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nerdyfangirl67 · 4 years

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My Angel - Phantom of the Opera Reader Insert (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Phantom/Erik x reader

Warnings: Erik insecurities, dark thoughts and feelings

Word count: 2090

A/N: Hey y’all. I am trying to finish up the next chapter and am not sure if I am going to expand it or not. If I’m lucky, and y’all are too, then I will have the next chapter, whether it is the last one or not, out by Friday. Thanks for reading and requests are always open!

----Chapter 2----

You spent every day tirelessly working in the opera house, scrubbing floors, dusting fixtures, and hand washing delicate costumes.

You spend every evening in the tunnels, relaxing to the wondrous music your angel composes. You had noticed a change in his music, one that you rather enjoyed. No longer was his music dark and full of melancholy, but it had become bright and inspiring and full of hope. You were unaware of what brought about this change, but it warmed you nonetheless. You finally felt as though your angel was no longer in constant darkness and pain.

As the music got more hopeful, you started staying longer and longer in the tunnels. Many a night you spent wrapped in your warmest winter cloak, the music of your angel lulling you into soft and dreamless sleep. You had even written a few more letters for your angel, proclaiming your deepening feelings for the phantom figure.

My angel,

The nights I have spent here in this balcony, listening to the music you create, has been some of the best of my life. I cannot imagine a future without you in it. You have brought a certain light into my life that I had not known I had been missing.

It’s like you hold the missing piece of my heart, the piece that reveals who I truly am and whenever I am near you, I feel whole. I feel that I am the truest, most honest version of myself when I am around you. It’s as if your music is a reflection of my soul, entwined forever with yours. Forever and always

This was the only letter you had managed to keep track of because for some reason you always manage to misplace them. Regardless, you continued to write them, each one revealing more of your feelings than the last.

-PHANTOM-

The letters always seemed to appear as if by magic. After he had found the first one, he had been quite sure it was all in his imagination, because who with a sane mind would have such deep feelings for him. He was after all a true monster with a rock cold heart, a man who was obsessed with the idea of a soprano of his own, a ghost who would not even look at his own reflection in the mirror.

Yet, the letters kept coming, all appearing in random places. He had found one wedged underneath the edge of his organ and another stuck to the damp shore of the underground river in his cavern. There had even been one precariously hanging near the flame of a candle by his bed. A few he had found had been ruined to the point that they were unsalvageable. Finding those letters had hurt. Everything in him had ached to read the words that those letters had contained. He felt connected to the writer of these letters, even though he didn’t know her. Every letter, every word melted his long dead heart just a little bit more, making him feel more human for the first time in years.

His warming feelings translated over into his music. New melodies swirled around in his head, completely obliterating the dark motifs that had dominated much, if not all, of his musical compositions. His music since reading those letters had taken on an almost giocoso tone, something he had never thought would happen in his music.

Now, he spent the time he was not composing, which oddly had become more frequent as of late, looking for this mysterious admirer. He still did not know where this celestial being was hiding or even when she was listening, but the mere thought that she was listening made each moment at the organ that much more intriguing.

The time he spent in the shadows became less about watching those running his opera house, and more about observing those in the Opera Populaire in hopes of finding his admirer. Everything inside him, that was not committed to music, was devoted to finding his angel. Even just knowing her from her letters had made him protective of her. He knew when he met her, he would feel connected to her in a way he never had with anyone else.

Although his life felt brighter for the first time in what seemed like forever, the wicked gloom of doubt and self-hatred still overtook his thoughts. Time and time again, the words of those letters would enter his thoughts and he would be ridden with a sick twisted feeling of uncertainty and suspicion.

An all consuming rage usually followed and was accompanied by the smashing of mirrors in disgust, the burning of half-finished compositions and even an explosive burst of funry in which he had run straight into the underground river to destroy his elaborate candelabras. He felt such intense anger with these thoughts because he could not fathom in these moments, why anyone would feel for him so intensely.

----

There had been a time before this, before the letters, when he had thought that maybe he was deserving of the love of a beautiful young woman. A woman who was his star pupil and lived to sing his music. A woman who lived for the opera as he did.

Yet he had been wrong then. Christine had been deeply in love with Raoul and finding out that she would do anything to live her life with him had crushed him. He had been devoted to her, to showing her what she meant to him.

He had not come out of the Christine - Raoul fiasco with just insecurities of the human nature. He had become a darker, colder version of himself with even the mere thought of either Christine or Raoul giving him an intense mix of burning hatred and rage and a crushing feeling of inadequacy. He also had developed a very deep lack of faith in the concept of love.

Her rejection was a large part of why he struggled to believe the words in the letters. He could hardly believe having the opportunity to fall in love with one woman of such beauty and grace but to become connected with another, who saw him for who he truly was, and have her love, well he found that nearly impossible.

Reading the letters also had him questioning if he was even good enough to have the love of such an understanding woman. Although he had yet to meet his admirer, he felt that he would never be good enough for anyone to love him.

----

He spent many a night on the organ, practicing and perfecting the compositions that he created. This was one of those nights, but it felt different somehow. There was a charge in the air, crawling over his skin and pricking his nerves. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, sending his heart into overdrive and causing him to play with an intense frenzy. Music he had never played before, music he had not even written, was flying from his fingertips. Sweat was dripping down his brow, causing his face under his mask to itch. He rips it off, irritated by the distraction, and continues to play with fever.

— YOUR POV —

The music he played that night was phenomenal. The emotions raging through the phrases and dynamic changes had your heart pounding. You could barely breathe as the music tapered off into a gentle melody that you were straining to hear. Only a moment later, he was back to rapidly pounding on the keys, causing your heart to jump into your throat.

That night you listen to him play for hours, never feeling the slightest bit tired and when he finally stops, you stand, your body moving without you telling it to. You are moving towards the cavern, or where you believe the cavern to be, as you have never actually been in it. It is as if a string is tied tightly around your heart and pulling you directly towards your angel, you other half, and the only person you had ever felt so strongly connected to.

Even though you have no idea where you are going, you are in the cavern only a few short moments later. You slowly make your way towards your angel, who is currently sitting at the organ and furiously writing.

This was it. For the first time in a very long time, it felt as though you were home. The sound of a pen scribbling on parchment felt normal. The coolness of the air in the cavern felt natural. The musk of damp earth and burning wax felt homey. Never had you felt so comfortable and at home in a place you had just entered. But, walking into this place felt like coming home after being away for days, months, years. If this was the last place you ever came to in your life, you would be complete. You quickly come to the conclusion that the person who was in this place with you was what really made it home. You felt as though your heart was beating in time with his, even though you could not hear it, pulling your soul even closer to his.

You allow yourself one breath to steel your nerves before you clear your throat and call, “My angel of music.”

The man whirls around, clutching a desperate hand to one side of his face. Peeking through his fingers are glimpses of angry red, scarred flesh. You watch as he swiftly picks up his mask and pulls it tight against his face.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” His voice floats over you like thick, smooth velvet, causing you to let out a deep sigh of appreciation.

After an awkward moment of silence, you realize that the man is waiting for your response. “You are my angel. Your music dominates my mind and has since the day I arrived here. You are the one my soul is connected to and I wish to spend every day I have left in your presence.” Your heart is thudding against your chest as you wait for a response.

He searches your face, his eyes locking with yours for several beats. He takes a tentative step towards you, his hand hovering nervously near your face, as if he is unsure whether he should touch you or not.

You take a small step closer to him, gently grabbing his gloved hand and pulling it in towards your chest, resting it against your racing heart.

“You wrote the letters.” It is not a question, but rather an observation. You slowly nod your head, afraid of what he would say next.

He does not speak for a long while, simply watching you instead. When he does speak, he pulls his hand away from you. Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to tamp down the anxiety that is starting to consume you. “You wrote that you feel I am a part of you. Why? You do not know who I am.” His voice is deep, darkness lingering behind his words and his eyes flash.

Everything inside you wants to cringe away from him in fear, but you know that is what he is expecting you to do. Instead, you straighten up, your eyes locked on his as you respond.

“I wrote that because your music is thrumming through my veins and has become a part of me.” You pause for a moment, steeling your confidence before continuing. “It is more than your music. I feel connected with you. What you feel, I feel. Your soul is entwined with mine.” As you finish, you close the distance between the two of you. You slowly move to pick up one of his hands, placing it over your heart before taking the other and placing it over his own heart.

“Our hearts, they beat in unison.” You whisper as you study him.

“Mon cher, I feel it.” His voice is gentle as he hesitantly moves his hand from your heart to your cheek. “Tu es à moi, mon cher.” His switch to French has your heart growing in your chest.

“Play for me my angel.” You whisper, clasping his hand in yours as you move towards the organ.

“Mon cher, call me Erik. That is my real name and there is no one else I would rather have call me that, than you.” He whispers back, his breath tickling your ear as he lets you lead him to the organ.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera imagine #phantom 2004 imagine #the phantom reader insert #phantom x reader #the phantom x reader #phantom #erik destler x reader #erik destler reader insert #erik destler #reader insert #poto fanfiction #multi-chapter poto fic #poto fanfic #POTO

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notabloodmage · 3 years

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Even then. (DA2 fic)

doin some writing on my canon version of the Hawke family!! this is kind of messy but i needed to get some ideas down ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway listen to me there is nothing in canon that says malcolm hawke couldn’t be an elf @ bioware let me have this

They hadn’t planned to settle in Lothering. Leandra was five months pregnant, the plan was to keep pressing towards the wilds, in hopes of finding a band of Chasind or Avvar that wouldn’t be so opposed to Malcolm’s magical abilities. The prospect frightened Leandra, but Malcolm insisted it was their best shot at a Templar-free life.

The storm had caught them off guard.

The torrential downpour was on them suddenly, and all at once. Malcolm had enough mana remaining to protect them from lightning, but there was no way for him to subtly shield them from the cold that was creeping in through the wet. Ferelden was not always an easy place to live, but it had to be better than Kirkwall.

At least that’s what Malcolm repeated to himself as he scooped his firstborn child up into his arms, trying to ignore the way his back ached from days upon days of travel. The long nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground probably weren’t helping either.

They’d passed several small settlements on the road, but they always tried to avoid contact with other people. People didn’t even need to suspect him of being a mage--being an elf was bad enough for a lot of the country folk. He couldn’t take five steps in a town without being accused of stealing, it seemed.

They always tried to sleep beneath the stars if they could, or in a tent if they thought it would be well hidden enough. Leandra had accused him of being paranoid, now that they were already so far from home but as far as Malcolm was concerned you couldn’t be too careful.

He had done so much--sacrificed all of his ideals-- just to get them this far, and Maker be damned if he was going to be caught now.

Still, in a storm like this exceptions had to be made, and Leandra had spotted an old farmhouse on the horizon. Malcolm, while hesitant, grew more and more at ease as they approached. It seemed to be abandoned.

