as a matter of characterization), so essentially it'd be a different character (though Blue is different). Anyway, so one can certainly critique that, as well as the pros and cons of labelling Adam bisexual more explicitly and so on. But stuff like randomly bi Gansey or happy Noah are just headcanons and pure wish-fulfillment. And my issue is that fandom doesn't draw any kind of serious line between these two kinds of 'critiques', in part because they often use the same lingo. It's literally like no one is aware that say, polyamory isn't really even in the same box as racial and sexual diversity representation, so Stiefvater had no responsibility to include Sarchengsey. Just because you care about that headcanon and/or real life issue doesn't make it a *social justice* responsibility that needs addressing in the media. I would think that's obvious, but it definitely isn't.

I think the underlying problem in my relating to fandom these days is that I don't... 'read' characters any particular way. Like, I may have interpretations about what happened and guesses as to what will happen, as well as hopes, but I don't just *decide* things. I never personally decide to read a character as gay, trans, ace, or a POC (let alone polyamorous), unless they're stated or super-heavily implied as being intended as any or all of the above. That is not a thing that happens to me. Of course, 'implied' kinda means that canon can get fuzzy to me, which is certainly true. Usually I'm just aware 'this is fuzzy'; maybe it's that even if I do go further, I don't fill in blanks with personal experience on any conscious level that I've ever noticed. It's not that I'm (that much of) a canon absolutist; I'm just unlikely (and indeed almost incapable of) making leaps that aren't ultimately suggested by the text. I'm also definitely irritated by many people who *do* make such leaps in a preachy, pushy, in-your-face way, like canon is irrelevant and fanon is the Only Truth needed (and if you disagree, you're the problem). If it's subtle but still intentionally textual, I'll (eventually) see it. If it's not textual... I probably won't. I don't read against the grain, basically.

It wouldn't be so bad (my mental dissonance in fandom, I mean) if not for the pushy holier-than-thou posts about the Truthiness of things which are absolutely Not Canon, which are always at the back oh my mind. So I guess I can overreact to some innocent wish-fulfillment stuff sometimes. I don't mean Truthiness like those (wanky and unfortunate) old debates about canon Johnlock or even (apparently) whether Victuuri is canon. That's actually less weird 'cause at least I can see people genuinely reading the text differently in that case, for whatever reason. Like yeah, I mean, I think denying Victuuri is canon is ridiculous and I haven't even watched Yuri on Ice. But at least those people seem to have some sort of reasoning as to *why* they think Victuuri doesn't exist, even if it's bad or homophobic reasoning. What really frustrates me the most is the growing fandom trend of people who wilfully ignore canon and the very idea of interpretive/headcanon plausibility without even acknowledging there's a deeper disagreement.

Like, we're talkin' the level of the folks who go beyond 'let's racebend Ronan Lynch' (ok, sure!), through the valley of 'you better racebend him or you're Problematic' (um, are you sure? I think I'm going to go with 'strongly disagree') and into the shadow of 'Ronan Lynch *is* black, and if you *deny* it you're Problematic'. I know it's all fun, games and headcanons, but when you're trying to get other people to replace their idea of canon with your headcanon, or trying to justify it in general, eventually it becomes all too easy to forget you'd ever even noticed that, say, Ronan is white while reading the books. And in fact, many people seem genuinely confused about that aspect of canon reality at this point, which is kind of terrifying to me. I value my ability to process the text correctly, pay attention to basic facts and, well, perceive objective reality in general. And yes, white Ronan Lynch is objective canon reality. You can certainly mess with it in fanworks (that's what fanworks are for!), but it remains canon, and no headcanon is morally superior enough to canon to *have* to be the preferable choice, let alone actually *replacing* it. In fact, the very idea that the more morally superior thing is somehow more 'correct' on a literal level is... Problematic. At least, to me. Not least because I think that although we do definitely need more representation, fellow fans cannot have a responsibility to invent it where it doesn't exist. Ability is not *responsibility*.