The couple trudged through the rain hand in hand. The land surrounding the farmhouse was uneven, muddy, and completely overgrown. Malcolm prayed that the rain would cover their tracks as they made their way to the

It was a little worse for wear, looking like it had been sitting untouched for years which was a blessing in disguise because all it took was a swift kick (combined with a bit of mana, of course) to break the rusted padlock.

Malcolm guided them in cautiously, scanning the room for any threats. Abandoned didn’t mean safe. He wasted no time setting up wards to protect them-- but Malcolm was tired too.

Perhaps he’d missed a spot, perhaps he hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. Perhaps his wards were weak with his exhaustion as he joined his wife and daughter on a bed of stale hay. Perhaps he’d been distracted with casting a quick warming spell to ensure the most important people in his life slept soundly. Perhaps he’d given in, for a moment, to the sense of hope burning brightly in his chest as he pulled his family close. He slept far too soundly that night. Better than he had in months.

The high-pitched creak of the barn door swinging open jerked the three of them awake.

Rays of sunlight were streaming in through the rafters--had morning really come so soon?

The sight was so peaceful that Malcolm nearly didn’t register the clunk of boots on the wooden floor, and the wide figure stepped towards him, fiddling with the trigger of a small hunting crossbow. Malcolm scrambled back, drawing Leandra closer with one arm while the other fumbled for his staff--lost in the hay.

“Hold still now, friend, I’d prefer not to use this--”

“Stay away from my family!!” The stranger was interrupted by his daughter’s tiny voice.

She had leaped out of the shadows beside them, brandishing the pocket knife that Malcolm kept strapped to his belt.

How did she-- Malcolm didn’t have time to finish the thought. He rushed forward, intent on yanking her back by the shirt collar. He’d been in such a deep state of sleep that he hadn’t even registered her absence. Then again, she was always so sneaky. Malcolm hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d gotten it from, but she had a way of sinking into the shadows and completely disappearing.

She was only four, and a tiny little thing at that-- shaking in the little booties Leandra had made her. Leaping to defend her family with a .

So brave, even then.

“Minerva NO!!” Leandra was shrieking. “Don’t shoot, serah--please!! Minnie get back here--“

For a moment Malcolm thought that all was lost. He pictured himself in chains, being dragged away by Templars-- leaving his wife and daughter alone and penniless in a foreign land. He’d let them down. He’d failed.

The atmosphere of the room changed entirely, however, when the stranger began to laugh.

It wasn’t a bad laugh.

Not condescending. Not cruel.

It was light and youthful, despite the obvious late-middle-age of its owner. It rang through the morning air like a Chantry bell on the breeze. It was the kind of pure laugh that can only be created by the innocence of a child. In that moment the light in Malcolm’s chest returned, soothing his racing heart. He paused, studying the face of the stranger in the barn doorway as he raised his weapon in mock surrender, humouring the child.

“Oh my! Be careful with that, little dragonling!” The stranger smiled down at the child warmly, crouching down to her level to look her in the eyes, before his gaze rose to her fathers, noting the matching eyes that seemed to burn with something he couldn’t quite name. Malcolm saw what he hoped was understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Put that there knife away, and settle down. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Malcolm hurriedly ushered Minerva behind him-- the child kept her eyes glued to the intruder, even when she began to cling to her father’s pant leg. Malcolm could feel her trembling, so he reached down and carded a comforting hand through a mop of brown curls that matched his own, trying to be as brave as his daughter.

A tense quiet had settled over the barn as Malcolm tried to appraise the man before him, who was doing the same. They must’ve been quite the sight--all clinging to each other, covered in hay. Malcolm didn’t dare reach for his staff, he just prayed that wherever the damned thing was it was out of sight.

Finally the stranger huffed, standing and leaning back on his heels.

“Name’s Barlin,” The stranger jutted his chin at Malcolm, crossing his arms casually. “Sorry for bargin’ in on ya.”

“Malcolm…” He held his head high, meeting Barlin’s eyes as he introduced himself. “Malcolm Hawke.”

“Quite the little bodyguard you have there,” Barlin’s voice was genuine. Warm.

Malcolm’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“Small but mighty,” He could feel Minerva nodding against his thigh, as well as the tears she was smearing into the fabric of his trousers.

He called her that a lot, especially when she was little. Such a simple little phrase, but it always made Minerva feel big, in a way.

“Look, I was just checkin’ to make sure you all weren’t bandits, or bears, or something.” The man shrugged disarmingly. “I didn’t come here for a fight. Lothering’s a peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.”

“Peaceful? What’s that like?” Malcolm’s sarcastic question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, and Leandra squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning.

Barlin merely chuckled, smiling at him wryly.

“Y’all don’t look like the type of folk who are accustomed to peaceful.” He observed. “I’m just glad you got out of the storm-- it was a good one!”

Barlin took a step inside, eyes travelling upward, surveying how the roof sagged and leaked. The old building had fallen into disrepair, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“Look, this place ain’t even mine. It was my brother’s before he moved to Denerim for work. Place hasn’t seen any life in aside from rats and the occasional nug in a while, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.”

The old man paused for a moment, gaze landing on the family before him. He’d later told Malcolm that he’d had a good feeling in his gut about them, and his gut was just about the only thing he trusted.

“I run the tavern in town, why don’t you all come back with me and let me fix you something to eat.”

Minerva perked up at that, and even Malcolm couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the prospect of a hot meal. Leandra looked cautious, but when he met her gaze she nodded slowly. Barlin smiled at that.

“Come on, while we walk, why don’t you tell me what you know about farming?”

Malcolm would find out through gossip in the years to come that Barlin had been trying to get rid of that property for years, but that didn’t change the kindness. He didn’t ask anything about where they’d come from or why they were running. He asked Malcolm what he did and he’d told him he was an herbalist--which wasn’t a lie, and he suspected Barlin could tell.

“Herbalism? Farming? Sounds like the same thing to me.”

The old man let Malcolm pay him back for the land over time after they’d settled in and started earning some money. He’d also scoffed at the notion of charging interest.

The farmhouse was rotting and falling apart, but with a lot of hard work (and a bit of hidden, domestic magic) they turned it into a home. Minerva grew up toddling around the gardens and helping Malcolm till the fields. She’d climbed gnarled tree in their front yard to watch the sun rise every morning since she was six, regardless of weather, much to Leandra’s chagrin.

His eldest child had grown up far too quickly for his liking, and couldn’t help but blame himself. He knew it wasn’t fair to place her in charge of her siblings, especially with the added responsibility of protecting Bethany--but Minerva would insist that she could handle it. She’d lead the twins on adventures in the fields and forests surrounding the little town-- quests, she always called them.

They had to work hard, but Malcolm had taught her to always try to make it fun. The children would race each other home, Minerva usually in front, although Carver would occasionally shove his way past her. Bethany was a lot quicker than she looked too--and always smarter than she let on. Malcolm would never forget the looks on Minerva and Carver’s faces the time he’d taught Bethany how to freeze their feet to the ground, nor Bethany’s own wide grin as she’d crossed the finish line (their garden gate), cheering with victory as Carver swore and Minerva laughed alongside her.

His children were adventurous-- all three of them. Malcolm had lost count of the amount of times Carver and Bethany had burst through the door, shouting that Minerva was in trouble. She had a habit of getting stuck in trees, that girl... Bethany claimed to be the least so, favouring staying inside to study most days, especially as she got older, but even she couldn’t resist the call of a bright summer day.

Minerva always knew exactly what to say to coax her out of hiding, too. Be it a promise to stop by the Chantry for one song, or spinning a scheme so grand that even Bethany couldn’t resist. Bethany was more competitive than she let on, and Minerva was always too clever for her own good. The eldest sister got herself and Carver into heaps of trouble throughout their youth. They were so rambunctious, and Minerva was always pressing Carver’s buttons on purpose, but never in a way that pushed the lad too far.

Always so precise, even then.

Malcolm had had to come down hard on her only once. She’d set off a tar bomb in barracks of the local Templars, bringing the Knight Captain huffing and puffing to their doorstep, completely unaware that he was in the presence of not one, but two apostates. Leandra was beside herself, disguising her frantic panic for Bethany’s safety as being furious at the tar tracked all over their home. Andraste’s Mercy, she had given poor Minerva an earful. Malcolm knew it was mostly for show-- so the templars could believe it was just a well-meant prank by some kid. Malcolm had a reputation around town for being good around a cauldron, and he promised to supply the knight commander with a free shipment of potions, and assurance that Minerva would clean up the mess. Minerva had inherited his alchemic ability. but not his connection to the fade. He’d taught her the recipe himself, so she could help him fix the thatching on their chicken coop.

He was mostly just mad he didn’t think of this himself--he would’ve done the same at her age. He couldn’t tell her that, though, could he?What he did tell her was that she was old enough to know better, he’d said. Perhaps that was too harsh… For the Maker’s sake she was only ten...

He’d come up to her guiltily that evening, offering her a glass of her favourite tea-- a recipe they’d invented together. She was gazing up at the stars, before she mumbled an apology and he did too.

He made it up to her by telling a story about a similar prank he played on the templars back at the Gallows.

“I know they’re the worst, but provoking them won’t do us any favours, Mighty Mini,” The nickname made her giggle. “It’s not your fight.” That made her pause.

“But…” She looked up at him, eyes full of concern. “They make things just awful for you and Bethany!” She protested. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic! Magic is good!” She said it with childlike simplicity. He’d taught her well… Maybe a little too well, if he was being honest.

“I know, Min, it isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you should go out of your way to cause problems for the templars. You don’t want their attention. Think of Bethany.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze.

She stilled, gazing at her feet.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her up into a tight hug. “It’s just not fair...”

Always seeking justice, even then.

Malcolm was far from the perfect father, but, Maker, did he try. At the very least, he was always there when his children needed him. Even years later, he cherished every moment spent outside the walls of the Gallows.

He was able to give his kids the childhood he’d always wanted-- more or less.

On (idk what the dragon age equivalent to Sundays is but That LMAO) Minerva and Carver would spar for hours, using swords carved out of sticks they’d found exploring woods, while Malcolm, Bethany, and Leandra would go into town. Malcolm would take care of the shopping for the week and the two of them would head to the Chantry for the service. Bethany always tithed her allowance at the Chantry, even when her siblings teased her for it. She was always such a sweet, gentle girl. She wanted to help, and the cloister in Lothering was vastly different from the Kirkwall Chantry. They were a peaceful folk, down to earth.

Once their farm was in its prime the revered mother even asked to buy some of their harvested herbs for their healers on a yearly basis, and Malcolm given it to her for free--inspired by the kindness of his youngest daughter. He knew the gift of magic weighed on the poor girl, and he wished he could take the burden from her.

He would’ve preferred they not have to worry about hiding his and Bethany’s magic at all, but he figured that this was as good as it was going to get.

And it was good, indeed. For a time.

Minerva grew up with a Father who could coax her down from the trees she’d get stuck in, and catch her when she fell. Bethany had a Father who could guide her in the ways of the Fade and teach her not to fear her power, but to control it with ease. Carver had a Father who encouraged his study of the blade despite having no combat experience of his own.

Whatever made them happy, as long as they were safe, just, and kind. That was who their father was.

Malcolm Hawke died too young, and too suddenly.

The fever came when Minerva had just turned seventeen, and the twins were only twelve. The illness swept through their entire family, but it took her Father with it when it left. He was buried beneath the apple tree in their garden as a free man. Not a mage, just Malcolm Hawke. His children worked in tandem to carve a headstone themselves, nestling it with care between the roots.

Lothering wasn’t the same after Malcolm died. Minerva did her best to fill the void, standing in as her Sister’s keeper, trying to smile her way through the tears the way her Father taught her to.

Carver left to join the king’s army as soon as he turned sixteen, prying himself out of his mother’s arms with a groan. Leandra drew her daughters even closer in his absence, especially Bethany. The young mage became even more reclusive, afraid to wander too far from home by herself. She became convinced that the Templars in Lothering suspected something, no matter how many times Minerva assured her of how careful they’d been.

Then, Carver was back, and the Blight was upon them. They’d only had a few short days on the run to cherish their brother’s return before the darkspawn ripped him away from them once more, this time for good.

The farmhouse in Lothering never received a proper goodbye from the family that had inhabited it for all those years. The Blight fell upon them far too suddenly for them to grab anything more than their most precious of possessions before running for the hills.

Barlin visits it sometimes, finding the tombstone beneath the trees. The old man hasn’t died yet, even though he’s buried many of his juniors. He chats to the stone as he clears it of moss, pulling out a book with a dwarvish name on the cover.

The eldest Hawke child--the little dragonling who’d stood her ground in that old farmhouse brandishing a knife while shaking like a leaf all those years ago had done quite well for herself, it seemed. Barlin was glad of it. He hadn’t known Malcolm was a mage, but it certainly made a lot about the strange elf make sense.

Barlin wonders sometimes if the Champion of Kirkwall knows how proud those few that survived Lothering are of her.

#barlin is an icon ok i love that dude #he's just a crazy old man who like poison and i can respect that #anyway here's some Emotions #Hawke #bethany hawke #carver hawke #the hawke family #amell #leandra hawke #leandra amell #malcolm hawke #elf malcolm hawke #rogue hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #da2 fanfic #minerva hawke #handers #if you squint

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imjusthereforbatfam · 3 years

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Never-Ending Encore, ch.6

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Chapter Summary: Best way to make a new friend in the most dangerous city in the world? Simple! Offer them baked goods as a thanks after they patch you up from almost dying in a knife fight!! So easy!!! :D

Warning: minor blood, minor swearing

---

“There you go,” Red Hood said opening the window to Eden’s fire escape from inside the apartment. She’d cautiously – and, in this instance, annoyingly – locked it earlier. “Back at Casa de Eden, safe and—”

“Don’t do that again!” she whisper-shrilled in his face.

Red Hood jerked back, surprised. The nerve! He knew full well he’d given Eden a heart attack vaulting off the fire escape like that. And he barely held on to the building while he checked her other window!

“You scared the livin' crap out of me! We’re on the ninth floor, for Pete’s sake!"

He scoffed. “Guess it’s a good thing you left the other window unlocked then, huh? Can you imagine? One little slip then, splat! No more Red Hood." He sniffed obnoxiously and wiped an imaginary tear from the eye of his helmet. "So sad."

“Oh please.” Eden rolled her eyes as she passed her groceries to him. “Like you wouldn’t have pulled out your grappling hook or something and saved yourself.”

“Oh?” He offered her his free hand, dropping the act. “So you mean I had everything under control? And you had nothing to freak out about? Imagine that.”

“Listen you,” Eden said taking his hand, allowing him to help her through the window. “You know well and good by now that I am a panicky person. The very least you could do is give me a heads up before you do something crazy like that!”

“Alright, fine. Don’t freak out, but I’m about to walk over to your table. So scary!”

She rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, I’m absolutely petrified, Mr. Hood.”

He let out a small amused sound.

Cautiously holding her, he led her toward her kitchen table. Eden felt a little ridiculous, but he probably thought she’d keel over if he let her walk on her own. That's what would probably happen to a normal person who’d lost as much blood as her. So, despite being perfectly fine, she played along — totally not enjoying how close he was to her. Nope. Not even the littlest bit.

But as he led her across the room, Eden couldn’t help but see her place with a fresh set of eyes. The kind a person only ever saw through when an unexpected visitor walked through their door — or, in this case, window.

Her apartment was so tiny and barren there honestly wasn’t much to see to begin with. But that didn’t stop Eden from noticing every flaw that was there. Every crumb and speck of dust. Every scuff and scratch that marked the fake wooden floor. The huge pile of “clean” clothes sitting on a chair next to her – thankfully closed – closet door. The walls void of anything but cracks, holes, and an old pair of coat hooks by the front door.

Being in such a small space, and hoping to be able to afford something a little nicer in the not-too-distant future, Eden had decided early on not to fill it with any big or unnecessary furniture. It wasn’t like she needed much to begin with, and she didn’t want to deal with nine flights of stairs when she moved, so it had made sense.

Plus, it wasn’t like she planned on ever having guests. Even if she had people to invite over, inviting anybody to her neck of the woods would just be asking for trouble. Her neighborhood was far too… unneighborly. She’d feel tremendously guilty if anything bad happened to someone who shouldn’t be there to begin with.

But now that she had a guest, Eden severely regretted not trying to turn the rundown studio into something a little homier.

Her “living area” was a piss poor sight with only a lazily made-up mattress and a scratched-up coffee table to fill it. The mattress, which sat on the floor, acted as both Eden’s bed and couch; its sheets half sprawled, half bunched up in a way that Mama never would’ve allowed. The square coffee table – small enough for her to have carried onto the subway with only a little trouble – was absolutely covered in scattered piles of books, notebooks, and pens. Her laptop and headphones – the only things she’d splurged on with Frank’s money – sat on her bed, glaringly shiny and new compared to everything around them.

At least the tight galley kitchen was clean and tidy. She still swept and wiped everything down each night, just like she would back home. Even if the linoleum was unsalvageable in places and the counters worn down, it looked better to Eden than the living space. The colorful dishrags, oven mitts, and canisters of utensils gave it more character than any other space in the apartment. Made it more… presentable.

“By the way, please tell me that’s not your cellphone,” Red Hood groaned.

Eden glanced down at her phone, still on the kitchen table where she’d left it, right next to the tiny notebook of phone numbers. Then she looked up at him, confused.

“Of course it is… Whose else would it be?”

He made a gruff sound, stopping in front of the chair Eden had fled from... gosh, was it only an hour ago? She sat down as he set her bags in front of her with a loud thud.

“Seriously? You went out this late and you didn’t even bring your phone? Do you still think you’re in Kansas, Dorothy?”

Eden frowned. “I know exactly where I am, Glinda.”

“I am not Glinda,” he argued.

“Then are you Elphaba? Or the Great and Powerful Oz himself?” She twirled her hand and dipped her head, giving him a quick, theatrical bow. “Your Oziness.”

He snorted. “I’m just saying it was stupid.”

“I know it was stupid, I just…”

Her eyes flickered down to the little notebook with all her friends and family’s numbers inside. Guilt pulled at her heartstrings. Then she looked to her phone.

Like her laptop and headphones, it was new and bought with Frank’s money. The same money she used to get here. The money he'd given her for trusting him with her “donation”. For agreeing to that stupid meeting in the first place. For thinking he was still her father after all these years.

What a joke.

“It doesn’t matter,” she huffed, snatching them up as she stood. “I’m just an idiot.”

She moved to the smallest of her kitchen drawers, her designated “junk drawer”. So far it only contained a few pens, a pad of post-it notes, a screwdriver, some scissors, and a hair tie. She tossed the phone and notebook in too and shut it roughly.

“Anyway.” She turned back to Red Hood. “What would you like for your thank you?”

Red Hood, who’d been watching at her intently, lifted his head slightly. “Huh?”

“What would you like?” she asked again, thinking it obvious. “I know you liked the cookies I made last week. I think it was snickerdoodles, right? Did you want some more of those or something else?”

“Or… Wait, what?”

“Or something else,” she repeated. “I know you’re keen on calling me that dumb cookie name, but I bake more than cookies, you know. Brownies, fudge, pie, cake — you name it! It doesn’t even have to be sweet either. The only thing I can’t do is make something with filling. I mean, I could but I haven’t bought a piping bag so I’d have to make do with a makeshift one; which, again, I could do, but it’d be a lot messier and I'm actually not that great at filling pastries either way, so I’d really rather not, but—”

“Wait, wait,” he said raising a hand and moving forward. “What are you talking about? Piping bags? Filling?”

“Uh, a thank you?” she said, again, like it was obvious. “You helped me a lot tonight and I want to make it up to you."

“You’ve already thanked me a few times,” he said turning his head a moment. “You really don’t have to—”

“Ohhhh no you don’t, Mr. Hood!” she said stepping forward and wagging her finger at him. “Don't you pretend you didn't go out of your way for me tonight. I know you did, and I know y’all aren’t that big on manners here, but it’s only right I go a little out of my way too to repay you for it.”

"But I can’t stay with you all night, Cookie Girl,” he teased, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter opposite her. “There might be some other dumbass buying eggs and flour in the middle of the night who gets in a knife fight. Can't leave them to bleed out on the streets, now can I?"

"I suppose not," she agreed. "Though I have to admit I'm a little disappointed." She pouted and fluttered her eyelashes. "You really don't think I'm a one-of-a-kind kind of dumbass, Mr. Hood?"

Red Hood barked out a laugh, making Eden grin.

“Oh hey, how about this!" she said jumping black to their original conversation. "I can make a batch of fudge and keep it until you have time in your very busy rescuing-total-idiots schedule to stop by again. Would that work?”

He rubbed the jaw of his helmet as he considered it, then turned to her again. “How good’s your fudge?”

She choked on a laugh at how serious he sounded and cleared her throat. “Pretty good, I’d say. Never heard any complaints and I’ve been making it about as long as I’ve been making cookies.”

He hummed comically loud, the distortion making it unharmonious. “Tempting. Very tempting."

“Annnnnd,” she said leaning forward, “it’d be another one of my Mama’s recipes. It doesn't get much better than that, Mr. Hood, I promise you.”

He hummed again. “I guess one batch of fudge couldn’t hurt.”

“Perfect!” Eden beamed, clapping her hands together. “Any allergies I should know about? Nuts? Dairy? Special calorie diet? Please say no to that one; I hate dealing with low-fat nonsense. I'll do it, of course, for you, but I won't like it.”

“Nah,” he said, sounding amused. “I'm good with whatever. Go crazy, Cookie Girl.”

“Alrighty then. Oh!” She steepled her fingertips and drummed them together, grinning. “Oh, I know exactly what I'll make you... hehehe...”

“Uh, should I be scared?”

“Not at all, Mr. Hood!" she said far too sweetly. "You said go crazy, so crazy I'll go.”