Basically, while transformative readings and headcanons are a great outlet and a fundamental part of fandom, it's not the *responsibility* of other character fans or fellow shippers to follow them or even support them. To me, that's really basic stuff that's long made fandom function on a fundamental level (on par with 'ship what you like'), and the fact that it often seems the majority of Tumblr fandom disagrees is making participation near-intolerable, at least in The Raven Cycle (the most extreme examples of this type of wank are concentrated in book fandoms, it seems, 'cause I think actors are more 'real' to people visually). It should just always be unnecessary to even say that if you don't want to slash, or racebend, or even ship outside of the canon sandbox (or you want to sometimes but not others), there's *nothing* wrong with that, as long as you accept that others won't have the same preferences. I really can't believe I feel I even have to say so, but I know I do. There's nothing wrong with preferring or enjoying canon as is. That's the basic level of the meaning of being fannish, surely. You like the thing you like! Liking it the way it is in canon cannot be considered the *inferior* way of liking it. So yeah, the mental dissonance can get very, *very* intense for me.

Essentially, good characters (especially ones I care about at all) and their core emotional responses and frameworks are real to me: Ronan is an individual. He's white, he's Irish-American, he's a Southern boy, he's got blue eyes. He's also angry, depressed, idealistic, loyal. Sherlock is an individual. He's also a white male, he's a Londoner, he's got dark curly hair, a low voice and many chins. And he's analytical, sensitive but interpersonally oblivious in some ways, obsessed with John, jealous of Mycroft, etc. You *can* certainly change most of this in a fic, but this doesn't mean you *should*, certainly without acknowledging the broad-ranging consequences. In a good and IC fanfic, you would have to acknowledge that those core traits are still the basic starting points, part of the definition of the character. Basically, as anyone who knows me will know, I've got an unholy obsession with ICness, even/especially in the context of fanon pairings, settings or situations like AUs. The characters and their core motivations are simply not fungible or interchangeable to me. This isn't really a failure of imagination ('why can't you just imagine whatever?' you say), but rather about seeing an imaginary person *so* vividly in my mind they they become effectively real.

In a way, this sounds similar enough to what people say happens with various projections and headcanons, but the process actually seems rather different, 'cause I pay attention to the text and not just my reactions to it. I love to imagine, to build upon the possibilities of the canon world, of course. I just... have to have a foundation. I can't imagine being *any* kind of fan without paying close attention outside of myself and caring about what I find there, in the text. Fanon and canon have to be separated for *either* to have true meaning.

In any case, in a broader sense, I do think I understand what happens to the people who get hung up on their headcanons and start insisting on them. My imagination is always something that starts out broad and open and ends up cast in stone, once I feel I've figured out what the relevant 'truth' is, in context. I can certainly settle on an interpretation and get pretty hardline about it, which happened to a large extent with my ideas about canon Johnlock (though I was always aware what's opinion and what's fact, I became very certain about my reading and I definitely got pretty easily frustrated by people who ignored the 'obvious'). That's why I separated a close reading or interpretation like canon Johnlock and even Victuuri from something like racebending Ronan Lynch, though. That's not a plausible reading or interpretation; rather, it's a simple denial and substitution of canon (which, as I've said, I never do). Telling me that doing it would be morally preferable doesn't really help (to say the least), although the process of how people get to this point *is* familiar to me.

I can and *do* often enjoy AUs or graphics where there's a new context for the character (say, edits where Ronan is Korean or Mexican-Irish have been cool). Not all AUs are created equal to me, though, 'cause not all AUs or fanon scenarios work with the characters' core traits, as written. Sometimes, though, fanon ships (a form of an AU) do work on the level of potential, like the Road Not Travelled By. You can sometimes imagine the canon arc splitting off at some crucial point, so it bends but doesn't break. This can be complicated stuff, but it's how I intuitively think of it. Generally, I'd need a sense of broader changes to who they are as a result of a new life history, but that's still an agreed-upon suspension of disbelief. Consequences, in other words.

#me myself and i #pointless rambles #oh fandom #shipping #raven cycle #reader response #narrative #characterization #Irish!Ronan #fandom meta

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