He shook his head at her, then tilted it slightly. “You might wanna take a shower before you go too crazy."

"Hm?"

He nodded to her shirt and Eden glanced down.

“Oh. Right.” She still looked like a crime scene. She looked up at him again, sheepishly. "Sorry."

He shrugged, unbothered. "Don't be sorry. I’m just not huge a fan of blood in my fudge.”

"That's fair," Eden giggled, grateful for the ease that came from talking to him. She looked at her shirt again, grimaced, and pulled at the bloodied fabric. “I should probably go do that now actually...”

“I'll get out of your hair then," Red Hood said pushing himself away from the counter. "Try not to get your stitches wet if you can help it.” Then he stopped and turned as if remembering something. Eden waited until he finally decided to speak. “You seem to be able to hold yourself up now.”

Suddenly, remembering the role she was meant to be playing, her body self-corrected and started to droop to one side. Eden corrected that self-correction by dramatically shifting her weight to the other side then back again — like she was testing her balance in a very, very bizarre way.

“Yeah," she said standing upright again. "I’m not as dizzy as I was before.” Which was not untrue. She’d been extremely dizzy when he'd first found her and wasn’t at all now, so, technically, not a lie. “But I’ll sit down if it gets bad again. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

Red Hood nodded slowly, not saying anything. He slung the black medical bag off his shoulder and put it on the table next to her groceries.

“I’ll leave this in case you need it," he muttered.

Eden nodded, knowing she wouldn’t, then walked him to the window. “Thanks, Mr. Hood. I’ll try to replace whatever I use." She smiled. "I don’t suppose you could give me a rough ballpark on when you might come back?”

“What,” he teased climbing back onto her fire escape, “miss me already?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Of course not. Don’t be dumb. I’m asking for the, uh, timeline. For… fudge. Purposes. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeated, kneeling in front of her window.

Eden’s cheeks grew warmer and she looked away. “Anyway," she mumbled. "I’m home by 7 most nights. But Sunday or Monday night would work best for me.”

“Alright, I’ll try to shoot for one of those.” Red Hood glanced over his shoulder and down the street. “I really should go now, Cookie Girl.” He stood from the window and pulled out his grappling hook. “Try not to do anything too stupid while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” she scoffed. “Try not to do anything too crazy before you come back."

He snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Eden smiled, becoming more sincere. "I'll see you later then, Mr. Hood."

"Yeah. See you later, Cookie Girl."

He jumped off the fire escape and Eden leaned out her window to watch him soar across the street. He passed several buildings before landing on a rooftop, where he paused for a moment.

He looked back at her and Eden jerked in surprise, nearly smacking her head against the glass. She sent him a small, shy wave, embarrassed at having been caught watching him go, and Red Hood returned it with a raise of his hand. It looked like he might be shaking his head, too.

Eden quickly ducked back inside and shut and locked her window. She spun around and leaned against it, trying to calm her beating heart and fiery face.

She was already being stupid, it seemed. She really had no reason to be so embarrassed! People watch other people leave their houses all the time! Eden had stood out on the front porch plenty of times back home to watch folks go — sometimes with a smile and a wave, sometimes with a scowl and a rifle in her arms. So how was watching Red Hood go any different? She shook her head and sighed.

That sigh acted as a signal and started a chain reaction.

With nobody else around, her body freely began to set off all kinds of alarms. It had saved her from another encore, yes; and now it demanded its due. She was tired, starved, and just flat out weak from her body's efforts to keep her alive.

The sudden wave of exhaustion nearly brought her to the floor. “Okay,” she mumbled, forcing herself to stand up straight. “Food, then shower, then sleep. Then everything ’ll be better,” she promised.

She stagged back to the table to take care of her groceries. Aside from a few cracked eggs, everything was still intact and, considering the adventurous night she’d had, Eden counted that as a victory.

She could have turned on the stove and heated up some leftovers. She wasn’t so hungry that she was just grabbing anything and shoving it into her mouth. But sleep's siren call was loud and clear, and Eden was eager for bed, so she ate her food cold standing over the sink. The casserole dish was empty before her stomach was full, but it would suffice until morning.

When she turned on the bathroom light and saw her reflection, she froze. Is this what she'd looked like all night? No wonder Red Hood had been so concerned! She looked like she’d caught the red death and was bleeding from every pore! Her shirt was completely soaked through, which she’d already known, but some of the blood had also seeped into her coat and even her pants.

She took a step closer to the mirror. “Holy heck…” Red Hood agreeing to see her again was nothing short of a miracle.

The blood had completely stained the skin around her neck and chest. Only the space around her stitches was clean. The top of her hair was wild and windswept while the bottom half was damp and matted with blood. Her cheeks grew warm as some silly part of her lamented over Red Hood seeing her so gross and uncouth. She tried to fix her hair – as if doing so now would somehow change how she’d looked before – but gave up shortly after beginning.

She turned on the shower and peeled the wet, sticky clothing from her body. Stepping into the hot water, the leftover strain in her muscles eased further, making it harder to keep herself upright. Using her nails, she picked at the adhesive part of the band-aid Red Hood had, half-jokingly, stuck to her palm before bringing her home. The cut, little more than a paper cut now, stung as soap suds and shampoo found their way into the tiny cracks of her skin.

At first, she tried to keep her stitches dry like Red Hood had told her, but gave up quickly. She was too tired for all that. And whatever consequences there were for a normal person wetting their stitches, it likely wouldn’t affect Eden much. Besides, the constant stream of warm water on her neck felt amazing. At least until washed-out conditioner seeped into her stitches. Then Eden regretted everything.

When she got out, she rubbed the mirror clean of fog to inspect her neck. It was just as she’d predicted.

Though red with irritation, the cut no longer reached down to her collarbone and the once deep gash in the crook of her neck was now but a shallow slice. By the time she woke up tomorrow, she doubted there would be anything left of the wound at all. The stitches had been, as she'd known, completely unnecessary. And now she was stuck with them. And would soon have no slice, no cut, nor wound to justify their existence. Great.

Turning out the light, she took a long breath. Hopefully, her body would make short work of the stitches and they would dissolve quickly. But until then, she would just have to keep her neck covered.

---

When she finally crawled into bed, Eden snuggled into her covers and replayed the night in her mind. For as much agony as his stitches had – and would – put her through, Red Hood had transformed her awful, lonely night into something warm and wonderful. And now, she even had something to look forward to. As she drifted off to sleep, Eden found herself smiling. Maybe, somewhere in this big, dangerous city, Red Hood was smiling, too.

She giggled softly at the thought, hoping that maybe – just maybe – he was eager to see her again, too.

Chapter 7

Kinda short this time but I hope it was still a nice read!

As always, even the tiniest feedback is loved and appreciated 🥰💕

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #jason todd x reader #red hood x oc #red hood x reader #Never-Ending Encore #jason todd fanfiction #oc: Eden Smith #red hood fanfiction #fluff #cross posted on ao3 #chapter 6

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electricbluebutterflies · 3 years

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characters that deserved worse? >:]

Oh man this is a hard one because a lot of the stuff I have current grouchy feelings about is also currently-running and I maintain hope for some cosmic payback on a few things.

That said, I have two from ended shows for entirely different reasons (one of which may get some people mad at me).

The obvious one - Kate on Teen Wolf. I do see the finale as kinda ambiguous regarding her fate, and she is a bit of a cockroach so I do run a lot of my post-series stuff with the detail of “crazy bitch is probably still out there SOMEWHERE making life hell for OTHER PEOPLE”. But god she frustrates me so much as a character in the “I’ve known too many people like that” kinda way - girls who got out of my subculture background Very Badly - and I would’ve liked to have seen a body, y’know?

The more personal one - Wyatt on Timeless. Maybe I am just hella biased because different ship preferences + that show helped me realize my relationship dynamic at the time was unsalvageable, but... good grief. Far as I am concerned, THAT “finale” did not happen. I have rarely ignored an ending that hard y’all. Something very bad should’ve happened to that asshole, and nothing did, and it has been three-ish years and I remain very annoyed.

#reyshxpe #ask games

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Good Eyes | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

Ya girl is back for another MOTH WORK writing update, and this time we’re talking about chapter eleven, aka GOOD EYES. Just a reminder before we get started that I do have a Moth Work tab if y’all want to binge all the updates/catch up on ones you missed! Check it out HERE.

This chapter is a bit of a special one, as it’s the final chapter in Lonan’s POV!

If y’all have been following the updates since before August-ish, you would know that before this, I covered mostly Harrison’s emotional turmoil lmao, but spontaneously decided to add another POV because this is my guilty pleasures project and I wanted to! This POV is Lonan’s.

I really struggled toward the end of writing Lonan’s chapters, and I felt this was the POV’s fault. After chapter six, I couldn’t really sink my teeth into his head, and really raced to the finish line to get back to Harrison. In reality, this was actually me not understanding that the disconnect was because I wasn’t embracing the style the book wanted to be. HOWEVER, since finishing his POV (and the entire book << as I am editing this post), I am! sad! I do miss his Lonanisms.

GOOD EYES is split into four scenes. They go as follows (cw: drug addiction, alcoholism):

Scene A:

After Lonan’s relapse in the previous chapter, good ol’ Eliza takes him to the hospital she works at so he can finally get some professional help.

Lonan is in the waiting room and all is going well! Until a lady he doesn't know accuses him of wearing her son’s guardian angel chain + jacket and OOP the tea is that he is!

The woman who sees him in the waiting room is Harrison’s mother, Suzanna. I’ve planned her since I was 15 and never had a project to put her in so it was WILD to finally write her! She’s an AA leader.

Scene B:

Direct continuation of the last scene, except this time Lonan is shook

He’s heard many stories about Suzanna and the last place he expects her to be is here!

He pulls a Lonan and attempts to yeet away from that situation lol (does not work)

Scene C:

We start with Lonan recounting a story Harrison once told him about a knife. He’s thinking about this because he’s helping Suzanna chop vegetables. They’ve since moved back to Eliza’s apartment.

(CW: blood, accidental injury) Lonan cuts himself accidentally and Suzanna jumps at the opportunity to mother him. Her motherly disposition shakes him (he ain’t expecting this).

(CW: abuse) This scene is where this chapter gets its title. Suzanna compliments Lonan’s eyes (which he believes are his worst feature as they’re the physical factor that most closely resembles his father) and calls them “good eyes”. This is the first time he’s considered his eyes as anything but reminders of his abusive father, and is one of the gentlest things I’ve written ahhhhh. Though Suz isn’t in this book for very long, I do think her presence has a profound effect on Lonan who has never had a healthy parental relationship. (AKA we need more!!)

Scene D:

A pretty short scene!

Our girl Eliza gets home after work, and is lowkey amazed that Lonan has helped cook dinner (me too lmaooo)

Lonan is really feeling his work--he out here setting tables, folding napkins, feeling like he could be a wedding planner. In the middle of his #MasterChefMoment, the doorbell rings

And in dramatic fashion guess who on the other side of the door lool

It’s Harrison hahahaha the chapter ends on a cliffhanger hahaaha I feel 13 again!

I really like this chapter! It has some really interesting character work particularly between Suz and Lonan as we get to see two sides of both that we never really do--vulnerability. I wrote this chapter over the first weekend I moved back to school after break and it was such a lovely experience. A really nice, meditative chapter that I really needed. It was the perfect way to leave Lonan’s head.

Excerpts:

(CW: The next two excerpts deal with betta fish fighting)

This is a description of the betta fish in the waiting room that Lonan watches that is totally not an explicit metaphor for his relationship with Harrison def not I have 100% not used this metaphor in another story called Fishbowl starring the two of them noooo should this book have been called “it’s all a metaphor for fighter fish” maybeeee:

The waiting room is fluorescent and empty, the only movement the irregular swish of fighter fish across a fish tank. He read somewhere it’s never a good idea to keep two together, but in the tank they circle. One is pale and translucent like diluted bone, its silk tail fluttering with each jag through the water. The next is a shift of blueness that opalizes with each peck at the water’s surface. They synchronize before one flits its tail so the other jitters toward the glass. It’s a mistake they’ve been put together—they will only kill each other in time.

(I’m a real sucker for betta fish as I had many as a child but Meatball was my #1 right hand man [and the reason why I always seem to describe every betta fish as blue] who lived the longest and I miss him to this day I 100% never ever put two males together tho do not do that!!!)

Here’s another I’m including this because my favourite thing Lonan has ever said in response to someone’s *confusion* is “I need to see a doctor” lmao mooooood (tw: some violent imagery here):

“They shouldn’t be in there together,” he says. His head like the impact of a skipping rock. The rings. He raises his hand when she says nothing, and points to the fish. He doesn’t know which one will die, just that one will.

“You’re wearing his things,” she says.

“They’re going to kill each other.”

“The fish?”

The last time he saw him. The rain. The motel. The neon light eating them both slowly. The things Lonan said—purposefully so he could make a clean getaway. Things that made Harrison wince like Lonan had just bitten his wrist and was holding him there to bleed out.

“I think so.”

Suzanna turns to look at the fish, and then turns back to him. The vacancy in her face is gone—she’s swollen with confusion.

The fire. The dark room. How he knows each ridge of Harrison’s teeth, each metacarpal, each vertebra, each rib, like they’re his own, like they were carved out of the same thing.

“I need to see a doctor.”

(^^ also this whole knowing every bone thing was supposed to be romantic but sounds more like necromancyyy hahaaaaaha Lonan’s bone kink EXPOSED)

Here’s another! TW: blood!! Here’s some description of Lonan accidentally cutting his hand + some Lonan x Suzanna relationship development:

(also Suzanna’s story about the first time she cut herself is ACTUALLY just CNF except I left out some of the gruesome details :’)))

“It happens all the time.” He thinks this might be a continuation of a sentence, but he’s missed the first part. By the time she’s telling him about her first time cutting herself in the kitchen—chopping chives in a hurry for a better omelette--she’s touching his hand again, wrapping a paper towel around it to staunch the bleeding.

Lonan glances down at the stain of red eating the white when two fingers tip his chin up, warm and surprisingly callused. “Not there. Look at me.” He only realizes she’s said this because he’s shaking. “So I tell the guy his advertisement is a lie—no accidents in the kitchen, and what happens when I get mine in the mail? An accident.” She continues easily, like she hasn’t been interrupted.

“What?” Something ringing in his ear. He tries to tip it out with his good hand, but nothing comes out. Again, he looks at his finger—she’s switched to a new paper towel. The blood saturates it, and his pupils dilate at the sight of it—something grossly exciting.

“Up here, honey. I’ve heard I have nice eyes.”

Here’s an excerpt that proves Suz is the *biggest* mood! Her dialogue (the vivid bit) is actually direct mirroring of something Harrison says in an earlier memory Lonan recounted (tho I don’t like the writing in that part so :))):

She leans against the sink for a moment and pinches her nose. He hasn’t meant for his eye colour to upset her, but when she recovers, she moves straight past him to the bloody potatoes on the cutting board. Quickly, she removes the unsalvageable ones, dumps the cutting board into the sink. She begins talking about how much rain they’ve gotten, a show she liked downtown. Something about dogs, or doctors—he doesn’t quite hear what she says. He’s distracted looking at her. How she moves, sturdily. Almost too much. The way she picks up where he left off, dicing, chopping, peeling, like she’s been doing it all along.

“I forgot what it felt like to operate.” He doesn’t know if she refers to being a mother or chopping potatoes. Suzanna is pretty like her son. An edge to her that softens as she speaks. Golden hair that glitters like sunrays, even in the fake apartment light. He doesn’t know how it feels to miss a son. How it feels to carry him in your face, like a second skin. “It’s vivid,” she says.

So that’s it for this update! There are a few more to go (tho I may combine a few) so the Moth Work party ain’t over yet!

For now, I hope y’all enjoyed!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writingupdates #writerblr #fostered #mothwork

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bullet-farmer · 4 years

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It’s 4 am so that means it’s time for a political rant. You’ve been warned.

#RefundWarren is bad and the Bernie supporters who started it should feel bad. And my saying this has nothing to do with which candidate I currently support. Frankly, I’d be happy to see either of them in office. I think they’d both be awesome presidents.

No, I’m saying this because I don’t like bullshit infighting over who said what about whom when and why. This is “but her emailzzz!” 2.0 and no one on the left has apparently learned a goddamned thing since 2016. Not about how 2010s politics work. Not how psyops and information warfare work. Not about how sexism and racism are destroying our political system. Not about anything. Yes, I said this all in an earlier post, but it’s four hours later and I’m still mad that basic electioneering bullshit is the hill that progressives in the US are choosing to die on. I’ll know who to thank if we get four more years of Trump. I mean, who the fuck cares if Trump created concentration camps, nominated an actual rapist to the Supreme Court, doles out offices and favors like candy, cozies up to dictators, and plays chicken with Iran, to name only a few of his crimes, right? /s And who cares if Republican leadership is mostly on his side and may very well just...you know, not try him in the Senate because they really don’t care, do u? Because, oh noooo, Elizabeth Warren may have told a lie about something Bernie Sanders said to her, not that anyone really can know for sure or that this doesn’t happen in every election cycle ever since election cycles began. But hey, look, here’s a tape of Bernie saying that he supports the idea of a woman president! And it’s from 1980 or something, so clearly he could never have said anything different, or said that he doesn’t think a woman can win against Trump. (ETA: I just looked into this matter more deeply and it’s even stupider than I thought. My freaking hell.)

But yes. Let’s cancel Elizabeth Warren because a lie about a competing candidate is the worst thing to happen EVER. And the Kremlin can’t be up this hashtag’s ass and making sure it trends. Impossible! The fact that this is all happening right before the Iowa Caucus? WOW THAT’S NOT A COINCIDENCE! AT. ALL!

I hate this so much. Progressives have to realize something: the GOP is NOT. PLAYING. FAIR. They are also far better organized than they were in 2004 when they didn’t know how the internet worked or that voters under 40 existed and mattered. They’ve been great at coalition-building since before 1980 (you know, when Reagan basically won every electoral vote in the country?). They’re even better at it now. They literally DO NOT GIVE A DAMN if their candidates and leadership are ideologically united. They will put aside their differences (small though they seem these days) and agree to disagree on nearly everything in order to win. They will also do ANYTHING, including treason, to get power. And they will form a bloc to do it because their party and its leadership are rotten to the core and completely unsalvageable, and their only platform these days is “hurt as many disposable people as possible.” And former Republicans with a conscience realize this agenda for what it is and have left the party.

This is what we’re up against, people. They are watching this Warren vs. Sanders nonsense and cheering it on. Because the left is not only getting distracted by it--from impeachment, from a potential war, from literally EVERYTHING Trump and the GOP are doing and the fight ahead of us to get every last one of them out of office--but they are FALLING FOR IT like the fucking dupes they prove themselves to be again, and again, and again, and again.

I am just beyond tired of this bullshit. The GOP and its Nazi friends (but I repeat myself) play realpolitik, y’all. We need to get over our squeamishness with that idea and PLAY IT TOO. And to even get to that point we need to first stop playing purity politics and freaking out over every little unsavory political maneuver Democratic candidate make or are simply rumored to have made.

Deal with your discomfort and keep your damn eyes on the damn prize. Lives are at stake here. The environment is at stake here. The future of the planet is at stake here. Hell, preventing a third world war may be at stake here. If you don’t think players are all lined up for one just like they were in World War One, then I have some very, very bad news for you.

And fuck, stop asking for your donations back. What the actual fuck is that even about? Live with the fact that you made a decision you now regret and move on by donating to Sanders, or working for his campaign, or literally anything else but acting like Warren’s campaign is a cold hamburger you can send back to the kitchen.

I cannot believe I have to say any of this to adults who say they want this country to move forward.

#long post #my last damn about petty infighting just broke oops #refundwarren

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ajoblotofjunk · 4 years

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Before I leave the warm cocoon of Brynn’s house, I am going to write out ALL MY FEELINGS about New Amsterdam. Most of which can be summed up by: this show had a lot of great individual elements and did not know what the fuck to do with them at all.

Here are the things I SHOULD have expected going in but for some reason did not and was continually surprised by:

1. Nik is in the show ALL THE TIME. That was like 7 hours of concentrated Nik we just consumed and it was wild. (This fact will, funnily enough, be the reason behind one of my biggest issues with the show later on.)

2. Nik is very tall! And lanky! He’s around a lot of tall people in Game of Thrones I guess and the armor makes him look bulkier. I was just very surprised by his profile all the time.

Huh I thought there were more but I guess not. Moving on!

I’ll start with the things I loved:

1. Since it was so much his show, let me give credit where it’s due: Nik was GREAT. I have many issues with the character John Amsterdam but NCW took what he had and did excellent work with it. There were a couple of flat moments but they were either genuinely unsalvageable dialogue or because the show was relying on chemistry between him and the doctor that just was not there no matter how hard he tried. And he had amazing chemistry with MANY people on that show so I think it was just one of those weird mismatches you can’t overcome. You can’t fake chemistry! Someday casting directors will learn that. Anyway, I was very proud of him.

2. The supporting and one-time cast are incredible. (This is ALSO lead-up to my biggest issue with the show!) Eva Marquez is a TOP TIER character, a woman cop who is great at her job, quick and witty, has some hinted at emotional depth, and deserved her own show tbh. If I were re-writing this show I’d make HER the focus and saddle her with John and come at it from that angle. Omar is ALSO AMAZING and every scene he was in SPARKLED. The lady sergeant walked the line sometimes but could have been good and that white guy detective who seemed to have no partner of his own was developing in an interesting way. The one-time guest cast were all also really good and there was a surprising amount of casual diversity that I really appreciated! I did not appreciate how Indian culture was used AT ALL in the already atrocious rape episode and frankly Nik’s past-John hair in that was also an offense so you miss literally nothing of value if you skip all of it except the last five minutes and even that, turns out, means nothing by the end of ep 8. MORE ON THAT LATER.

3. All of the past stories (except the rape episode one) were really interesting and I am like 50/50 shipping John/Lily and John/Eva mostly because Lily canonically died and Eva is GREAT. The conceit of using a new past life moment to tie to the present day case would have gotten very old even 20 episodes into this show, but for 8 it was neat.

4. The IDEA of the show had a lot of potential! That is the nicest thing I can say about it!

The things I did not like:

1. As I alluded to above: John is in this A LOT. ALL THE TIME. They surrounded him with this amazing secondary cast with whom he had incredible chemistry (every Eva and John and Omar scene was GENUINELY DELIGHTFUL and I would watch a supercut of this show of just the three of them in whatever combination). But the hyper focus on John was frustrating BECAUSE they had all these other characters. And like, this was 2008 and the show is about him and they needed to hook you into the main character I get all that. But because the other characters were always just props to John’s pain, including the ACTUAL VICTIMS OF CRIMES, it got very cringe-y very fast sometimes and also left behind so many opportunities to expand on the secondary characters even more. Like the rape episode: EVA should have been spearheading that, but because the show is All About John, he stepped in and it became about him getting revenge for a missed opportunity to get revenge before (even though he did actually get that revenge before? You can’t have your cold revenge cake and eat it, too, show), and it stopped being about the victim at all. It was gross. I cannot stress enough you should not watch that episode. Y’all know I love Nik but the focus was too much on his character, especially by ep 6 when it would have been reasonable to expand more. The worst part is the show walked to that edge MULTIPLE TIMES and then walked back again. So frustrating.

2. My overall problem with the show can be summed up by: they were SO CLOSE to greatness in so many ways and they just couldn’t pull the trigger. FOR EXAMPLE. The show is about John finding his soulmate so he can become mortal again (which.....more on that in minute too) and in one of the later episodes he and Eva go to this dating service (that’s a front for something else but they don’t know that at the time) called Soulmates and the lady who runs it talks about the questionnaire everyone takes to join and your IMMEDIATE THOUGHT is: they’re gonna take the questionnaire right?? RIGHT?? Readers, they do not. No one talks about it, no one mentions it, the only important thing about this place is it’s a front for crime and also it’s called Soulmates which is basically only there to make John look angsty and confused about the situation he is in with his. SO CLOSE TO GREATNESS. What I REALLY want is for fandom to get their hands on this show and make it better. Fans would have KILLED with the set-up they give us.

3. Soulmates. I actually LOVE soulmates tropes. I know a lot of people don’t and I absolutely understand all the problematic elements to soulmates but I love it anyway. And I very much did not love the soulmates stuff going on in this show. Mostly because John Amsterdam is 400 years old and he’s learned a lot of skills and nothing about how to live and that could have been an actual choice by the writers but I don’t think it was. I think THEY were so focused on John finding his soulmate they forgot to make him a person beyond that. WHICH IS WEIRD given he gets together with The One (sigh) like halfway through the episodes we have and then breaks up with her by the end of the last one and yet they did zero work to show that relationship at all instead ONLY relying on the “they’re soulmates!!!!” connection. Combined with the actors’ lack of chemistry (honestly Sarah felt more like his mom than his girlfriend and that’s NOT GREAT) it killed that whole plotline. They had way better chemistry at the beginning of the series when they were just flirting; once they got together it went to hell. Which I guess worked since they ended up breaking up! But the show seemed like it wanted me to be upset that they did and not relieved which was how I actually felt.

ALL THIS BEING SAID. I do not regret watching the show! It was fun to see Nik as a new character and getting so much screentime and in all the different get-ups. I have adopted Eva and Omar into my Fandom Characters I Adore family and am happy to have them there. I kiiiiiiinda want to write fic that uses the elements in ways I want but that will probably never happen since there are tiny fandoms and then there are nonexistent fandoms and frankly I have enough JB fic ideas to last me for years at this point. So if you’re an NCW fan, I DO recommend it! Except episode 4 which is offensive! Heh.

Also John swims naked in the YMCA pool at night multiple times and they never explain WHY and I need an answer. I wish I could ask the showrunners what their long-term plan was because given what happens in 8 episodes it is NOT AT ALL clear. Maybe they were going to make it Eva/John endgame?? Who knows! I’m not sure they did!

Plus there’s this:

They had VERY good chemistry. It’s a shame the show didn’t even give us very much of them being partner-y. Their banter was so good and so limited. We didn’t even get late-night bullpen talks where John kind of casually has his tie loosened!! COME ON.

#new amsterdam #meta #spoilers but you shouldn't care about that #as brynn and i discovered #this show gave us the things we wanted but always in the worst possible way #props to nik's face though

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lyricdissonance · 4 years

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y’all ready for my useless pop music opinions because i’ve spent quarantine watching youtube music critics and here are my Opinions which are at varying levels of hot take-ness

dance monkey is a good song and no one would give a shit about her voice if she were skinny and conventionally attractive

i would probably enjoy intentions if i didn’t know who justin bieber was and also i didn’t know english

break up with your girlfriend i’m bored is not completely unsalvageable, you would just need to be willing to make it a “bad girl” song which ari can’t commit to

a more serious one but way too many people are ok with the fact that people like dr luke, chris brown, and tyga are still successful

back to less serious: i really hope that in ten-fifteen years billie eilish is making some kind of mind blowing experimental shit. i have no reason to think she will do it i just want all the dudes who dismiss her now for being a teenage pop artist to be shown what the fuck is up

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dickwheelie · 5 years

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a combination of @beezandbitches and @animangod’s ficlet ideas on the Discord server: Aziraphale and Crowley making crepes together in a cooking class! thank y’all for the inspo!

____________

“Pardon me,” Aziraphale called to the instructor, holding up a finger encrusted with batter, his flour-covered face shining with all the angelic patience he could muster, which was not much at the moment.

“Yes?” said the cooking instructor, rushing over from another pupil’s table to Aziraphale’s. As they approached, and saw the extent of the damage, their face fell slightly. “Ah. I see that they’re . . . a bit overcooked.”

“Overcooked? They’re cinders,” said Aziraphale, as the last of his patience fled for the hills. Indeed, the stack of crepes he’d attempted to cook looked like they’d all run a marathon past “lightly browned” and had reached the finish line of “char-broiled.” He’d done his best to follow the recipe, but short of using miracles to cheat Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he’d ever be able to get them to come out right. “I saw less ruination at Pompeii.”

“Now, now, no need to get upset, Mister . . . Fell, was it? We’re all learners here. That’s why I had everyone double the batch of batter, so you can all get plenty of practice to get the timing of the cooking right.”

“Ah, speaking of the batter,” said Aziraphale, grabbing the mixing bowl and showing its contents to the instructor. “Is the batter supposed to be so, erm, lumpy? And grey-ish?”

The instructor’s face strained in a way that people’s faces do when they very badly want to wince but can’t let themselves. “Erm,” they said, “not quite so lumpy and grey-ish, no.”

“Not to worry, Angel, you can borrow some of my batter!”

Aziraphale turned to the table at his left and shot Crowley a dirty look. The old serpent was quite cheerfully pouring a cup of batter onto the hot plates the class was using, spreading it evenly across the circular surface exactly as they’d been instructed to. “Crowley, for the last time, I do not need your help with this! Crepes are my specialty.”

“Eating crepes and making crepes are two entirely different worlds, Angel.”

“Let’s see yours, Mr. Crowley,” said the instructor, secretly glad for the distraction; Mr. Fell’s batter had looked utterly unsalvageable.

“Call me Anthony. Had some trouble with the first few, but I think I’ve got the hang of it.” Crowley presented a stack of wafer-thin, barely-brown, delicious-looking crepes to the instructor. Just the sight of it made Aziraphale’s mouth water.

The instructor tore off a piece of one and sampled it. A grin spread across their face. “Perfect! These are truly very impressive. Are you sure this is your first time making crepes?”

Crowley didn’t bother to hide his proud smile. “First time cooking anything, actually.”

“No kidding?” said the instructor. “Well, it seems I have a natural in my class! Keep up the great work, Anthony, and you may just be taking my job soon!” They and Crowley shared a laugh, before another student called them over and they had to bustle away.

Crowley shot Aziraphale a smug look. “The batter offer still stands,” he said.

Aziraphale only huffed in reply and turned back to his own table. He stirred the batter some more, trying to banish the lumps, to no avail. He looked at his sad, blackened stack of crepes and sighed. How had Crowley managed it, and so quickly? Perhaps he was miracling his way through it. But then again, Aziraphale thought as he looked around at the other students, everyone else’s crepes looked more or less right, so what was he doing wrong?

“Stirring the batter won’t help.” Aziraphale jumped; Crowley had come over from his table and was leaning over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“And why not?” he said, aiming for indignant, but it came out sounding defeated.

“If it’s stirred, it’s stirred. Those lumps aren’t going anywhere. You probably added the dry ingredients after the wet ones, and that’s why it looks like that,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale turned to look at him curiously. “How do you know so much about cooking?”

Crowley grinned, and held up his smartphone. “Didn’t cheat with miracles. Might’ve cheated with Google.”

Crowley had been trying to explain Google to Aziraphale for decades now, and he was starting to understand parts of it. A little. He was still a bit stuck on what Google Plus was, but he reasoned that once Crowley managed to set up an account for him, as he’d promised he’d do several years ago, then he’d finally get the hang of it. Either way, he understood enough about it to know what Crowley meant about “cheating.” He doubted the instructor would be thrilled that their class was being supplemented by secondary sources.

“Well, I haven’t got any ingredients left, so I’ll just have to make do,” said Aziraphale.

“We-lllll . . .” Crowley started to say.

“No miracles, Crowley.”

“Fine. We’ll make do. Now, to really get an even spread, you’ll have to pour it like this . . .”

By the time the class ended, Aziraphale had a second stack of crepes that at least looked like crepes, and only tasted a little bit like shoe leather. The instructor gave Aziraphale a C.

“Well, it’s better than an F,” said Crowley, as he cleaned up his table.

“Or a G, or an H,” said Aziraphale, who did not understand how grades worked. He took another bite of one of the crepes from Crowley’s stack, which he was steadily making his way through after miraculously cleaning up his table in record time. “These really are delicious, Crowley. You ought to surprise me with a homemade breakfast one of these days,” he said, half-joking.

Crowley looked up from where he was trying to polish the table spotless. “Would you like me to?” he said.

Behind Crowley’s glasses, Aziraphale couldn’t spot a hint of irony in those serpentine eyes of his. “Well--that is, if you want to,” he stammered.

Crowley nodded. “I’ll come by the bookshop sometime soon, with a fresh batch.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. Distractedly, he swallowed the piece of crepe he was chewing. “Jolly good, then.”

Crowley made good on his promise a week later, knocking at Aziraphale’s door with a heaping stack of positively stunning crepes. He’d made several batches in preparation to ensure this batch was superior, and unlike any demon before him, Crowley had figured out how to put love into his cooking. Those crepes were, by all accounts, some of the best crepes ever made on Earth, and every last one of them was eaten by an angel who was rather relieved that he’d never have to wander over to Paris just to satisfy a craving ever again.

Well. Besides the brioche, anyway.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #animangod #beezandbitches #gwyneth writes

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earth-ambassador-jim · 5 years

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Changeling Loyalties: Chapter 7

Consequences

Toby is quite happy with his life, but then the Amulet of Daylight just had to choose his human friend. What’s a changeling to do? Good thing Toby never really liked Gunmar anyway.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

The bus pulled up in front of a vaguely familiar house. It took Toby a second to place where he’d seen it before. It was one of the houses he and Jim had passed when they were escaping Bular. He slowly stepped out of the bus into the chilly night air with the sinking feeling that he knew exactly why they’d been called here tonight.

He was right.

The inside of the house looked like something out of a slasher movie. There was blood on the floor, some of the furniture was overturned and the backdoor had been torn off its hinges. The goblins in his backpack sniffed the air and chattered in excitement.

Alfhild was already there of course. Her hands were casually shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket as she talked to a short cloaked figure. When the changelings that had been in the bus settled into a semicircle in front of them she trailed off and turned to look at them.

“Okay, Y’all!” She barked. “As you can see we’re getting this place cleaned and ready for a cover-up, but before I assign your jobs I will introduce our guest.”

The cloaked changeling she had been talking to moved forward and faced them. Their eyes glowed yellow behind their black mesh mask.

“This is Viper, she will be observing you tonight. Continue as normal but be sure to answer any questions she asks you.”

The gathered changelings shifted and Toby could practically feel the tension in the room ratchet up. Understandably too, it generally didn’t bode well when higher-ups from HQ started nosing around. Most changelings had something they were hiding so it was hard to tell what or who they were after. Toby, however, was hiding a whole powder-keg of secrets. He bit back the urge to swallow.

Kracka sniffed at his neck and Toby quickly shoved down his fear, imagining locking it in a box the back of his mind to deal with later. He had a role to play.

Alfhild was now assigning jobs. She moved to stand in front of him and he shifted to attention.

“1870, you’re in charge of getting the blood out of the upstairs bedroom- Just the one across from the stairs, the master bedroom is fine- and clearing up anything else suspicious,” She paused eyeing the goblins. “You can tell them to take care of any bone shards and any cloth or other materials that are deemed unsalvageable. Make sure they know not to mess with anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Alfhild was watching as Toby switched to Goblin to relay her orders. Kracka and the others were a little disappointed that they would not be getting free reign to eat anything they wanted, but relented when Toby promised to find them a treat when they were done.

The goblins scampered off and Toby went to the supply corner to grab a carpet cleaner. After eyeing the stairs for a moment he shifted forms and then picked it up.

~~~~

The room he had been assigned was decorated like a jungle. The walls were painted with trees and animals. Handcrafted cloth vines hung from the ceiling. The ones near the door had been ripped and dangled limply to the side as if something tall had snagged in them. The toucan patterned sheets had been pulled off the bed and ran parallel to a trail of blood leading out from under the bed. The smells of blood and fear and salt hung rank and yet strangely sweet in the air.

Toby swallowed, his stony hand clenching around the handle of the floor cleaner and making the plastic creak. He quickly shifted back to human form. He could still smell the blood, but at least it didn’t make him feel…

The changeling quickly shoved that thought down and took a deep breath through his mouth. He was fine. This wasn’t his fault. They’d taken a different route Bular would have gotten them. He was just being stupid. He had been on the surface too long. That was all.

He got to work. With each pass of the cleaner the blood stains became lighter. Maybe by the time he was done his hands would stop shaking.

~~~~

The changeling carefully finished the floor and made sure the vines were back in place. He tucked the last one up and took a step back. The room was back to looking about as neat as a child’s room would look normally.

He should head downstairs to check on the goblin’s they were probably getting to the end of the more obvious stuff now. If he left them on their own too long there was no telling what they would get into.

He turned around and yelped.

Viper was standing in the door watching him.

How long had she been there?

“Hi…” He said awkwardly. “Do you need something Ma’am?”

Without acknowledging his question in any way, she turned around and left.

Well that was creepy…

Toby pressed a hand to his chest for a moment. His heart was racing. He took a few deep breaths to calm it down.

~~~~

He spent the rest of the time directing the goblins and making sure they didn’t eat anything important. Once they were done, he hesitantly approached Alfhild, who was talking to Viper again.

“We’re done Ma’am. Do you have any other tasks for me or the goblins?”

Alfhild glanced at the kitchen where two changelings were working on installing a new door. She tilted her head and absently twirled one of her braids around her finger.

“I don’t believe so. You may leave if you’d like, or wait for the bus.”

Toby contemplated for a moment. He’d really rather get out of here now, but it was a long walk home and a teenager out this late would draw suspicion.

“I’ll wait for the bus,” He decided reluctantly.

Alfhild nodded and turned back to Viper.

“So… Any news on the hunt?”

Viper glared at her, or at least Toby was pretty sure she did (it was hard to tell with the mask), and then pointedly tilted her head toward Toby.

Alfhild snorted.

“Oh, please. It’s clearly not him. As vague as our Dark Prince’s description was I doubt he’d confuse slender with stout.”

“Maybe,” Viper acquiesced. (Her voice had a rumbly quality to it that suggested she was using her shifter magic to make it unrecognizable.) “But the walls have ears. We don’t want our little wolf to catch wind and hide in his den.”

They stood in silence for a moment watching as the other changelings worked on finishing up their individual tasks. Toby shifted uncomfortably.

“Sooooo….” He said finally, unable to deal with the silence any longer. “Is it just me or was this messier than usual.”

Alfhild snorted.

“Oh it definitely was.” She shifted a little closer to Toby and lowered her voice slightly. “Apparently Stricklander told The Dark Underlord himself about last night’s spectacle. He actually told Lord Bular that he’s supposed to differ to Stricklander as punishment.”

Toby winced. “Yeah I could see why Lord Bular would be in a bad mood after that…”

“Oh there’s more! Anyway he was really touchy all day yesterday. Stalking around snarling at anyone who even looked at him…” She waved a hand vaguely. “The works.”

Her lips quirked up slightly in a smirk and then she leaned forward slightly.

“Now it just so happens some fleshbag saw the whole debacle yesterday. He tried to call the police about it… Can you believe that!?” She gave a little incredulous laugh as if at the absurdity. “Naturally they didn’t believe him, but one of our agents heard the whole conversation.”

“So he’s reporting it, so we can decide whether to monitor it or… discretely remove the human. And then.” Alfhild gestured dramatically with both hands. “Lord Bular, who happens to be passing by just then, overhears it. He pins the informant to the wall and demands to address… So of course the frightened sod gives it to him.”

She leaned back again.

“Anyway we just barely had time to announce a gas leak and clear the neighborhood before Lord Bular arrived… A good thing too. You should have heard the screaming!”

Toby was glad he had not.

“Yeah… Sounds crazy!” (Did he sound too cheerful or not cheerful enough? He wasn’t sure.)

“Tell me about it,” Alfhild groaned. “I miss the good old days when it was busting people’s skulls open with battle axes and doing raids. Heck even working a trade route was better than all this sneaking around.”

Viper let out an amused huff and tugged at her hood.

“When were you planted exactly?” Toby asked hesitantly; not really wanting to know but trying to keep himself present.

“Oh way back,” Alfhild said with a vague wave, before her lips drew back into a toothy grin. “I was a Viking.”

“Yeah?” Toby could definitely believe that.

~~~~

Despite using the alley behind it as a shortcut for years, Jim had never actually been inside Stuart’s Electronics. His eyes widened a little as he tilted his head back to take in the floor to ceiling stock of various gizmos. Toby trailed silently at his side. Occasionally he would pull out his phone to cycle through the apps and then shove it back into his pocket. Jim glanced at him with a slight frown. He was about to ask him what was bothering him when a series of thumps drew his attention away.

“Customers! Welcome!”

A plump man with light skin and brown hair emerged from behind a stack of electronics at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a pink bathrobe, slippers, and a large cheerful smile.

He seemed vaguely familiar. Before Jim could place where he knew him from, Toby perked up and let out a squeak of excitement.

“Hey!” Toby said pointing a finger at the man. “You’re the taco guy.”

“I am,” He said cheerfully as he worked his way down the stairs. “I wear many hats… Though to be fair, I do have a lot more success selling tacos than radios.”

He settled behind the counter and shoved a tangle of wires that were attached to a small glowing blue rectangle to the side.

“Stuart of Stuart’s electronics, at your service,” He said offering his hand. “What can I do for you?”

Jim stepped forward and shook it.

“We’ve looking for a vacuum.” Normally he would look for it himself but they would need all the help they could get to find anything in this store… or at least to get it out without toppling something.

“A really really reaaaaalllly strong vacuum,” Toby cut in. “One so powerful that it could suck up like… a mouse.”

“You do know they have mouse traps for that, right kid?”

“It’s a very smart mouse,” Jim interjected.

Toby nodded vigorously.

“A very very smart mouse. Like Jerry from Tom and Jerry levels smart. We can’t use poison either since my Nana’s cats might into it.”

“I see,” Stuart said tapping his chin. “If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I’ll head into the back and see what I have.”

Stuart retreated behind a pile of electronics and Jim and Toby listened as a series of thuds sounded out. There was a loud clatter and then a moment of silence.

“I’m fine!” Stuart called out.

“Do you think he’s really okay?”

Toby shrugged in response.

~~~~

Blinky and Aaarrrgghh were quite relieved to see them when they arrived at Bagdwella’s store.

“Ah there you are Master Jim!” The four-armed troll said with a smile. “As far as we can tell the little varmint remains in his hole.”

“That’s good,” Jim said navigating the vacuum over the last bump.

He straightened up and grimaced as his back let out a series of pops. They really should have called Aaarrrgghh to help them bring the vacuum down the stairs. The thing was heavy.

“What’s that?” Aaarrrgghh rumbled with interest as Toby set down his bag.

“It’s a battery pack to run the vacuum off.”

The large troll leaned forward to sniff it.

“Tasty,” He said licking his lips.

“Don’t eat that,” Jim said quickly. “We need it.”

“After we catch gnome?” Aaarrrgghh asked hopefully.

“Sorry,” Jim said. “It’s my Mom’s. She might miss it.”

Aaarrrgghh sighed and gave him a sad look. Such a big troll had no right to have such big woe-be-gone puppy dog eyes.

“Well… Here goes nothing,” Jim muttered as he stuck the hose into the gnome’s hole.

The machine roared to life and immediately angry chattering began sounding from inside the wall. Things began thudding into the hose.

“What is it doing?” Blinky inquired.

“It’s working,” Jim said with a giddy smile. “I can’t believe it’s actually working.”

He’d have to drop back by the shop and thank Stuart later. The man had apparently made his own modifications to it. He held up a hand for Toby hi-five and then quickly returned to bracing the tube. The gnome’s chattering became more rapid and then it let out a loud shriek.

Thunk.

Jim pulled the tube back revealing a pair of feet sticking out of it. It shook and Jim was barely able to maintain his hold as the gnome’s feet kicked aggressively.

“Quick, get something to trap it!”

Blinky began to scramble around for some form of containment. Fortunately it seemed that Aaarrrgghh was already prepared. Blinky smiled at the green giant when he handed him a sturdy bag, which he then handed to Jim, who wrapped it around the hose.

“Okay… turn it off, Tobes.”

Toby pushed the off switch and the roar of the machine died down. Jim pulled the bag back and it immediately began thrashing. He closed his other hand around the bag’s opening to prevent gnome from escaping.

“We got him!” Jim glanced over at the vacuum. “Did we get the amulet?”

“I’ll check,” Toby volunteered. “You get something to tie that closed.”

That was a good plan. Jim wasn’t sure how long he would be able to hold the bag closed. Bagdwella found them a rope while Toby removed the top of the vacuum and rooted around inside.

“So any luck?” Jim asked coming up behind him.

His friend yelped, clearly having not heard him coming.

“Nope. We probably should keep trying.”

Jim winced. This wasn’t good. He was fairly certain losing an ancient magical artifact was a big no-no.

He turned on the vacuum and tried again, this time going until it was sucking up nothing else, and then they emptied out the bag. Bagdwella sorted her things out of the dust and announced that all was accounted for. Unfortunately the amulet didn’t turn up.

“Maybe it’s too heavy?” Toby suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Jim said with a frown. “The vacuum got the gnome and it was much heavier than the amulet.”

He turned to Blinky and Aaarrrgghh.

“Did you guys watch the hole all night?”

Blinky nodded.

“Aaarrrgghh and I took shifts and made sure it was never unsupervised.” He paused fidgeting a little as his eyes darted around. “Perhaps there is another opening to the tunnel.”

Jim grimaced. He rubbed at his arms. This just kept getting better. What now? He glanced at the wiggling bag.

“Does anyone here speak gnome? Is there any way to interrogate one?”

“I’m afraid not, Master Jim,” Blinky said with deep regret. “I know some have studied gnomes and their language. Unfortunately none of them live in Trollmarket.” He shot a glare at the bag as the gnome let loose a string of angry sounds. “That and most attempts to understand the vermin resulted in insults.”

Well that was just great. Jim sighed.

“So what should we do?”

Blinky rubbed the back of his hand and shrugged.

“I am afraid I am at a loss… I suggest you retire for the night and we reconvene tomorrow with fresh ideas.”

“What about the gnome?”

Blinky picked it up and handed the bag to him.

“Keep him on hand for the moment… as a precaution… but once we find the amulet you must finish the job.”

“Finish… Wait you mean kill it?!”

“Of course. That is one of the Rules.”

Jim’s stomach clenched as he accepted the bag from Blinky. He could understand seeing the gnome as annoying… but to kill it?

“Come on Toby,” He said as he turned to leave Bagdwella’s shop.

The shorter boy followed him slowly, brows furrowed.

~~~~

Toby and Jim pulled into their cul-de-sac just as the sun slipped behind the trees.

“Hey…”

Toby turned and blinked at him. Jim noticed there were dark bags under Toby’s eyes. He had been distant all day. When had he last had a full night’s sleep? Something twisted in Jim’s gut.

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” His voice came out so much more hesitant than he wanted. “We can watch a movie and I’ll even make my Ultimate Party Popcorn.”

Toby’s brows drew together and his gaze flicked away for a moment. The twisting in Jim’s gut grew more pronounced. Then Toby’s expression relaxed into a smile.

“Yeah… that would be nice,” He nudged Jim’s shoulder with his own. “Besides how can I pass up on your Ultimate Party Popcorn?”

Jim bumped him back with a smile. He let out a quiet breath of relief. They were still okay.

~~~~

Toby listened as Jim’s breathing slowly leveled out.

He stared at the dark ceiling, eyes carefully kept open. The images of last night were still too fresh in his mind. A reminder of what would happen if they messed up. If they were caught.

Of the consequences of their actions.

The changeling quietly rose to his feet. His hand slipped into his pocket closing around the cold metal circle. Its tingling energy pulsed against his fingers like a heartbeat (He wondered if it matched Jim’s). His gaze flickered to his friend’s sleeping form.

It would be so easy to get rid of it. Jim had no obligation to the trolls. Toby certainly didn’t. He could slip away and hide it somewhere no one would ever find it. Maybe he could even destroy it. There would be no way to release Gunmar if the amulet was gone, right?

His fingers clenched tightly and he thrust it deeper into his pocket. He glanced at Jim. The room seemed to brighten slightly as his eyes glowed. He wondered what the human would see right now if he woke up.

~~~~

Well time to go edit my outline. Toby was originally not supposed to steal the amulet at this point... But well... things happen.

Stuart gets an appearance!

#Trollhunters #tales of arcadia #trollhunters fanfiction #toby domzalski #Tobias Domzalski #jim lake jr #james lake jr #Bular #Changeling OCs #Goblin OCs #My writing #My posts #changeling toby #changeling!toby #Changeling Loyalties

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sol1056 · 6 years

Text

more asks: when retcons attack

tl;dr: harsh truth, y’all: there’s only one way out of this quagmire, and it’s not around or behind or above. It’s through.

Let’s see. First in the list are the bunch o’ anons who want to know when Yoo left + when EPs changed + issues of S2′s writing (reveal, filler eps).

Yoo has EP credit for all 24 episodes of S1/S2. (The three-part pilot is counted as a single episode.) Oddly, the Koplar brothers have 23 credits, skipping S1E2, Some Assembly Required. The outlines and story ideas for those episodes were probably hammered out back in 2014. Animation may get behind schedule, but it almost always does start well in advance.

The fact that Yoo may’ve contributed greatly to the story outline doesn’t mean he has writing credit. It’s possible he made vague motions at “the team finds out Keith is part-Galra,” and left the ‘finding out’ to be handled at the script level. If Yoo did contribute enough to the story to get the EP credit for that, then he probably worked at the broadest strokes. If the episode is badly written, that’s on the writer and the story editor.

My guess at who influenced which seasons:

S1, S2: Yoo S3/S4, S5: Hedrick* S6: Hedrick, with greater EP input (plus script) S7, S8: JDS and LM

* remember post-S3/S4, where the EPs’ interview tone was of not knowing what was going on. It’s possible that was more truthful than we realized at the time, if they’d left the scripts in Hedrick’s control. I have nothing to go on but my gut, but I wonder if the growing EP involvement was out of annoyance that Hedrick was setting up the pieces for Shiro’s return as Black Paladin, rather than his return and benching.

So THAT'S how EPs managed to steer the story their way, he wasn't there to stop them so they leaped at the chance post S2? And Hendrik could only try to make it make sense and keep the premise as much he could?

It’s the best explanation I can think of, at least.

With all the backlash, there’s no way [the writers] in this clusterfuck won’t spill the deets as soon as they can (in a professional way ofc) to absolve themselves for things they were forced to write

One way or another, most of the behind-the-scenes madness will come out. I can tell you this: if DW doesn’t give the EPs another show --- thus reducing the professional risk in speaking honestly --- we may get those truths sooner rather than later. If the EPs do prove to be paying someone under the table and are protected from their mistakes, we’ll still get the truth. It’ll just come at us sideways and in hints and allegations. But we will get it.

That brings us to retcons.

If DW want to fix VLD they can. It's only unsalvagable if EPs continue trashing canon and retconning things, and they will, but: the show has given so much to write plausible explanations: mind manipulation, AUs, messing with time, cryogenic sleep.

All of which aren’t new nor original to VLD. Those are standard SFF tropes, and anyone doing VLD (or some other futuristic SF series) will have those in their genre rolodex. The problem isn’t that VLD couldn’t tap those tropes, but that they didn’t throw them in because they were organic to the story. The EPs are proud of their rule-of-cool approach, and you can see it all over the story’s flaws. They threw in whatever seemed cool at the time and never thought of how it might impact anything beyond that one point of cool.

And an anon with a lot of questions:

What's your idea of a well-written retcon?

A reboot from the ground up.

What would you advise writers to be careful of?

Ever getting suckered into retconning someone else’s work to ‘fix’ it.

Unless you are very, very good --- and I can count on one hand the writers with the right combination of curiosity and ingenuity --- you risk making even more of a mess by creating plot holes in the course of filling other plot holes. Just avoid it, and take some other job.

Life’s too short to be someone else’s clean-up crew.

Also what do you think about retcons in vld s7-8? ...If S1/S2 along with watered down S3/S4 [is VLD #1 and] S5-S6 is ... VLD #2, [can] another retcon somewhat fix things? It can't erase the damage or revert VLD to S1-2 sadly, but maybe cutting the infected parts will make way for future seasons/sequels to make Voltron VLD 1 again?

How? “Cut to Bobby in the shower, waking up to realize the entire season was a dream”? You said it yourself: it won’t erase the damage. The story is broken at this point. The best we can hope for is a band-aid, some paltry attempt at closure so we can all be done and move on.

At the very latest, S4 was the last chance for the story to turn itself around. Keep Keith on the team, have Black reject the clone, have the clone attack, let the team deal with it, find Shiro, reverse the lion swap, take down Lotor, then Haggar, then return to Earth for one last clean-up and introduce new characters and setup the continuation.

We’re thirty-one episodes past that turning point. There’s no going back now. Whatever fresh hell is currently springing full-grown from the heads of the nostalgia-obsessed EPs... well, it’s what we’re gonna get.

We may get band-aids, but that original story and its promising setups are gone. Nothing’s going to change that. If that frustrates you, the answer is to pummel DW Animation TV with your complaints so they’ll realize that a) there’s a diehard fandom that wants VLD done right, and b) to make sure any redo has god-tier storytellers like Ehasz or the Hageman brothers.

VA interviews prove EPs unprofessionalism

I think the EPs’ own interviews do that all on their own, tbh.

the EPs trashed canon by changing VLD's arcs and the natural storylines the VAs recorded, and let them take the fall for making "wrong" comments. ... Jeremy reassured VLD would follow logic: Keiths sacrifice will be addressed [and he’ll] be angry at Krolia for abandoning him, Lance will use his sword [and] be someone’s first choice. None happened.

I realize now I was wrong to side-eye the older VAs for seeming to not know what was in the upcoming season. Seems like they probably ended up recording multiple versions of the story. I wonder if they still do the group watching together when the season comes out (pretty sure they did it for S3 and S4, ‘cause iirc AJ was part of it)... it’s got to be somewhat subdued watching, now, to see none of what you’d thought you were helping tell ever made it to the screen.

#vld #voltron #analysis #sol thinks about stuff

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